Hands

The first time I remember noticing a person’s hands was back in 11^th grade American Literature. Mr. Bergevin wasn’t an effeminate man by any means, but his hands were soft, pink, and well manicured - so unlike my father’s hands. Dad was a farmer, and his hands showed it. They were scarred and soiled with grime under the nails, and colored deep-red like beef jerky in the sunshine. His hands show the kind of man he is… tough, determined, no-nonsense.

The hands that intrigue me now-a-days are my own. I like to think I’m rather youthful in body and spirit, but then I’ll catch a glimpse of my hands and shudder. “What are my mother’s old wrinkly hands doing at the end of my arms!” Ick.

I guess I could do something about it. Maybe I could wear gloves, or keep my hands suspended in the air. They seem to look better when I hold them up. But that sort of defeats the purpose of trying not to draw attention to them. I saw on TV recently they have new procedures where they inject special chemicals just under the skin, to fill in between your veins and give your hands a more youthful appearance. It’s called Hand Rejuvenation. That seems a bit extreme. And I’m not sure if puffy hands are any better than wrinkly hands.

Faced with these choices I have decided to simply not worry about it. My hands may not be all that attractive, but they are extremely functional.

Case in point, my walk to work. I observed this past week, that even during this activity which one might assume is “leg’s work” my hands were employed in many subtle yet essential activities, such as:

-pushing up my glasses

-scratching itches

-pulling a wayward strand of hair back in place

-swatting away pests

-adjusting creeping undergarments

-waving to a friend

Looking at this list one can see clearly that a walk to work without one’s hands would be uncomfortable at best. Sometimes people are encouraged to blindfold themselves to get an idea of what it would be like to be blind. But I’ve never heard anyone suggest you bound your hands in order to imagine life without them. Nor am I suggesting that now (though donning a pair of stiff winter mittens might do the trick). Instead I invite you to join me in celebrating hands – my hands, your hands, all hands, the beautiful as well as the otherwise. Let’s give them a round of applause.

Long may they wave!

Note: Thanks to Zack for taking the picture for this week's blog. I tried doing it myself, but it was impossible without the use of my hands.