The cold has made me reflective:

I realized today that I have my grandmother's hands. The revelation was a little overwhelming to me, because I have always searched for some physical representation of my lineage, and there it was all along. So simple and straightforward. Much like the woman who's hands I inherited. What made me realize the similarity was the shape of the middle finger nail. When I was a child, I would watch her do various tasks and marvel at how she got away with pointing with her middle finger; that's why I remember it's shape. Her nails are wide, her fingers taper, and her knuckles are prominent. All of it just like I have it.

I am proud to share this part with her.

Her hands have worked hard over her 80 years of life, whether it be in a kitchen or around a farm. She probably held in her hands a letter that when opened would tell her of her brother's death in World War II. Those hands put on a blue crepe dress the day she decided to elope with my grandfather. They have held 8 children, 22 grandchildren and now numerous great-grandchildren. They have gardened beautiful flowers and delicious produce. She showed me with her hands how to cut a deck of cards. Her hands write every year in my birthday card, "I love you and am proud you are my granddaughter." Her hands have made tea, stitched quilts, and washed blue willow dishes. Her fingers still type a weekly newsletter. I watched those hands release a balloon at my grandfather's funeral. Those hands were held while she survived colon cancer. Now those hands deliver newsletters in her small Iowan town, where she greets you with them out-stretched waiting for a hug.

When I look at my hands now, I see her hands and I can feel the history they possess and the significance they have. My hands are destined for great things in all aspects of my life, just like hers were.

Now I wonder, will I too point with my middle finger one day and inspire my granddaughter like she did?