Granddaddy's hands always looked dirty no matter what he used to wash them. He owned the dry cleaners in his town and laundromats there and in the neighboring town. Granddaddy was raised on a farm but, as a young boy, worked for a dry cleaner to help bring in money for the family. I suppose it was only natural that he would go into that business for himself.
Even when his hands were clean they looked like road maps. The lines representing the roads were drawn in black oil and grease. Even his nails had splits in them. Granddaddy did all of his own repair work whether it was a washer or dryer or the boiler and everything in between. There was nothing he couldn't fix. And his hands told the story.
Granddaddy was a working man with working man's hands. You would expect that his hands were rough and gruff. But they weren't. I remember them as kind, loving, giving, gentle and trusting.
He had hands that could skillfully manuver his trusty pocketknife around an apple keeping it's peel paper thin and in one spiral shaped piece without breaking. Hands that cut the bottom of the cedar tree every Christmas so that it could be donned perfectly with lights and ornaments and stand in all it's Christmas-y glitter. Hands rested, entwined, on his belly when he napped in his big, brown recliner.
Granddaddy had hands that worked hard and loved gently. Hands that left us way too early. Hands that were not placed just right in the coffin.
Hands I loved.
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lovely post on hands--my mother loved hands and would get easily touched by the way one might hold their hands together <3
ReplyDeletelovely post on hands--my mother loved hands and would get easily touched by the way one might hold their hands together <3
ReplyDeleteWow, this brought tears to my eyes thinking of my own grandfather
ReplyDeleteLynn- Thank you! Hands tell so much. Especially the hand shake.
ReplyDeleteKim- Oh no. Sorry. I was hoping not to do that. Although I brought them to my own eyes writing it. :) My granddaddy was just the best! I still miss him though he's been gone over 30 years.
My father was a telephone man back when that meant climbing poles and being out in all weathers. He had 'outdoor' hands that could do almost anything - like your granddaddy.
ReplyDeleteMy Dad also made the best potato hash in the world - he always claimed it was his dirty hands. To keep the outdoor hands he couldn't wash them too often, apparently.
Stephanie- Potato hash???? Yes please!!! I like to see working man's hands to this very day.
ReplyDeleteAh yes...my daddy's hands. Then hands of a working man. Thanks for jogging my memory! Enjoy the rest of A-Z! http://diamondvilleclarksdennisroberta.blogspot.com
ReplyDeleteRoberta- Thanks for stopping by! Glad I jogged your memory. I think about my granddaddy's hands often. The husband has hands like that too.
ReplyDeleteOh, I love this post,such a lovely memory. Now for my hands, I wish I could hide them :)
ReplyDeleteLucy- Thank you! I know what you mean ...I feel the same way about my hands. But not my pony tail! LOL
ReplyDeleteGreat post! My father was told by a woman on a tram that he had violinists hands, but his own father wouldn't let him have lessons. This was in the early 1900s but he never forgot.
ReplyDeletelizy- Thanks! I wonder what would have happened had he been given the lessons...
ReplyDeleteLovely words about your granddaddy.
ReplyDeleteI love the story you read in his hands.
I've always been so impressed by that old apple peel trick. :-) What lovely memories of your grandfather!
ReplyDeleteOddly enough, when I attend a funeral and go to view the body (the deceased), I always focus on the hands. You're right. They do tell you a lot about a person.
This might be the most beautiful piece that you have written. I was with you the whole way. Thank you. Loved this one.
ReplyDeleteGreat post - made me remember my own grandfather's hands...
ReplyDeleteKeep up the great writing!
Happy A to Z!
What a sweet post. I can still remember my grandpa's hands too. Sweet memories.
ReplyDelete