Hands on...

Back again, trying to make up for lost time! As I was watching my fingers tapping over my new keyboard I was given cause to muse about the precious gifts of our hands. (Obviously I never learnt to touch type, as in my day girls who were deemed not to be  academic did a "commercial" matric learning shorthand and typing to place them in secretarial positions, whilst the rest of the gang got to wrestle with maths and science and a one sided view of our history, with the choice of going teaching or nursing. How I wish I'd  learnt to type properly rather than having to struggle with subjects which were of absolutely no interest or use to me, and which barely stand me in good enough stead to calculate the calories in a Mars bar or test the pool water. Ah well, how much better it is for today's young women, who are able to choose from a broader spectrum of subjects, receive decent careers guidance and have a mind boggling, if somewhat daunting selection of careers options.)

But forgive me as I digress, so easily sidetracked is your feather brained Suzy Q. Back to hands, my chosen topic for today, those extensions of our bodies which set us apart from all other mammals and primates. They are capable of so many feats, from gross to fine motor movement, and they can convey our emotions even when we are poker faced. Our palms sweat when we are nervous or afraid, we wring our hands when anxious or grief struck, they tremble as they open an important letter or door in our lives and they express love in so many different ways. Anger too if one has a violent inclination. Hands are comforters, a simple touch can mean so much, and a pat on the head of a dog creates canine heaven. I'm also inclined to think that the skills as contained in our hands determine the type of work we do. Think artist, writer, sculptor, potter, doctor,  nurse, physiotherapist, dentist, sportsman, actor, chef, waiter, artisan, the list goes on and on...

I think also of the romance of hands; how we feel secure holding the hand of a parent or older sibling as a child going into a shop or on our first day at school. The thrill of holding a pencil and seeing letters taking shape which enable us to write and communicate in our mother tongue. Hanging onto monkey bars and doing handstands, learning to swim and riding a bike are all dependent on the use of our hands. Then during the early romantic years, what bigger thrill than to hold hands with the object of your desires, all the better if it happened in the back row of the movies, and to be seen to be walking hand in hand was a public declaration that you were indeed "going out" with him. 

Then, when love becomes more intense, it is the tender stroke of a hand across a face which says it all and more, or having one's face held in the two hands of one's beloved in a lover's cup prior to a life changing kiss. Who then hasn't gone to a fortune teller to have one's palm read to find out if he will or won't propose, or if he is indeed the one for you?

It is hands which are joined in prayer, and which are held during a wedding ceremony as the binding of souls on the long road to marital harmony and parenthood, and the rings which are exchanged in a promise of faithfulness go onto the ring finger with a direct connection to the heart. And if one is lucky enough, those hands will be cupping an enlarged belly whilst you wonder about the lucky packet contents contained therein, and will one happy day be cradling a beautiful baby. The fruits of love and labour.

The child becomes mother and marvels as ten little fingers unfurl and grow and grasp and explore. You wash little hands before meals, stick them in pots of paint to encourage creativity, teach them to turn pages carefully and learn to love and respect books. Your own hands, rougher and wrinkled, mop fevered baby brows, wipe dirty little botties and snotty little noses, and cook and wash and clean and drive for many years to come for those precious offspring. Till it's time to hold their hands as they start their first day at school, and they don't want to let go of your hand as they begin the long, slow journey away from you. All too soon, the day comes when the very last thing in the whole world they want is to be seen holding hands with you, and you try to hide your pain behind a bright smile. Knowing it is right in the great scheme of life. And then in turn, holding the hands of loved ones as they embark on their journey into the next life, and hoping and praying that there are hands outstretched to welcome them... 

Our hands are our heritage, our lifeline, our form of self expression, our life's work and our show of love. Look after them and use them well and never take them for granted.


Love and thanks as always for taking time to read my blog, hope you all have a wonderful weekend.


Suzy Q 

Ps. Who says elephants, my favourite animals (aside from Rex and Mr SQ) aren't evolved from a higher species? Just look at the mother "holding" her  baby's hand and leading her to safety.