Anyone else recall the (late 70's) commercial where two women compare the tops of their hands & the chronologically OLDER is proud to possess “younger looking hands” all thanks to XYZ product?
Was it Palmolive?!
Anyway…
I somehow internalized way.back.then. my age would always be revealed by the state of my ‘hand skin.
I also somehow internalized (I was a misfit way back then) this was an interesting thing & not a ‘bad’ thing.
Rather than fret about wrinkles or whatever age-spots (another 70s term) might be coming my way I looked forward to possessing these as a sign of having lived.
I still do.
My rapidly wrinkling hands make me smile.
Not only am I thankful to still be here no matter the state o’the hands—my calloused, rough hands are emblematic of all Ive done & the fact Ive LIVED & not let life pass me by
Last week I surprised The Tornado at school for lunch & snapped a picture of our hands.
As my smartphone camera froze & clicked I was was shocked how old the hands in the frame appeared.
Her hands.
These have seemingly vanished overnight.
The chubby, dependent pair has been replaced by hands which, to my biased mama-eyes, look stronger, sturdier and far more capable.
Hands which look able to give as well as receive.
Im off to spend the day with those hands (& the child attached to them).
Im taking advantage of Easter Monday off from school and making her weave those newly sturdy fingers in mine.
Whether you have the gift of Easter Monday or not—I encourage you to take a moment today to take note of the myriad strong, loving, capable, having-lived hands around you.
And, if youre feeling ballsy like some closeness make their fingers intertwine with yours, too.
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go grab you some hands.
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