As I was reading with a small group of second graders, one of the little girls, Savannah, touched my hand and said, "You have vines just like my grandma."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Yunno, vines, those bulgy things on your hands. I have vines but you can't really see'em that good."
By now I was chuckling. The other two girls entered the discussion. One was very curious why I had vines. I explained that the vines are actually called veins and that we all have veins, but that my skin was older and thinner and that's why they could see them.
As I was listening to the three second grade girls discuss vines and hands and grandmas, I kept thinking about my mom's hands and my grandma's hands. A few years ago, I wrote a poem for my mom about our hands.
I love your post! During church each Sunday, I notice my mom's hands. I remember my grandmother's and mom's are becoming like them. Mom's hands show lots of "vines" of love and hard work. MHG
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