I have a very vivid memory of my Grandma’s hands.
Her hands were old and thin.
The veins were protruding.
There were age spots on them and I remember the uneven coloring.
I would sit on her lap as a small child, and rub the veins the back of her hands and stare at them.
I am not sure why this is this memory sticks out so vividly in my head, but this is one of my favorite memories of spending time with her.
I remember rubbing the back of her hands all the time.
I’m sure that it was probably quite comical to her.
Perhaps it made her self-conscious. I honestly don’t know.
I loved her hands. And through my little-girl eyes, they were soft and beautiful.
There are things about aging that we have been taught are unattractive.
I think that is horrible.
The old hands of my grandma held me in her lap.
Those old hands made amazing pies and doodled on napkins.
Those old hands were special.
And I will never forget those beautiful old hands.