Be Where Your Hands Are

A mantra for summer ~ free from expectations or anxiety.
Guide my hands to align my intellect with God's will. Focus. 
I will be where my hands are.

Today marks five years since my Grandma Ruby's death. Next month will mean ten years without my Grandma Katherine. Along with my cousins and our parents, I still miss the comfort and dignity of their love. Living a life they could approve of is one of my stronger desires.

Veronica Suzanne, our first November baby

We recently had a pet laid to rest, a milestone I can't quite face on the poetic plane yet --- but a quick depiction of my Grandmas' differences is their approach to precious kitties. Grandma Katherine would've termed them exactly that, with the regal Peaches and Plummy reigning in her Minnesota home for nearly twenty years. Just as tender is Grandma Ruby's response to seeing Stella, our cross-eyed , wiry little Red Point Siamese.  Although she was thoroughly Californian by the time I was born, Grandma Ruby's voice always hinted at wry Texan debutante:
"what -- is that?"
"That's Stella, Gramma."
"Weyhll, you need to get rid of it."

That was at least twelve years ago, and I still laugh when I tell the story. Last night my husband said to my giggling recount, "...She was right."

But Stella's at my side this very moment, so my hands will guide the rest of me today --- every gesture increasing the distance from life with Oscar.