Graf #1

White so white that my grandmother used to so say I was so pale that if I had kids they would be transparent. My skin on my hands especially is so pale and sensitive. You can see all the veins as they transverse the tops of my hands and fingers like little roadmaps. Roadmaps! That may be what the hands are perhaps they are roadmaps to the life you have lived and are living presently. They say eyes are the windows to the soul so I was trying to discover what hands are in comparison. They are basically a roadmap of where you have been and where you are going.
My hands are very dry from years of working outside as a young girl piling wood. They are cracked all over the tops from constant hand washing when I worked as a C.N.A. There is a 4 mm scar that is red and raised from an unfortunate accident with a knife while camping. It slipped and went in quite deep and required 4 stitches yet it is an unimpressive scar but definitely is pointing to a place I have been in my life. There are freckles scattered all over my hands part of my Irish heritage with my brilliant white canvas of skin to enhance them on my hands. My fingers and knuckles are relatively small for a woman of 5’10”. I have a twisted right pointer finger from an incident with a car door. There is a big scar on the base of my left hand long jagged and quite impressive. My pinky finger is quite crooked from a break. All of these aspects define parts of my journey.
Here are a few things about my hands that really tell about the road I have traveled in life. There is an indent on my left ring finger left from when I was overweight and my wedding ring and engagement ring were strangling my poor finger. I lost so much weight that now they are so big they won’t even stay on my thumb. Its strange how much smaller and slimmer they became and how my fingers shrunk 4 ring sizes with the weight loss. This is a new aspect of my hands in the roadmap of my life. I of course no longer wear a wedding ring since I’m in the process of divorce and they are far too big for my hand but that dent remains on my left ring finger. Maybe the dent is there to remind me where I have been. It’s part of the journey that I have travelled. Maybe it is there on my hand to remind me where I never want to go again ah who knows the jury is still out on that decision. There is also a mole at the very base of my left ring finger and I have always disliked that mole as it took away from my wedding ring and diamond but now it’s just there and we still are not in harmony with one another. I think I mind the mole less know that it is not interfering with the visual view of my ring. Jury is still out on mole too because I might have it removed but maybe it too will leave a mark its mark on my hand.
My fingernails or lack of fingernails is a definite indicator of my life journey. I have no fingernails at all they are down to the skin itself. I’m generally a nervous wreck and I peel them and yes I know it is a dirty habit. Also my cuticles are dry and cracked and peeling so much that I trim them off. I worked as a C.N.A. and we were not allowed to have any fingernails to avoid scratching patients and transferring germs so my cuticles are further irritated by the gloves and constant hand washing. So my hands are telling my story through a quick glance at the condition of my fingernails. I’d love to think at first glance someone would think oh I bet she works in healthcare that is why her nails and cuticles are a mess but I bet they a guess I’m nervous person. So my hands are definitely sharing pieces of who I am.
So if your eyes are the windows to your soul I’m worried because mine are pale blue and there is not much to see in them. I’m hoping that your hands and what they do and have yet to do are actually a canvas that is in the constant state of change. Maybe your hands are a good indicator of where you’ve been but a constant reminder as they change of where you are going on life’s road. Perhaps as I become older the dent will fade or maybe I will like too look at it as a reminder of my journey and what I have learned. My hands are a canvas awaiting the next dent, knife hole, crack, break, or maybe long manicured nails. I wonder what my hands will tell you about me the next time you glance at them.