If you hadn’t noticed, there’s been a bit of a theme the last two days on Square Piece. Hands! (If you read Our WalMart Love Story, you already know that I’ve got a soft spot for hands.) Well, you guys, looking towards Mother’s Day (or Grandmother’s Day), I thought it would be fun to hold our first ever contest & giveaway!
In as few or as many words as you would like, picking up where I left off in yesterday’s post, reply to today’s post by finishing the sentence, “If my mother’s hands could talk…” (For those of you who’d prefer, you may certainly choose to write about your grandmother instead.) Entries must be received by Saturday, April 20th, 2013. Your entry can be simple, short and sweet or the complete opposite, the likes of which you might’ve submitted in a creative writing class. The size of the submission will have nothing to do with how the winner is determined.
What will happen next:
I’ll select ten of my favorite entries and hand them over to a few impartial, “blind” judges whose votes will determine the winner.
What happens if your entry wins?
1) Your entry will be posted as Square Piece’s Mother’s Day special. (Won’t she love to see that?!)
2) You’ll be sent two Beauti Control Spa Manicure mini kits, the hand products that I tested and reviewed in this post, one for you and one for your mother/grandmother! Fun, fun! (Obviously, if your mother has passed, I’m so sorry and you can gift the extra set to whomever you’d like to bless!)
they would be holding her Bible, cutting out fun sayings from magazines, crocheting, comforting, canning, playing Skip Bo or Rummicube, clapping in joy to see loved ones in her driveway—in other words, busy and alas in my Memory.
They would tell you a story!
I remember always being fascinated with my mothers hands. You see, she burnt one in a grease fire when I was just a few weeks old. I thought when I was little that one hand was young and the other was old. I remember always sitting on her lap and just wanting to play with her hands–hands that have done so many things…
They have made a ton of Christmas gifts when we had no money for anything else…
They cloth diapered us when we were young…
They baked Christmas treats and cookies…
They made almost all of her children’s birthday cakes…
They held my father when he was sick…
They held my Sister when she was in the hospital…
They helped us through delivering our children…
…my mother’s hands.
Thank you! Loved this.
Well I have nothing to submit for this challenge but think it is funny in an odd way that there may be a genetic need for us to pen thoughts about our loved ones body parts… I wrote a poem YEARS ago… about grandmother Finch, your great grandmother, (who by the way LOVED your mother so much!), and my mother kept this poem and apparently sent it to her sister, Aunt Marilyn. When grandmother died they asked if they could print it in the meomorial program… so it is rough but here it is.. you could exchange “arms” for “hands” easily!
I sit and watch her from across the room. her hands move quickly with an ease, a knowing as she patiently, silently, creates.
The yarn pulls and obeys. I’ve seen thismotion countelss times… as far back as I can remember.
I watch her arms,
Heavy, soft and warm…
moving with the needle…working.
I notice they are deeply lined,
keeping time like a clock.
Arms that embrace freely, lovingly.
I remember the arms washing dishes
over a hot sink; pulling down towels from the clothesline; hulling peas; working, lovingly,
Reaching for me to pull me into her…
Never pushing away.
I can see her arm waving good-bye as I leave.
It waves until I am out of sight…
After I sent the old poem about grandmother Finch I decided to write about My mother! A wonderful, beautiful, fun, woman!
I recall sitting in a church bench, distracted, staring at my mother’s hands. Her wedding band was beautiful to my eyes, and she allowed me to spin it on her finger and take it off, put it on my own hand. It wasn’t until much later in life that I realized it was very simple and practical, much like my mother. Don’t get me wrong. Mom is very intelligent, but there is an intense simplicity about her. She is beautiful and natural. She never spent time applying makeup. Her hands were always busy cleaning, cooking and caring for others. She packed my lunch like other mothers, but unlike other mothers she wrote a poem or a note of encouragement on my napkin… every day! Her hands sewed clothes for me and my dolls. My dolls had Easter dresses that matched mine! Her hands have always cared for others; her husband, her children and grandchildren, and for 20 years, her own mother. Her hands spend countless hours crocheting and quilting for others. She donates endless time to her church and missionary work. I tease her because she wrings her hands to relieve her anxiety. She worries because she cares. Her hands, like her are beautiful and creative always serving her God.
Loved the poem, but so glad you decided to write about your mom, too!
i will enjoy reading everyone’s submissions
My Mom, like many other Moms, kept her hands busy with housekeeping, gardening, crocheting, cooking, sewing, typing, chauffeuring and looking after her family. There was a time though, when her hands sat idle for days and weeks. Twenty-five years ago, I was driving my Mom to see her family doctor. We were hardly a block from the house when she tried to tell me something, but I could not understand anything she said and she became more and more anxious. I had no idea what was happening, but I sensed the urgent need of getting her to the hospital as fast as possible. She had a stroke and ended up being admitted to the hospital and then spent months in rehab. That very Sunday was Mother’s Day.
