Her hands

I woke this morning thinking of my grandmother, of her hands, of my first memories of her - some of my first memories at all. I have no bad memories of her, only ones of her hands, with their sweet loving touch, always ready to rub my back, or do the dishes, whatever the moment called for. F has her sweet smile, with it's two versions: one like Mona Lisa, secretive, playful, the other a full-on, square, happy thing. Grandma never withheld her love from me and always made me feel like her "favorite". What a special gift, to make another feel like the center of the universe. I hope I can get there before she's gone...