Yesterday on the train I noticed something new about myself.

I was bored, the train was packed, and I couldn't get to my book in my briefcase without the Pomeranian of a woman next to me getting snippy, so I just sat there and tried to amuse myself, which I am crap at since I have the attention span of a four year old, and the patience of one to boot. I tried to watch out the window but I hate knowing that my eyes are zigging back and forth. I tried mentally undressing the people around me, but I got hung up on what type of underwear they would be wearing. So I looked at my hands.

And I saw a deep groove in my left hand, a jagged crease that went up from the pulsing base of my palm to the web just below my pinkie. A new line, a new crease in my hand.

This sparked a dozen thoughts in me. That I love the look of women's hands as they age. That I have very long fingers. That there's nothing more comforting than folding my hand in someone else's.

But mostly, it made me think of my Great-Grandmother, my mother's mother.

I have been fortunate in that in my lifetime 4 of my great-grandparents were alive. This Great-Grandma, my Great-Grandma Bessie and her husband, my Great-Grandpa Elmer, were my favorites. They died when I was in college, and I knew them (and loved them) well.

They were extraordinary people. They lived in a tiny house in a cramped and dangerous suburb of Des Moines, Iowa, which they had bought many, many years before that when all around them was just farm land. Every neighbor knew them. Their home was open to everyone, and in a dangerous neighborhood with troubled kids, they were the adopted grandparents to them all. Their hearts were just that big, their door always open.

Great-Grandpa Elmer had four fingers on his hand shot off during the war, and he labored with a heavy, thick, sticky cough the entire time I knew him. He suffered from Black Lung (I almost called it 'The Black Lung' there, apparently England is rubbing off on me, however not only am I not English but I hate bad grammar) from his work in a tire factory, and breathing for him became a horrible and concerning labor.

Great-Grandma Bessie had a heart the size of Montana. She was a strong woman before there were strong women, this woman really broke the mold. She had opinions about many things and wouldn't hesitate to tell you about them. She had wild white hair and an enormous bosom that one would get clasped to from time to time. Her hands were veiny and gnarled, with long fingers that slid through locks of hair with ease when you sat on her lap. Their home smelled of government cheese, vinyl, butter and the comfortable acrid smell of age.

I loved her to death. She had an enormous drawer full of jewelry-some costume, some real-and all of the kids would dress up in it, decorating ourselves like gaudy little divas. The drawer had a mass of pearlescent blue, green and purple beads that would wrap around us a dozen times and that we would play with for hours, and about a million Freemason pins and accessories (they were lifelong Freemasons. I still have no idea what that stands for).

One day she turned to me as I was sitting at the table playing with the beads and said 'Helen, you have the most beautiful profile.'

That compliment stuck with me, and stays with me still.

But Bessie also read palms. She claimed to be psychic, to know things about people that they didn't even know themselves. She would read your palms and tell you your future, her rough fingers tracing lines over your palm, her grip surprisingly firm on your wrist. I can't remember everything she said, only that she said I would have two children and live a long life. But all I know is yesterday on the train, when I saw that new line I thought of her and wanted to show her my line, to tell me what it meant. To sit in her tiny kitchen with the screen door open and the Iowa sun baking the pavement. To talk to her about my life, and see what she thought.

I went home and told Mr. Y about it all. He smiled at me. 'That crease, Helen?' It's not a new crease. It's a wrinkle. See?' he said, and showed me his palms and a few wrinkles that he had there.

I looked at my new crease.

He was right-it wasn't a new line to be interpreted and foretold, it didn't talk of my fortunes. There was no great and secret myth about this. I didn't need my Great-Grandma to tell me what it meant.

It was a wrinkle.

Fuck.

-H.

