Saturday, December 18, 2010

My Mother's Hands




I looked down in my lap, and there folded before my eyes were my Mother's hands. No not really; but my hands have somehow begun to look like my Mother's. It is important at this point in my written conversation to point out that I have always had shorter fingers, rather chubby and sweaty hands in my youth. My daughter and my sisters all have long thin fingers, like Mom's.

But somehow, during this magical season, my hands have morphed into a reasonable likeness of Mom's hands. I don't have her long strong nails, probably because I never take the time to maintain them. My skin is much dryer than hers because again I don't take the time to maintain it. However, almost like a spiritual possession, I look at my hands and see my Mother's hands in front of me.

I have lost a little weight and I am getting older so this metamorphasis is possible. However, I choose to believe that it is her way of letting me know that she is with me still and channeling her strength to me through her hands and mine.

It could also be that my hands have not changed at all and I am just seeing what I want to see, but don't we all? We see what we want to see and hear what we want to hear; and if no one is hurt by that, let us take comfort where we find it.

2 comments:

  1. Hands don't like to LOOK like the person's. It's mannerism which is key. Does not the actor, by his or her actions mimicking the person they wish to portray convey the magic? I can make my hands into those my mom's ,my dad's and BOTH sets of grandparents at will, because ALL of these people influenced me in some way by DOING. I wiggle my forefinger and middle fingers back and forth and I am my dad, the way he did speed typing. I flip these same fingers at the surface of a tub of water and I'm my maternal grandmother rinsing vegetables. I look down at my hands poised at the keyboard and the raised veins at the back of both hands are my mom's AND my paternal grandfather. I pick up a needle to sew a sock or seam and it is my paternal Nonna. I pick up a fork to turn a steak or chop and it's my paternal Grandpa. We are what we do and/ or choose to be, to fit a situation. Hands are one of the most expressive parts of the human body, constantly subjected to the conscious wrestling with the subconscious. Hands....Behave!!!!!!!

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  2. Dear Anonymous, how I wish I knew who you are! You are so right about hands, they are perpetual motion, especially if they live in New York. I am honored to know your hands through your writing, and long to meet the mind that guides them.

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