My Hands

I looked at my hands tonight and the first thought I had was when did they become old hands. They used to be soft, smooth, and have a nice manicure. The years of life are not supposed to show on them. I get a chuckle as I look at some of the history on them though. The scar on the back of my hand caused by putting my hand through the glass in the bathroom door when I was irrationally mad. I have no idea what I was even mad about, but it must have been pretty important at the time. Another scar from dropping a stretcher on my hand so we didn't drop the patient. At least I can be a little proud of that disfiguration. Small hands and short fingers are a link to my grandmother who has been gone for many years, but had hands exactly like mine are right now. Dry skin and hangnails are a constant reminder of the fact that I have spent many cold winters in Maine and make me wonder if I will ever be somewhere where the winter will be kinder to my hands.