PS- I have decided I am going to get arrested if I keep reading David Sedaris on the train. I just can't stop laughing. If you haven't read him, please do. Here's a snippet from his book "Holidays on Ice":

"I often see people on the street dressed as objects and handing out leaflets. I tend to avoid leaflets but it breaks my heart to see a grown man dressed as a taco. So, if there is a costume involved, I tend to not only accept the leaflet, but to accept it graciously, saying "Thank you so much," and thinking You poor, pathetic son of a bitch. I don't know what you have, but I hope I never catch it."

This description is in the same essay where he describes his work as a 33 year old elf in Santa Land.

I love this guy.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 09:38 AM | Comments (15) | Add Comment
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1 wrinkles are like medals. to be worn with pride.

Posted by: melanie at April 28, 2004 10:11 AM (jDC3U)

2 Very true Melanie, very true. I guess it's different for different people, but age isn't a thing that worries me. Obviously by the time I get to the pissing my pants and forgetting my name stage I'll think differently, but at the moment, age is something I am looking forward to. Youth is overated. And you're very lucky to have known 4 great-grandparents. I share that good luck, as I knew 4 too. Indeed, one is still alive, my great granny who lives in west Cornwall. My great-grandad, who died when I was about 8, was a great character. I am only sorry I didn't get the chance to know him better. He fought in the First World War and got shot in the arm. We still have the X-ray that was taken at the time. He used to teach my mum and her sister how to fight like Germans with a shovel. My other great-grandfather, the one who was married to my great-granny who is still alive, died just recently. He had a great sense of humour. I'm happy that I knew him.

Posted by: Ollie at April 28, 2004 12:11 PM (SPdzF)

3 Melanie: I like that. It sounds very wise. Now if you can just help me think of a way to feel positive about those occasional gray hairs that I keep seeing more and more often you'll have really made my day :-) Helen: I've heard two different stories about why Australians call Brits POMs. One is Rob's about the sailors needing Vit C to avoid scurvey. (Hi Rob, greetz) The other is that when they transported convicts to Australia their paperwork would have "POM" stamped on it: short for "Prisoner of Her Majesty". I have no idea which one is true. For all I know they both contributed. Bo & Luke/Roger & Jim: You're right. The Guardian probably just made it up. George W never peppers his speeches with Christian fundamentalist buzz words and there are no religious nutcases down south or anywhere else in the States. All those stories in tabloid papers like The Times (the London Times: not the one with Jason Blaire), the Guardian and the Sydney Morning Herald about the States being the last industrialised nation where a large % of the population rejects the Theory of evolution were made up. My apologies.

Posted by: Steve P at April 28, 2004 12:17 PM (4F7DY)

4 Steve, I'm not sure what your deal is here. The Guardian article you referenced asserted that Bush is trying to fulfill fundamentalist Christian prophecy in the Middle East. That's about as moonbat loony a story as I can think of. So yes, I do look at it as dangerously biased and fabricated garbage printed in tabloid fashion. Because that is what it is. I called you an ass not only for using that piece but for your extremely annoying habit of carrying your conversation over to the most recent post where it has nothing to do with the subject at hand. That's just plain rude and makes it very difficult for people to follow or follow-up. Helen - With a wrinkle or a line, you're still supah fine! ;-)

Posted by: Jim at April 28, 2004 01:34 PM (IOwam)

5 I am sad when I see people in NYC dressed up as cell phones or food products. It sad what we do to people in the name of money.

Posted by: drew at April 28, 2004 02:04 PM (CBlhQ)

6 But can David Sedaris write sentences like "Their home smelled of government cheese, vinyl, butter and the comfortable acrid smell of age." or "Proof that all we want in life is a good cuddle, a good orgasm, and to have both with someone we care about."? Those smells take me back to my grandfathers farmhouse in Maryland where you could wake up to a thousand starlings chirping incessantly for more proof.

