Grandma's Hands

I remember Grandma's hands. They weren't pretty. Her nails were never polished. Her skin was rough. You could see her veins. Her knuckles were kind of big. When she grabbed you by the arm, you knew there was strength in her hands. Her fingers didn't straighten out like they used to. They were very wrinkly. And sometimes a little shaky.

But, my, what things those hands had done!  They had fed chickens and milked cows. They had washed and hung out laundry long before the dryer came along. They swept floors and washed windows. They loaded wood into the cook stove and moved it around like a ninja to control the temperature on certain burners. They patted bottoms of many children and grandchildren. They picked cherries and made pies. They snapped many bushels of green beans and then canned them. They gave spankings when needed, and hugs as well. They ached. They never complained. They changed the channel on the first television set in the house. They swatted flies with a homemade fly swatter. They made aprons and dresses from feed sacks. They darned socks. They measured ingredients-a cup, a pinch, a dash- Grandma's hands knew just how much. They wiped sweat from her brow on hot summer days. They held a cool cloth on feverish children. They prayed.

Grandma's hands represented a lifetime of joys, sorrows, worries and celebrations. They may not have been glamorous, but everything they did was done in love.