Readers Write:
Hands that tell a story
When I first meet a new person I always look into their eyes. Poets and philosophers tell us that the eyes are a window to the soul.

I think you can tell a lot about a person through their eyes. You can see happiness, healthiness, intelligence, kindness and friendliness in eyes.

The next thing I look at is hands. Farmers hands often look like gnarled old oak trees. Mechanics hands are usually tough skinned and covered with knobs and tiny cuts. Banker’s hands are soft and pudgy and well manicured. In my experience an older mans hands usually show his occupation.

An older lady’s hands are always beautiful in my opinion. The more crooked they are, the more unusual paths and roads I imagine her life has followed.

I once helped take care of a lady at West Lake Terrace who had made over 200 quilts in her lifetime. She said quilting calmed her. She said quilting was her way of expressing love to her family and friends. On her finger tips the skin was tougher, almost callused from pushing the needles in and out to make the thousands of tiny stitches in each of those 200 quilts.

Her hands were never still. They fidgeted in her lap. The cataracts in her eyes prevented her from quilting anymore.

But one day I entered her room to invite her to one of our Monday afternoon Bingo games. She was taking a little catnap in her chair, and sure enough her fingers were quilting; adjusting the cloth, smoothing the stitches, threading the needle. There was a calm contented smile on her face, and her hands were lovely.

Last week I came for my shift and could see the handiwork of my partner and supervisor. They had spent the previous afternoon manicuring nails. So I was greeted by a rainbow of glistening reds, peppermint pinks, glowing peaches, magnificent mauves, dusty roses and even some luscious lavenders.

The always beautiful hands were looking their best. Smiles and blushes and sparkling eyes answered my compliments.

And I thought of how, if a lady’s hands could speak, they could tell you her life story…..the gardens she has planted and tended and harvested. The tiny bums she has powdered. The cows she has milked. The church organ she has played. The piecrusts she has rolled and pinched. The laundry pinned up on the line. The flowers she has gathered and arranged. The tears she has soothed away. The sweaters and afghans knitted. The potatoes peeled. The bloody knees washed and bandaged. The love letters she read and answered. The windows she scrubbed with vinegar and warm water. The rag dolls stuffed, sewn and clothed. The hair braided. The hands she has shaken, or soothed, squeezed or caressed. The cats she has stroked, and the puppies she has tickled. The pages she has turned. The countless waves hello and goodbye.

The list is endless of all these things these wonderful hands have accomplished. I wish I could share with you the creativity, the comfort, and the love that these hands share with us at West Lake Terrace... if only I had a picture. Think of your mother and grandmothers hands. The picture is in your heart.

—Marnie Klein, LEA