Ages ago when I was in school for physical therapy, they told us that when it eventually came time to examine the human body up close the hands would be the very last thing we'd encounter. This is because of their aching familiarity, a quality we often don't notice until faced with their intimate scrutiny. When dissected up close, often a poignant and unexpected humanity is revealed. In this awkward academic proximity to both life and death, at the tips of our very own fingers with our hearts as witness, hands could trigger a flood of stories and sensations because of all we have watched them touch throughout our lives. Hands are forever alive with life and memory. My grandma laughed when I took a moment to wonder at hers, how pretty and capable her long fingers were, how soft and strong they felt. She smiled, saying that they're simply good for grabbing onto things. At 93, I imagine the utilitarian nature of the body becomes very plain and that the connectio