old hands and long thoughts

i ride the bus a lot. every morning to school and every evening back. i guess i've never calculated it, but probably more than an hour is spent in the function "passenger on a noisy big bus with many people."
it's really okay. not really a big deal.

i just think a lot when i'm on the bus. oh and stare off into space-- two days ago, i was riding the regular route, somehow had managed to snag an actual seat on the bus, for once. tall sweaty people were mashed right up to me, standing, arms holding onto the metal bars over head. it's really pretty awkward to be six inches away from all the generic huge farmer-boys. so anyway i tried to purge my head of disgusting, imagine the smell away, and stare out the window. in the car next to the bus was an image that really intrigued me. it was these hands.

okay not really those particular ones, but so similar.

suddenly, i was lost. they were so beautiful to me. so strange. they were all i could see driving that little beat-up volkswagen with little sunflower on the dash. just those old hands.

mine don't look like that.
i glance down at my own. the bus pulled ahead, and made a wide turn down the next street. sunlight filtered in thorough the window on me. so smooth. so young. they really were a lie. my hands don't tell my story. they don't tell my life yet.

...they say that the first place you can tell a woman's age is by her hands. centuries of hand creams and lotions haven't been able to stop times progress on little wrinkles and furrows, made as the body looses it's natural fat stores there.

it's a sign you are dying.

i mean, not that you are going to physically keel over in the next five minutes, just that that you are following the natural order of things. an external sign that we aren't here forever. it is strange to think that you start to die the minute you are born.

i love old hands, they are so textured and crinkled and carry proud stories of life in another time. age spots and veins are like growth rings on a tree to me, telling quiet reflections of life.

i guess that they just remind me of eternity.

though they remind me we aren't here forever, they remind me that there is a Forever. though there is death in me, there is life in Him.

Then saith he to the man, Stretch forth thine hand. And he stretched it forth; and it was restored whole Matthew 12:13

chicago

just got back from chicago... with the 'just' being four hours ago. it was quite fun, dozing in out of sleep in the car, trudging around the city with my brother and mom, being asked by tourists how to get places (weird. can't people tell i'm not from there either?!) and looking at a couple groceries as well as an apartment. it was drizzly at first and then rainy. ....oh, and, talk about major fashion error: me! i had stayed up the night before trying to find something (unwrinkled) in my closet that would work for the trip. i decided on light flare jeans, the faded olive screen tee i always wear, my gold little-miss-muffet locket necklace, and my brown sholder bag. hello wrong descision. my flares sucked up water faster than capillary action, walking around those rainy streets. so nearly up to my knee was a lovely soppy dark blue while the rest of my pants remained light. it was also rather cold, so i had to wear my black fur hoodie, of which the fur was the exact color of my hopelessly humid frizzy hair.... which resulted in the illusion of hair sticking out every which way. my. i must have been a fright. thankfully i did have an umbrella... (i think we walked about two miles total). but anyway, despite my pretty major fashion blunder(s), i *did* have fun. ;) chicago is absulutely glamourous at the same time quirky. (glorious designer boutiques and street markets.... artsy appartments and skyscrapers...) my brother got an appartment with a very nice view of the city and the john hancock building. i'm happy that everything worked out.

...hmm. now just to dry out my wet shoes.