My grandma's hands

 Yesterday I had a 90 minute FaceTime call with my cousin, Molly.  Molly is a teacher and author and yoga instructor and is training to be a yoga therapist.  I didn't know it was a thing, but a yoga therapist uses yoga principles to help address health concerns and improve overall well-being.  (Yep, googled it.) Marianne told me about it and said she was going to meet with Molly.

I wanted in.

So we're going to have three 90 minute sessions. They will help her fulfill her training hours, but I can already tell they will help me too.

We talked about my neck/shoulder/back nonsense and she gave me some stretches to try.  We talked about healthy eating and stress management.  

She showed me some things I could do with my students to help them focus and that would also help my finger joints.

She was holding her hands up in front of the camera and I said, "Your hands are like Grandma's."

She said, "Really?  I guess I don't know what Grandma's hands were like."

I said, "I don't know what it is about them, but they remind me of hers."

It all reminded me of 26 years ago when I was up in the middle of the night with Emma.  I was rocking her and holding her tiny rosebud hand in mine.  I thought about my mom's hands caring for me and both my grandma's hands care for my parents and on and on up the matriarchal lines of women's hands.

It made me feel supported somehow.

Today, in a segue that has nothing to do with hands, we are going to Seattle.  I'm looking forward to traveling with Adam again.  I'm looking forward to seeing family and friends and spending time among the trees.  I'll breathe in all of that extra oxygen and I think it will do me good.