I am really not thinking about this today, but wanted to share the rest of the pictures with you.
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| From Crazy as a Loom |
Did I tell you that DH took me to Paris? That man knows how to treat a girl, doesn't he?
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| From Crazy as a Loom |
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| From Crazy as a Loom |
Not much going on there, but it's the thought that counts, right?
Now this next picture is NOT a pile of marshmallows that I set up to fool you...nope, they really are huge rolls of hay. Really.
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| From Crazy as a Loom |
But now I am wondering if I could have fooled you with marshmallows?
I apologize for the blurred edges of this next one.....I just LOVE this barn.
For crying out loud, Bill, slow down!!!
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| From Crazy as a Loom |
Did I show you this next one already?
If I did, I apologize.
But the mountains along the Mohawk River are pretty impressive.
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| From Crazy as a Loom |
And here's the last one......I love this one.
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| From Crazy as a Loom |
OK, I lied.
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| From Crazy as a Loom |
Twice.
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| From Crazy as a Loom |
So after all this, a memory is what is really on my mind. For some reason, it popped into my head. I had forgotten it.
It happened long ago, probably 20 years anyway. I was working as an RN in a maximum security prison. I was in the clinic area, changing a dressing on an inmate. He started speaking in Spanish to the corrections officer that had escorted him in. The conversation went back and forth for some time, and finally, out of earshot of the inmate, I asked the officer what that was all about.
He said, " He says you are pretty, but you have ugly hands."
At the time, I was speechless. I know, hard to believe. But I was. I had never really thought of my hands being ugly.
But I guess they are. One fingernail missing since forever. Too big. Too bony. Too many visible veins. And manicures aren't exactly anything I would ever, ever do. Or care about, for that matter. They look a lot like my father's hands. Oh, dear.
So, yes, I guess I do have ugly hands.
If you look at them that way.
Then I got to thinking about my hands: they have tended babies, kneaded bread, sewn little girls' dresses, warped looms, spun yarn, woven rugs, hooked rugs,made pies to die for, dyed fabric, held other hands, planted flowers, stripped furniture (that's a whole post) taken photos,played scrabble, paddled my kayak up the river, changed gears on my 'bicula', written more words than I could count........... these hands are hard working, loving, sensitive.
These hands have served me well.
I think they are beautiful.
No wonder he was in jail.
There, now you know what I was really thinking while I showed you all those pictures.
18 comments:
Ummm....Hilary? Why didn't you have someone take pictures of your hands for us? I have seen them, I didn't think they were ugly!
I saw strong, capable hands in your weaving video. Those were hands doing creative, honest work. That's more important, I think.
Yes... if he speaks that way of a lady who is kindly taking care of him then he belongs in prison!
My hands are not all that gorgeous either. Even if they are when we are young eventually the years catch up with us and our hands are one of the first things to tell our age to the world.
Di
The Blue Ridge Gal
I will tell you, my friend, that this is a wonderful post. The trip to Paris, the blatant lies, the cool barnage (if verbage is a word, why can't this be) but best of all, the story of the prisoner and the ugly hands.
Nicely done. Not that I am an expert in any sense of the word. But good reading.
xo
Give me a pair of hands that have done something over a perfectly manicured, worthless pair of hands any time. Mine aren't pretty, either, but then again, they have created lots of pretty things, washed lots of fleeced, dug several gardens, and milked more cows than I care to remember.
I agree totally with Kate. If your hands are anything like your head and heart, they're downright gorgeous.
And you made me laugh with "No wonder he was in jail."
I have similar hands, I'll take these creative caring hands any day. Great post, and LOVE the old barns too... they don't make them like they used to.
Thanks for the chuckle ... yes, he belonged in jail. He had no way of knowing what those hands would learn to create 10 years later!
I love this post, we all need to celebrate our looks, our hands, our wrinkles, no matter where we are in life. To appreciate those wrinkles and sunspots, the memory of the scars. I have a scissors scar from the time my grandmother taught me how to make tassles, and scars from the time my cat's tail was caught in the door and I tried to pick her up instead of just opening the door! (I was 4!) Now that I'm 50, some of these are fading and I am sad about that!
Love the barns! I miss barns. I went back to my hometown last year for the first time in 16 years. When I left it was surrounded by farms, but I was saddened to find nothing but mini-malls, Wal-Marts, etc. for miles and miles. I spent an entire Sunday afternoon driving looking for farms and found not one! My best childhood memories are about playing in an around barns. What a loss!
As for hands, you have given me a different perspective about them. Mine are long and narrow with wrinkly knuckles and fragile nails that I have to keep cut short, but they create many beautiful things and I can be proud of them.
And you didn't show him the smiley faces on your knuckles? Slacker.
Loved this. :)
I pamper my hands with manicures on a regular basis. My old hands who have served me faithfully...I treat with kindness! Not ugly and nor are yours. Beautiful hands!!
Well written!
Hugs
SueAnn
Aw, what did he know? There's more to being a person, and being a woman, for that matter, than presenting a pleasing image, you know? The least valuable thing about us is our appearance, truly, because it marks such a small contribution to our world. It's nice to be attractive, and all, but how could anyone in the midst of being cared for by those hands, remark that they are ugly?
The man was judging based on the wrong criteria, that's for certain.
Or, to use the vernacular of the day: What a tool.
By the way, I particularly loved the picture of the first barn. It looks as if it ought to be stuffed silly with ghosts, doesn't it? And it looks so chilly that even the ghosts would shiver. It has a lovely, spooky quality to it, that made me appreciate being in my warm office at home.
It's fun how certain images have such easy access to sense memory, I shivered just a little bit, looking at that photograph.
Oh, and did I mention the guy judging your hands as being less than pleasing to the eye is stuck with a rather unattractive soul? Manicures can't cure that.
Congrats on POTW mention from Hilary via Kate!
I love all these photos - especially the run down buildings.
Last night, I heard a priest speaking about how his idea of Mary changed after a visit to Nazareth. He came to picture her as one of the women he met there: strong, sunburnt, no stranger to physical hardship, with hands callused from hard work.
My grandmother's hands looked like marble, both somewhat arthritic, one permanently curled by MS. I held her hand, sat by her bed, and watched her die. Twelve years later, I still think of her every day.
Even that, I would do again if I could.
Congratulations on the potw.
I enjoyed the photos - don't see anything like that around here. I was glad I kept scrolling down to read the story, too. Congrats on Post of the Week!
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