Since the start of the pandemic, I start each yoga class with a dedication. How I love coming up with the dedications! How I learn from the dedications! And how I love the comments my yoga students make (via email, texts, or Facebook) when they are moved by a certain dedication.

Today’s yoga sessions were dedicated to Body Blessings. “Body Blessings” was inspired by Seattle’s Gary Howse, co-founder and hair stylist of Gary Manuel Salon Seattle, philanthropist, and mentor. Gary called this blessing the “Marge” Lesson. Marge, his massage therapist, found a simple way to show Gary that she was there for him by offering a Body Blessing. Basically, in life you can find simple ways to show people you love them, that you are there for them, and that you are there to help them. Here is how Marge’s blessed Gary’s hands as she concluded his massage therapy session: Bless these hands because they bring to the world all things beautiful.”

And that very hand blessing permeates the very essence of the following re-post of a blog entry I wrote a few years ago in honor of my parents. Those of you who have been following my blog posts for years, may recognize it.  It is one of my favorite blog posts:

Re-Post

Thinking about my mom and dad today.  April 25th was the date of their wedding anniversary. They always celebrated their anniversary.  They bought gifts for each other and often went out for dinner while my sisters babysat me. Being the youngest in the family, the caboose, I always felt that my parents had already had a lifetime of marriage and had experienced many complicated life experiences together well before I was ever born. I was born hearing their stories of growing up in their Sicilian village, of the early days of their marriage in Grotte, of the later years in Liege, Belgium where, for thirteen years, my dad worked as a coal miner, of their time in Boston, and of their settling in Gary, Indiana, where I was born.

They passed away within 12 months of each other. I know it sounds strange, but though I know they are deceased, I like to imagine they are on vacation, far off, in some exotic land, having such a grand time that they have definitively put off coming home!

The close up photograph of my parents hands was taken by my nephew John.  I am very fond of this photo.  It is so unbelievably beautiful. Their hands tell a story.

My parents got married in their hometown Grotte in Sicily on April 25, 1948.   Today, on my parents’ wedding anniversary, I think of them, of their undying love and respect for one another, and of their loving amazing hands.

(above) This is how I will always remember my parents.

Below (the early days in Grotte, Sicily):

The most beautiful hands in the world are not manicured, soft, and bejeweled.

They are lined,

calloused from coal mining,

encrusted with farmed earth.

They smell of onions and garlic.

They are stained with tomato sauce from canning,

dotted with wet bread dough,

snagged from knitting and crocheting socks, scarves, hats, baby blankets and sweaters.

They are sticky from picking apples, figs,

pears, peaches, plums, almonds, walnuts, and berries.

Their fingers are pierced from embroidery and sewing.

Sometimes they are covered with meat and fennel from sausage making

or sprinkled with wine from the press.

They have made countless meals.

These hands are strong, full of expression,

fearless, protective, hardworking, providing,

worn to the bone.

They are firm and gentle

and have held, caressed, fed, and cleaned many babies and children.

Yes, they are kind beautiful hands.  They speak.  They tell a story.

In honor of mom and dad’s wedding anniversary: April 25, 1948 — to eternity