Hands, they tell a story

Your hands, my hands, your father's hands, your mother's hands, grandmother & grandfather's hands. They all have stories. Each little line, each little scar they all have a story.

When my grandmother died, I held her hand and looked at it. I remember those hands in the kitchen. I examined every little wrinkle, her long beautiful strong nails and knew it was gonna be the last time I held her hand. I look down at my hands and I see her hands. Which makes me smile, for I know she was a good woman. And I hope I grow up and become a grandma with hands with a story.

My hands were starting to crack and hurt due to the lack of moisture in the air here in the dessert. And I turned to George and said, "my dad's hands get like this during the winter. I remember him working long hours in the cold and coming home with cracked skin. I don't know why he did that and let them get so bad." George turned to me and said, "Because he needed to feed his girls, and he loves ya'll and dry hands weren't gonna stop your dad from providing." He was right, bless my father for doing what he did to raise us.

Hands, that tell a story. What story are your hands telling others?
Soon, my hands will tell a story of being the cross-stitching gypsy I know I am. My fingers get brutalized sometimes, remember I am working with sharp pointy objects and they hurt. I know that if I continue to make homemade tortillas I will have the traditional Mexican lady hands that can deal with the heat from the comal. I know that one day, I will look at my sister's hands and their hands will tell a story. Julissa's hands a story of love and care for her hands, for she has this NO TOLERANCE for bad cuticles. Jessenia's hands, will tell a story but who knows if they will tell a story of pushing papers or of pushing triggers. Lisa's hands will tell a story of lots of fun kid activities, whether she comes home with a paper cut or covered in finger paint, they say fun. Tiffany's hands will have the slight smell of money some days and others of her playing with the earth to create a garden. But hey, we are still young, and our hands will get older, with more battle wounds of the many years to come.

Palm reading, whether you believe it or not. One of George's Aunts told me that one of your hands is the past and the other the future.

Look down at your hands? What do you think about them? Look at your parent's hands and ask them a question about that little scar, and see what they tell you.