I didn’t consider all the details involved when, Patches threw down the gauntlet and requested pictures of hands. It’s difficult it is to photograph your own hands. Really, how do you operate the camera with no hands if you are the only one home? An extremely talented big toe, perhaps? I found myself with two options. One, ask one of the bricklayers next door to take a picture for me. Two, set up the tripod, and shoot twenty or so until I got a passable result. I went with number two. If asked the laborers next door, I would want to photograph their hands, and well, that might seem awkward…. It’s only fair, I post pictures of my hands (click the thumbnail, for a better view). I’m not one to ask of others what I wouldn’t be willing to submit to myself.

My grandmother’s were the first hands I remember noticing. Hers are very distinct, with oversized knuckles from arthritis. The last joint on her middle finger is crooked, banana shaped. When I inspect my own hands, I see the beginning stages of her banana finger. The day will come when I try to flip someone off, and I point to my eyebrows by default.

My husbands hands were the first physical characteristic about him I remember contemplating. They were so much larger than my own. I don’t know if was their size that captivated me, or the way the made me feel tiny in comparison. Soft and un-calloused, a smooth touch against my cheek or cradling the small of my back. I never really felt petite until the first time he touched me.

My own hands. What can I say that you won’t be able to deduce from the picture? Some months they are covered in cuts and band-aids. I don’t like to wear gloves, because they deprive you of tactile sensations. I have scars from chisels, wood and linoleum carving tools, and kitchen knives. My knuckles have faint scars from an altercation I had with Big Bertha. I haven’t spoken to her since. I’ve trimmed my left index finger with an x-acto knife…twice in two weeks. I’ve been known to write notes to myself on the top of my hand. I’ve never had stitches because it’s always too damn inconvenient, and you can do wonders with a bottle of peroxide and a tube of super glue.

Not much of a mystery, but maybe a little history.