After ALL of these years I just came to realize that two of the most important people in my life, share the same date of death… Different years… Same day….
I know I have been “away” from my writing, I have several good excuses. I will catch up soon… Meanwhile, thank you for listening…
I don”t recall where I found this, but I loved the writing as it so very accurately described MY Grandma Bowman and the relationship we shared…
A Grandmother’s Hands
Grandma’s hands were a particular fixation of mine. I would hold her wise and wonderful hands in mine and I can remember watching them become more and more similar as I myself aged. Hers were remarkably soft considering all the hard work she did with them. From digging potatoes to scrubbing on a washboard, I never recall her using creams and lotions save for the occasional swipe of Bag Balm before quilting.
I remember the quick dip of her index finger into whatever she was mixing up, gauging by taste alone whether the cake would rise or fall. I remember the beat up lid of an oval roaster she turned over in her lap to hold the beans she snapped or the potatoes she peeled for our supper. I remember her dipping her hand in a bag of lime or Sevin to dust her garden as I worried for her safety. She held babies and wiped away tears. She made jelly bread for me every time I walked in the door. She folded them in prayer every day and tied a shiny dime in the corner of our hanky every Sunday for the offering plate.
She held the hand of her greatest love and life partner as they watched the news together every evening. She worked the pages of her Bible as she sat vigil beside his coffin in the living room of the old farmhouse after he passed, wiping her own tears when she thought no one was looking.
I remember the last fold over apple pie she baked for me, expertly rolling out her pie dough she always claimed wasn’t fit to eat but I would die for to this day. But I think my fondest memory of Grandma’s hands were the summer I was five. She carefully took the stitches out of some feed sacks and made us matching aprons. I was SO proud as I stood on the red enamel kitchen stool and she tied mine in the back. I couldn’t see her hands, but I felt them as they brushed my back making quick work of the task. She turned me to face her, cupped my face in those wise and wonderful hands, and kissed me on both cheeks and my world was complete. The person I loved most in this world loved me like I was the only one.
I miss those hands. Someday they’ll brush my face again. Someday.
I PROMISE to start sharing my thoughts, AND my art again very soon…