As I mentioned Monday, over the weekend we made a quick trip to visit some family.  When I sorted my photos after the trip I noticed that several of the photos focus on hands.  My hands full of M&Ms…

…and my baby nephew.

My baby nephew’s hands full of cantaloupe his daddy had just picked from the garden.

I also have a video of him noshing this melon, but because I’m using the free version of WordPress I can only upload this blurry photo.  Still hilarious, though, right?

Then there’s my niece, this adorable little “handful.”  She can talk—and scream!—and even sing now.  She’s cute and ornery in fairly equal proportion.  Maybe a little more cute than ornery.

And these not-so-little handfuls.  Those are my gorgeous sisters and their guys, except we’re all mixed up because it was midnight and someone was being silly.

Then there’s my wedding ring, a symbol I wear constantly on my hand.  Lovey and I had it cleaned and re-rhodiumed at the store where he bought it.  It looked so pretty and new when I got it back an hour later that I kept staring at it like I’d just gotten engaged!

Speaking of wedding rings, the most meaningful story from this trip centers on Lovey’s grandparents holding hands.  A little background first.  We planned our trip after we learned Grandma had been placed in hospice care.   During our visit we sat with her for two hours, telling her about the family, the Olympics, the weather, and whatever else came to mind.  She leaned back against her pillows, unable to communicate with us except by moving her hand or changing her facial expression.  Winks were abundant, as were smiles and kisses.

Sad as it was to see such an independent-spirited woman lying mostly helpless, it was also refreshing to watch the afternoon unfold with Lovey’s grandpa in control.  Grandma has pet subjects, and the whole family knows what they are.  But as she sat silent, suddenly Grandpa had the chance to focus on his favorite subject—their love.  He reminisced about their meeting, courtship, and engagement.  He talked about the early part of their marriage and told us proudly that they’ve been married for almost sixty six years.

Through it all Grandma, who barely let her husband squeeze in a word edgewise the last time we visited, just beamed at him.  They gripped each other’s hands and every so often she beckoned him closer for kisses.  He actually got sheepish about it after a while, saying she was “acting like we’re still courting!”

Their history has given them so much in common: age-spotted, bruised skin on their intertwined fingers; knowing looks in their eyes; and love uniting their spirits.  Their intimate interaction is the sort of thing a person doesn’t photograph.  Yet it’s also the sort of thing that embeds its image in an observer’s memory.  I hope when Lovey and I are wrinkled and worn out like these two we can still draw inspiration from their loving legacy.