WHOSE HAND IS THIS ?
My left hand is resting quietly on the book that I’ve just finished reading. I find myself gazing at it as I would at a foreign object. I see the enlarged knuckles, the prominent veins and the sprinkle of brown spots and I wonder, “Whose hand is this? Surely not mine.”
How did this happen? I extend my arms and splay both hands in front of me. I remember my Mother’s arthritically crippled hands and I feel lucky that mine are merely wrinkled and unattractive...but not painful. Suddenly it all seems so trivial and I give a small chuckle.
Where is my sense of perspective? I’ve spent almost a year on this blog, recording the emotions and events of my 74 years on earth. Of course those years have taken a toll but what a wonderful journey it has been…and I almost forgot that. Blogging has brought it all back to me.
There’s something magical about blogging and I think it is the support and affirmation that is freely given by strangers from all over the world. I am continually getting comments like: “Your list of famous acquaintances grows.”, “ You have rubbed shoulders with many note-worthy folks in your life.” and “Wow, you have such rich stories to tell !”
Truth be told I had completely forgotten about my early years and it wasn’t until I re-created those events on my blog that I realized how exciting they actually had been. I did meet a fair amount of “big name” personalities but that was strictly due to the areas where I lived and they were mostly chance meetings. The only exception was Sylvia Plath, my schoolmate for four years.
And now I am in the quiet phase of my life and I realize how lucky I have been. I have had ups and downs in my long life but I have basically been blessed. I have a loving family and a multitude of friends.
Once again I look at my hands and I smile to think how many years it has taken to sculpt them as they are. These are my hands... I have earned them and I marvel that every wrinkle and swollen knuckle is the culmination of those years that I almost forgot.