These are my hands.
They are small and dry and wrinkly.
They've always been this way.
As a young girl, none of my friends would hold my hands.
They told me that I had "old lady hands" and would laugh at me. Often, they made me cry.
So, I've never really liked my hands, and my sausage-like fingers.
It didn't help that I bit my nails, either.
By the time my daughter was about 12 or so, her fingers were longer than mine, by about an inch.
She has lovely and delicate hands.
I don't like to draw attention to my hands, and quite often over the years, I've even forgone wearing my wedding rings.
But, as one does when they get older, I started to forget about my hands....though occasionally I'd see a picture of them, and have a momentary pause.
A few months ago though, as some friends and I were turning 50, we planned a reunion for all of the girls that we had gone with to elementary school.
One girl was unable to make it, but sent a message to me via another friend.
She said, "Tell Barb that my hands have caught up to hers, and I always think of her, when I look at them."
That gave me a moment's pause again.
I thought that was an awkward thing to be remembered by.
But then I thought...
These are the hands that my husband loves.
The hands that held his at our wedding almost 30 years ago.
The hands that held my babies and wiped away their tears.
The hands that stroked my dad's hands and face as he slipped away a couple of months ago.
The hands that paint and create and take pictures and write and type and garden and sometimes cook ( but not too often bake )....
and snap my fingers and wash my hair and scratch my leg and brush my teeth and pet animals and rub my husband's back and brush my fingers through my hair and put on lipstick and peel an orange and eat a baked potato and prime rib dinner and drive my car and...
They are the hands that will hold a bouquet, when I stand up as my daughter's matron of honour at her wedding in October.
And I am reminded of all of the joy and love that my hands have brought me over the years, and I realize that I love them right back, afterall.
Proudly Canadian.
Wife, mom, daughter, sister, auntie, breast cancer survivor, emergent artist, and neophyte photographer.
Soon to be Mother of the... learn more
Also, I thought of making the photo B&W, which would have probably been more interesting with all the cracks and crags and shadows in my hands, but since my theme was basically about loving and living, I felt the colour ( which is strangely orange, though has not been enhanced ) would be more appropriate.
wow Barb....I am just... you have such a talent Barb. Like I've said before, you have AMAZING writing skills...when I first started reading this, I couldnt stop until I had finished. THAT is the sign of a true writer. The story behind this picture is so deep, personal, worth sharing. I am sooo glad you added this picture. You also made me realize how important hands are....wow....I dont think I could have come up with so many reasons...everything you said here is soo true. Gosh I'm sorry, I'm still in awe at what you wrote.....
ps) You're hands really arent bad at all! I am sorry you had to go through that as a child, but just realize that there are far more people with far worse "deformalities". Not that yours is one :) but some people dont have hands at all! and you have clearly expressed how blessed you know you are, by over-looking your "flaw" and coming to a conclusion that most wouldnt be able to do. I really admire you.
Thanks, Lauren :-)
I love all of your insights, too.
Interestingly, that was one of the things that I though of, as I was writing this ( which was almost a stream of consciousness sort of thing ).
That there are many people who do not have the use of their hands, or might have some other disability for that matter...... and it made me grateful all over again.
But it also made me realize that we ALL have our crosses to bear in our own way, whether real or perceived, every single day, and my story is not so special or unique, afterall.
Though, perhaps it's the fact that I am now able to celebrate my hands, that makes this story/photo poignant, in the end. Despite the fact that it took 50 years to figure it out.
I can tell, that it wouldn't take YOU nearly as long Lauren, you being such a wise old soul! ;-)
You are a skilled writer, thank you for sharing the insights you've gained which was reflected so well in your writing. Your picture truly does tell a story.
thanks for sharing that, barb. you've got amazing talents. not only can you capture with your photographs what makes this life beautiful, you can also capture them with words.
Oh your story is perfectly special AND unique in every possible way...maybe more to you...but when you share it with words like that...I can't say I did't understand where you were coming from. Are you sure you're not related to Shakespeare? ;)
Barb, you turned this into an exquisite self-portrait with a soul-bearing essay. Your strength and your sensitivity shine through both your photography and your writing. Thank you for trusting us with that.
Thankyou, my friend! XO
Well done, my friend.
Now, please excuse me - I got something in my eye... *honk*
Thanks, Mads! XO
ps) You're hands really arent bad at all! I am sorry you had to go through that as a child, but just realize that there are far more people with far worse "deformalities". Not that yours is one :) but some people dont have hands at all! and you have clearly expressed how blessed you know you are, by over-looking your "flaw" and coming to a conclusion that most wouldnt be able to do. I really admire you.
I love all of your insights, too.
Interestingly, that was one of the things that I though of, as I was writing this ( which was almost a stream of consciousness sort of thing ).
That there are many people who do not have the use of their hands, or might have some other disability for that matter...... and it made me grateful all over again.
But it also made me realize that we ALL have our crosses to bear in our own way, whether real or perceived, every single day, and my story is not so special or unique, afterall.
Though, perhaps it's the fact that I am now able to celebrate my hands, that makes this story/photo poignant, in the end. Despite the fact that it took 50 years to figure it out.
I can tell, that it wouldn't take YOU nearly as long Lauren, you being such a wise old soul! ;-)