Hands On

I cut my fingernails last night. Every once in a while I rebel against the fact that as a pianist and a writer I have had to keep my nails short since I started playing the piano when I was three. Mostly I like it, but sometimes I just wish I could have those really clicky kind of nails that have beautiful manicures in vibrant colors that women can use as an extension of their power and confidence. The best I can do is, if I get some gift money, get a French manicure where they paint on fake fingernail edges . I really love that.

I have really long fingers although right now you can’t tell because they’re kinda pudgy. My son Isaac inherited my fingers. When he was born, the first thing I said to his father the musician was, ‘You got your bass player" His fingers are extraordinarily long and strong.

The fun fact I learned this week was that if your ring finger is longer than your pointer finger you are genetically predisposed to have osteoarthritis ( thank you guy who wrote ‘The End of Illness). Yea… well , so I’ll deal.

My pointer finger on my left hand is my favorite. For some reason known only to God, it has a perfectly shaped diamond birthmark on it. It makes me look at my hands and revel in their creation.

My hands do a lot of things. Let’s see , in the last couple of days, they’ve done some driving, steamed some chicken to extend the handmade soup a little further and poached a salmon steak from the freezer bought the last time Thriftway had one of those $4.99 a pound specials if you buy the whole fish. this morning, they brushed my teeth and my hair, helped me get my coat on, fixed a couple of breakfasts, made a couple of lunches, turned the dial on the radio to find something suiting my mood during the morning rituals, made two pieces of wheat toast with sunflower butter and cherry jam spread on top, did some private things and then got washed again after that, took clothes out of the dryer and wrote down some words in longhand.

Ah…. writing in longhand. I’ve felt foolish about that for a longtime. My brother from another mother patted one of my longhand manuscripts one time and said in a cutesy voice, ‘I used to do that when I was starting out." I appreciate his wisdom and encouragement anyway.

Research I discovered this last week makes me feel not quite so Neanderthal about being a longhand writer and a snail mail lover. Don’t get me wrong. I’m very proud of being able to type and my vocal skills are good in articulation and execution, but the act of writing in longhand apparently nurtures a part of my brain that allows me to think it good ways and do things people who don’t like to write manually can’t do as well.

When I was in college I was hired by the Dean’s office frequently to hand address important invitations or thank you notes. I love my handwriting. I worked hard at it. I make my lower case ‘a’s like Eileen Capparella did when she sat in front of me during Mrs. Calise’s history class. Eileen was a really artistic person when she was young and I envied that she could for many reasons. A. She always had her act together; everything in order and done with ease. B. She was really really comfortable with her curls and wore them in her own style. C. She didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. For me… it was those ‘a’s that sealed the deal. They look just like a typewritten ‘a’.

My connected to others, my chores and responsibilities, and my passions of children and music are all what keeps me grounded. All three of those only happen because I use my hands to engage. This year I am bound and determined to use my hands for gardening.

The other item my hands keep me connected to is my heart. I love critical thinking and mental gymnastics but my heart is where I am centered and my hands make that possible. When I can be no other place, my hands keep me present. When I am in crisis, they lead me to still waters. When I sit down to the piano and play what words can’t speak, I experience the transcendence of hands. I love that speech about hands in Romeo and Juliet.

"For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss."

Pay attention to your hands today. Remember dear sweet Helen Keller who taught us so much? She could not see, she could not hear, but she could touch, and in that touch all the world was available to her.

I’ve just put my two hands together and touched them to my lips as I lean into the screen to think on one more thought . A children’s book comes to mind. "Hands , hands, fingers, thumb, drum diddly, drum diddly drum, diddly um.’ Clap hands for all of us. Remember to write something with a pencil or pen today.

Love,
Deborah