A Legacy

Even though they were never slimly tapered hands with beautiful straight fingers, my hands were once very nice. I’ve always been able to grow long, strong nails that were nicely shaped and feminine. I have never babied my hands. It shows. My always-crooked fingers are more so. The skin of my hands is dry and has that criss-crossed look of crepe. I have scars and a liver spot.

And you know what? I don’t mind, not one little bit.

I am almost 55 years old and my hands are a badge of my work ethic and my skill set. They may not be pretty anymore, but I am proud of them. My hands are my expression of self. If you want to see who I am, who and what I love, what I am passionate about and what is important to me, watch my hands. If you want to know what I know, watch my hands.

My hands know how to do things without my brain having to pay much attention. Like typing this post. The words come from my brain and effortlessly flow from there to the keys of my computer. My hands know some of the notes and chords on a guitar when I read the music or make something up.

Much of the normal work of my life seems to happen independently under my hands while my brain is doing something else. My hands know the answers: is the bread dough ready? Is this avocado ripe? Is that a teaspoon of salt? Is the oven or skillet hot enough? Is that pot clean? Does that plant need water? Do you have a fever? Is that a tick? Did that jar seal?

My hands know things that my aging eyes can no longer see very well (especially without glasses!), like how much time is left on my kitchen timer or the thickness of a basket I’m making.

They creak and crack and when I wake up in the morning, they are so stiff they barely work. They are bony now and usually hurt. But I love my hands. I am grateful for every useful day they give me. I am proud of all the things they know how to do.

My hands will tell you at a glance that I have not been an idle woman, and that I am not a young one. My history is written here, in these two hands. So is my future. They serve me well. So, I don’t care that my hands give away my age or even add some years. I still keep my nails polished and I still wave them around when I’m talking. All that am and all that I have learned can be discerned when you look…at my hands.