Hands

My mother once made a remark about “Brenda’s hands” because I can’t keep them still.  Mother, Artist, Massage therapist, tender of animals, cook, seamstress, hippie-in-general about doing things myself and more… and I think, as the years have passed, that I agree with her.

My hands would never win a beauty contest of hands, if anything such as that existed.  Maybe it does, and I just don’t know.  It wouldn't matter - they are broad palmed with very long lean fingers, and riddled with scars.  When the weather changes, the knuckles get a little red.  (The awesome goat milk soap I make and use keeps it from being worse. Before goats milk soap, they would get so red and raw each winter that they bled often from the deep cracks.)

On my left index finger are the scars of when I was very young and everyone I knew had warts - so did I, and they were surgically removed.  The middle finger that was broken in a car door and bends slightly out at the distal joint.  The ring finger is remarkably unblemished, and the pinky has a mystery scar at the middle joint. 

The right hand is a plethora of scars including a one inch plus scar across the back where I broke it in a closing door while carrying in a box of holiday gifts for all of our student assistants in the office, and each of the fingers bears some sort of mark (most very small) from life experiences.  Most recently I was bitten by some insect that caused it to swell gradually for two days straight.  (I still cannot close it or open it all the way, and the knuckles have disappeared for all the swelling.)  I've broken this hand 3 times in the last 5 years.  One broken finger (ring finger) and my first metacarpal broken in two different places, two separate times.  I sprained the distal joint of the ring finger and that was far worse than any of the  breakings!

I digress - my point is that these hands may never meet the standard of beauty, but I have learned to find the beauty in them because they are so capable. They can soothe a hurt... feed and care for my family, and my farm... they can create art and build things that are sturdy and useful... sew a French seam and trim a donkeys hooves.  Time has taught me to appreciate all the things they are capable of, and the inherent beauty in that. 

It isn't often that I appreciate something in myself - but every time I look at my big, sometimes rough, scarred up, and occasionally swollen hands, you'll see a smile.