When I think of my grandmother, Gigi, what I remember most often are her hands. They always seemed so small for for her 5'8" frame: her fingers were shorter than mine but they could reach a 10-note spread (I can only reach octave). My first memory is of her holding me tight: enfolded in her arms, I was safe against the world. In church, I would feel a soft but firm grip on my elbow, reminding me to sit still on the pew. When I had chicken pox, hers were the hands that blotted me with a cold, damp cloth to keep me from scratching my aching body. She would gently stroke my hair when I cried, lift my face, and remind me to keep my chin up. In my dreams, I hear the music of her hands on the piano keys, or the strings of the harp, or poised in midair to punctuate the voices of the choir she was directing. The day she went away, I held her hands tightly and brushed the backs of her fingers across my cheek. Of all the ways I can see my grandmother's hands, I could never have imagined them waving goodbye.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
My Grandmother's Hands
When I think of my grandmother, Gigi, what I remember most often are her hands. They always seemed so small for for her 5'8" frame: her fingers were shorter than mine but they could reach a 10-note spread (I can only reach octave). My first memory is of her holding me tight: enfolded in her arms, I was safe against the world. In church, I would feel a soft but firm grip on my elbow, reminding me to sit still on the pew. When I had chicken pox, hers were the hands that blotted me with a cold, damp cloth to keep me from scratching my aching body. She would gently stroke my hair when I cried, lift my face, and remind me to keep my chin up. In my dreams, I hear the music of her hands on the piano keys, or the strings of the harp, or poised in midair to punctuate the voices of the choir she was directing. The day she went away, I held her hands tightly and brushed the backs of her fingers across my cheek. Of all the ways I can see my grandmother's hands, I could never have imagined them waving goodbye.
66 Years and Always In Love
Proverbs 31:10-31 (The Message) Hymn to a Good WifeA good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds. Her husband trusts her without reserve, and never has reason to regret it. Never spiteful, she treats him generously all her life long. She shops around for the best yarns and cottons, and enjoys knitting and sewing. She's like a trading ship that sails to faraway places and brings back exotic surprises. She's up before dawn, preparing breakfast for her family and organizing her day. She looks over a field and buys it, then, with money she's put aside, plants a garden. First thing in the morning, she dresses for work, rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started. She senses the worth of her work, is in no hurry to call it quits for the day. She's skilled in the crafts of home and hearth, diligent in homemaking. She's quick to assist anyone in need, reaches out to help the poor. She doesn't worry about her family when it snows; their winter clothes are all mended and ready to wear. She makes her own clothing, and dresses in colorful linens and silks. Her husband is greatly respected when he deliberates with the city fathers. She designs gowns and sells them, brings the sweaters she knits to the dress shops. Her clothes are well-made and elegant, and she always faces tomorrow with a smile. When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say, and she always says it kindly. She keeps an eye on everyone in her household, and keeps them all busy and productive. Her children respect and bless her; her husband joins in with words of praise: "Many women have done wonderful things, but you've outclassed them all!" Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades. The woman to be admired and praised is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-God. Give her everything she deserves! Festoon her life with praises!
War Bride
The photographer who took this picture said, "She doesn't have any idea how beautiful she is, does she?"
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