Cherokee Sage Woman

Last night I was staring at my mother's hands that I now find myself wearing. There were times when I saw glimpses of her hands interposing w/ mine.. very few times. Because for the past 25 years I have worn artificial nails. Only when the nails were off for a self-imposed 'acrylic rest', would the mystical hand-snatching/trading/possession happen. I would look at them aghast & deride them publicly. 'You nasty old hands, you.. look how crooked those fingers are.. look at those veins. Ugh! Just for that, you get to wear no rings. You're ugly & don't derserve anything pretty. Now, how can I hide you until I get the nails put back on?' And magically, when the blood red fakes were put on.. my hands became my own again & I could speak w/ a flourish as I pontificated w/ my hands. I knew this to be true, because people would even say, 'You should be a hand model.. they're pretty.' And I would flutter my fingers provocatively & think to myself, 'Silly people, don't you know these hands are on loan & sooner or later my mother will take them over again?'
As we were preparing to make the move to TN, I decided that I wanted to get back to nature for real. I wanted to sink my hands in the dirt, plant a garden, massage the cats, wash dishes by hand. You know, things that would preclude wearing inch long daggers. So I consciously gave up the 25 yr habit of supporting my VietNamese friends.(I appreciate all your work over the yrs!) The nails were off. And I have been so busy since being here, that I hadn't given them a whole lot of thought. It's been 2 months now, & just last night did I take note that Mama was back in my hands. Only this time I was shocked to see that they weren't terribly ugly & hatefully stubby, crooked & veiny. They were strong, & supple & 'feeling'. I stroked each finger & recalled the times I'd sat as a child, avidly watching my mom's hands as she cooked, sewed, cleaned, & loved on her babies. Even at rest, her hands remained busy as she 'twiddled' her thumbs in circles, while she watched Oral Roberts on TV. Only in death would I see her hands in still repose. And even then I was thinking of myself when I sadly thought, 'I'll never feel those fingers outline the lobes of my ears as she rocked me to sleep at night'. That tactile & kinetic wonder of 'touch' that said she loved me, even when her voice didn't.
I'm wearing her hands again.. proudly this time. I'm wearing pretty rings in her honor. I'd want to make her proud.