hands

after an admittedly too-long hiatus from blogging, i am back.  i hope to try to post here more regularly.  i miss writing--being inspired, working through a problem, getting feedback, gaining valuable insights.  there were many reasons for being away, among them suffering a grueling bout with depression and being an insanely preoccupied puppy mom.  beyond that, though, my thoughts have been kind of stuck.  to get the creativity flowing again, i have been turning to prompts.  tonight one of the prompts i found is "when you look at an elderly person's hands what do you see?"  my affinity for the elderly is well-documented, and i never get tired of articulating the many ways in which the elderly educate, inspire, and challenge me. 

in the hands of my elders i see history, deep and complex.  it is easy to rewind my imagination to times even before my own birth.  i see his hands on a steering wheel, taking a joy ride on the highway, then driving a date home, then driving a child to college.  his hands cast a fishing line, play catch, hold his love close to him.  her hands touch her flushed cheeks when he proposes, smooth her children's clean bedsheets, dance across piano keys, wring in worry when her teen is out too late.  i can easily see their hands clasped together, fingers interlaced, as they comfort one another in the grief that follows the loss of a loved one.  his hands steady a grandchild as she toddles down the sidewalk.  hers prepare a holiday meal shared by her family.  their hands are like my own but more hardened and, simultaneously, more tender.  my hands are beginning to look just a little older.  with every keystroke, paper cut, broken nail, or arthritic pain, my hands grow into theirs.  my hands craft my own history--they write my truths, wipe away my tears, tend my house, and give away my love.  when i look at their hands, i see hands that are not so different from my own.