Wednesday, January 26, 2011

I got my first manicure when I was about 33 years old.
My friend Cathy gave me a gift certificate for a mani/pedi
for my birthday and I just about let it expire before I used
it. Finally . . . after much coaxing from my friend . . .
I made the appointment.

It was kind of nice to sit in the tall chair with my feet
soaking in the mini jacuzzi. I wasn’t quite sure I wanted
someone looking that closely at my feet . . . this was
years before I had my bunion and hammer toe surgery.

I have always had the ugliest hands and feet. Oh, it is
nothing I have done . . . I was born with them.
My sister used to call me “Turtle Toes” because my toes
reminded her of a turtle with the dry wrinkly skin.
And my hands always looked like a grandma with
dry, wrinkled, deep lines and the rough texture. When
I was a little girl, no more than three, we had to hold
hands at the close of the church service one Sunday.
I remember the woman on one side of me telling my
mother how rough my hands were. And it went
downhill from there. All my memories of my hands
and feet in my life have been people telling me how
old they look . . . for my age.

As I have gotten older, my age has kind of caught
up with my hand age. They don’t stand out as much
as they used to when I was younger. Now, at age
50, you would expect liver spots, translucent skin,
bulging blue veins, bony fingers and wrinkled skin.
So I guess things are looking up in this area of my
life . . . one good thing about getting older, my
hands look more normal.

Anyway, there is a point to me telling you all of this.
My designer friend, Brenda Crowder, came in and
did some shopping the other day. I mentioned my
ugly hands in our conversation . . . and she said
the sweetest thing . . . something I wish I had heard
earlier in my life. She said “They are not ugly hands,
they are crafty hands . . . there is a difference you
know.” Her words were so sweet and so true.

My hands are crafty hands! Over the years I have:

Sewn, scrap booked, cross stitched, painted, smocked,
french hand sewn, made hair bows, covered lamp shades,
embroidered, painted, floral arranged, made jewelry, gardened,
cleaned toilets, tubs, walls and floors, refinished furniture,
textured ceilings, removed ceramic tile, grouted ceramic tile,
hung curtains, pulled weeds, trimmed shrubs, defrosted
refrigerators and freezers, planted gardens, painted fences,
baked, kneaded dough, rolled out pie crusts, chopped nuts,
cut up chickens, chopped onions and celery, killed bugs,
cleaned windows, and many, many more things.

But these hands have also:

Held a crying baby, held a sick child all night long, held the
hand of a dying friend, waved goodbye to my last child
on her first day of school, opened them to my grand baby
when she took her first steps, fixed many ponytails, french
braids, and prom and wedding hairdos, cut everyone’s
hair, wiped tears and noses, tied and buckled shoes,
nursed scraped knees, elbows and chins, brushed teeth
while singing my own “Brush your teeth” song, petted
my dog, and loved my husband for almost 30 years and
folded them in prayer.

So you see, the way I see it . . . these hands are pretty
special to the people I love. Thank you Brenda for
helping me to see this so clearly.


Becky Miller said...

Loved this post, Lisa! :)

Vicki Miller said...

Lisa, What a wonderful story. It made me think of my own hands and how every one says I have my mothers hands. This story brought a smile to my face. Thanks for sharing.

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