These Hands

These hands used to be pale white. The skin almost transparent, the fingers thin and short with large bony knuckles, the nails short but smooth. I was never one for flashy nail polish, but I do so love my rings, one for each hand. These hands are scarred with the long thin swipes from cats' play. These hands were once smooth with only a single callous on the middle finger of the right hand.

These hands are different now.

These hands are still small and white. The nails are still short and smooth. The rings have been consigned to my jewelry box. The scars remain and have been added too--the white slice across the end of the pinky finger of my right hand, a collection of knicks on the knuckle of my thumb. The callous have expanded, from the middle finger of the right hand to other knuckles and the palm. The skin is no longer smooth but roughened and chapped. The skin around my nails peels.

They're far from lovely. They no longer resemble the smooth and soft hands of an academic. Now they speak of diapers washed, a drippy nose wiped, back rubs, loaves kneaded, meals prepared, cats claws clipped, toys retreived from under the stove, dishes washed, letters written, load upon load of laundry folded. They're not pretty, but they're busy. Working to care, comfort, support and nurture in their own small ways.

We've been getting ready for this trip to New York. I have to go and socialize with women who spend their disposable income on salons and spa treatments. Women who are put together and polished. Women who have manicured and sparkling hands. I will be expected to shake hands with them at some point. And I find myself feeling inexplicably nervous about this and rather defensive about my sad, chappy hands.

When I moved to Athens from Seattle, I kept getting lost--I've mentioned this before I think. And I was mortified that I couldn't seem to accomplish a simple thing, like getting to a given activity without needing HELP. I had to resist the urge to tell people that I am a smart girl! I graduated with HONORS! I speak 3 languages! I drove across the country BY MYSELF. I am NOT an idiot.

I feel the same sort of reaction when I think about having to shake hands and fraternize (or sororitize) with these other women. I want to look at them and say, "My hands do important work. They aren't what they used to be, but then, neither am I. There are many ways to be beautiful, one of them is to be polished and manicured and bejewled. And the other is to quietly do your work and raise a child to be kind, compassionate, funny. To make Home the place where people actually want to Live. To love others through the work of your hands, even when that means that they grow plain and rough and chappy."