I watched as my Mom worked hard to regain everything she lost from that stroke. Simple things, like holding a spoon, cutting vegetables and picking up a cup. She had to relearn how to hold a pen and write her name. She also had to learn, around the same time as her grandson, who was turning one, how to talk and walk again. There were some things she could not do anymore, they required too much concentration, like crocheting or reading a novel. When she became tired she would start to limp a little. Over time her hands took on a different role, where she did less demanding or physical work, leaving that for the younger folks. Instead, she picked up more nurturing tasks, looking after the needs of her husband and elderly neighbors. These days I’m reaching out to hold her hand, to steady her, to comfort or encourage, the way she held mine when I was a child. She still has a strong grip, it matches her determined spirit.
I am so glad Magnolia submitted the poem about Mother that I wanted to and could not find.
Oooooh, yes. The stroke. Wow. Ma is such a strong woman!
Wow to mom’s post about Ma! <3 <3 <3
In High School, my mother played piano and my father sang. Although from different socio-economic neighborhoods, they both attended Cark Schurz in Chicago. My father needed an accompanist for practice and performance. When he met my mother, they blended words with melody and love was
My mother’s hands and my father’s voice ultimately resulted in my life.
I’m so glad that they met, and that they met through music!
If my mother’s hands could talk—well, that would be something pretty miraculous, since she doesn’t have hands. Not in the way you think of hands, anyway. See, my mother’s a dragon. And before you get all huffy accusing me of Evil Lies and Dirty Daughterly Tricks, let me tell you it’s a compliment, and her tiniest talon coaxes more magic out of a day than all my four legs, pea-sized brain and rotten heart combined.
First off, she’s the best treasure hoarder of anybody I know. She’s got rubies, diamonds, sapphires, you name ‘em, sky-high gleaming mountains of children she’s loved into the Book of Life over the years. Me, I’m going to be grateful to sneak into eternity with selfish smoke curling at my heels. But when she flies through those gates, they’re going to need Mack trucks to haul in her cache.
Second, ohhhh I wish you could see her fly. She thinks she’s a pretty ordinary looking dragon, that she blends in with rocks and dirt and sand, but let me tell you, when she stands mountain-top and stretches those wings out, it’s like watching a poem burst to life all gold and fire like the rising sun. She’s made a hundred blankets or more for orphans, faithfully bleached toddler toys after class, done secret things like dropping off a sparkling new washing machine when somebody’s old one broke, and given, given, given of herself til (though she can’t see it) even at high noon she sparks off bits of glory.
I could go on, but since you’ve got more important stuff to do than listen to me yammer, I’ll just say one more thing. Most of us dragons are the clumsy, stupid sort who spend our days scratching around in the darkness feigning greatness. But she’s the real deal, a Queen in disguise with royal connections of her own. A lot of people say they know the Emperor but couldn’t tell you a thing about him. She, on the other hand, doesn’t bother name-dropping, not like that, anyway. Doesn’t need to, when they’re close friends the way they are. Sometimes when she talks, you can tell it’s his words coming out of her mouth. Her face lights up when she talks about him, too, in a way that even the deepest draconian flames never could.
So if her hands could talk—well, I guess they just wouldn’t need to. One of these days trumpets will do it for her.
Very intriguing! Thank you!
My mother’s hands..wow…if they could talk. I’m almost certain they would say “I was never meant to bury my mother, my daughter and my husband. I was never meant to care for so many cancer patients in my life. Not sure if I was supposed to make so many meals for my big family and sometimes people we just took in. These hands have changed probably a million diapers, cleaned an uncountable number of noses and so on and so forth. I am sure that when I was in an accident I was grateful for the ONE hand that was still working until the rest of me healed. I am glad these hands are raising my first grandchild and helping with the other two. I am glad after 60 (some odd) years my hands now are finally praising God and taking notes in church.”
My mother’s hands did not hold me till I was 3 years old. See I was a chosen child not a birth child. In 40 years, those hands have tucked me in, held me as I cried and wiped my tears. They have helped emphasis lessons and brought laughter to my life. Her hands helped to teach me to be a provider before the family I would one day be blessed to have. Her hands chose a 3 yr. Old who felt scared and unsure and taught the 3, 13, 23, 33, and now 43 year old child to love and embrace and use my hands to love and nurture.
I love this post. I too did not hold my sons until they were 3 and 1. They too were chosen like you. I can assure you that you have always meant to be cared for by your mother and she is blessed to have a daughter who loves her back. I vote for your post!
Such a wonderful blessing.
My mother’s poor hands had to spank me so many times it a miricle they arn’t swollen to this day. Maybe its because after every spanking those same hands always hugged me tight even when I didn’t want them to.
I can hear them saying, “I’m doing this because I love you.”
If my mother’s hands could talk….well, that’s not that hard because my mother’s hands do talk. While she’s not deaf, she learned how to sign years ago and has interpreted for our church even in the many years since we actually had a deaf member. This has opened her up for one of the greatest experiences of her life – going to the Caribbean Christian Center for the Deaf on mission trips. I was blessed to go with her and other members of my family twice. Then I got to see her hands speak to little children, teenagers, and young adults. I got to see her hands show the love of God to these people. I got to see her hands in their element, sharing the best part of her many talents. My mom is beautiful when she signs. I’m so thankful that she took the time to learn this language and share her gift with others.
“My mom is beautiful when she signs.” I like that.
I vote for Ginny because it reminds me of my daughter’s hands–which are attached to a very loving heart.
With her hands raised, Praise the Lord!