Posted by: Roger at April 28, 2004 02:33 PM (8S2fE)

7 Helen, I too was lucky enough to know one of my Great Grandparents, my mom's mom's mother. I only remember a little about her, very small, and so quiet I can't for the life of me recall her ever saying a word. She was 98 when I was born, and lived until I was 5. I probably won't have a whole lot more to say when I am 102 or 103 either =)

Posted by: Dane at April 28, 2004 02:56 PM (ncyv4)

8 Great story Helen. I was born in Des Moines and most of my relatives still live there. Sadly, I was back there this past February to bury a Grandmother with hands much like those of your Great-Grandma Bessie.

Posted by: gymrat at April 28, 2004 03:12 PM (nnOa7)

9 I only got to really know one great-grandparent. My grandmother's mother. She was self-proclaimed "Salt of the Earth" Half French-Half Shawnee woman, though a lot of her outlook was colored by her late husband, who was an off-the-boat Black Irishman. When she passed, one of my great-aunts said that we couldn't have a wake for her, since she wasn't Irish... of course, we still had it, but to appease my aunt, we didn't call it a wake.

Posted by: amber at April 28, 2004 03:54 PM (iJZeQ)

10 We have something in common: A great-grandfather named Elmer. Another thing we have in common: An unusual amount of living grandparents. I had seven living grandmothers growing up (two grand, four great-grand, one great-great grand) as well as an assortment of grandfathers and a sort of "step-grandmother". I also notice my hands are looking a little older, but not much as I notice the first wrinkle on my face, which no one else notices because I look ten years younger than I am!

Posted by: the girl at April 28, 2004 04:51 PM (IglhY)

11 Hey...I really like what Melanies said. I earned every last one of these bitches and behind each one is a story. Yah...it's hard for most to see them but I look at myself every day and I can see the faint lines. Which David Sedaris are you reading? I just finished, "Me Talk Pretty One Day" about a month ago. You are right....he is a funny writer. Anyway...back to it..your wrinkle is not just a wrinkle and even if your great grandmother would not have been able to "read" it in the traditional sense of palm reading...your wrinkle is like a line on a map which represents the roads you have traveled.

Posted by: Serenity at April 28, 2004 04:53 PM (3g7Ch)

12 Helen, I read your blog every day (time permitting) and love it. You write beautifully. So, it was kind of fun for me to see you writing about your train rides to work when I had also recently written about mine, in New York. I include a link if you are interested: http://randompensees.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_randompensees_archive.html#108306812485214977

Posted by: Random Penseur at April 28, 2004 07:27 PM (LlPKh)

13 Wrinkles, ugh, oh yes I know wrinkles. But do not fear they are not bad things. They are the signs of maturity, experience, and livng a full life. It is that some of us are gained maturity, experience and a fuller life quicker than others. Don't know if I agree that they are "medals" of pride, I have some in places that on one would want to look at with anything but fear mixed with laughter. I envy you, as I lost all my grandparents by my teen years and never knew my greatparents at all. I would have loved to talk to them about their early lives. Keep those memories close and bring them out often. You know how I feel about my kids, I would not trade our memories for all the money in the world. I have never read Sedaris, but you can bet your bippy I will before the leaves fall this year. Just a few thoughts from an old......

Posted by: greyheadedstranger at April 28, 2004 08:26 PM (AlS1Q)

14 A lot worse things can happen as a person ages. I believe that an open, heartfelt smile, especially with wrinkles, is the truest mark of God's blessing. Unfortunately, I am finally without Grandparents -or Parents, for that matter. Living in Des Moines does not make up for the loss. But I do have children soon to have their own. I hope to have a ready smile and an open heart when they need me most. You're still beautiful. And I'm sure there are many who appreciate that. +

Posted by: Jeff Gitchel at April 29, 2004 02:07 AM (o6ULG)

15 how lucky that you got to know your great grandparents! wonderful memories. and yeah, david sedaris is a riot. and hell, laugh away on that train. in my humble opinion, the world needs more laughter, however they can get it. xoxo

Posted by: kat at April 29, 2004 04:01 AM (FhSIP)

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