Aging gracefully...and the zest for life!

I remember quite vividly, the warm sultry tropical afternoons at my Lola's (grandmother).  Not much to do but sit out in the veranda and catch what little breeze there might be -- if any.  Heart-shaped fan in hand and looking out into the gigantic santol tree.  Often, as I sat by her feet, she would tell me stories about her youth.  How her family, the Belen's were one of the wealthiest coconut plantation owners in Laguna and that in the early 20's their family was the only one with an automobile...and that they had a private chapel inside their home -- equipped with life-sized figures of  Christian deities.  The region primarily consisted of haciendas and farmers who worked for the family.  Living in their property, toiling the land.

She would also describe to me the mansion where she grew up, painting a picture of grandeur and excess; but by the time I came into being -- the only remnant of the glorious home is the stone staircase that became a part of another house adjoining ours.  During the lapses of quiet I would softly take my forefinger and thumb, gently pinching the loose skin of her hand...and watched how the skin would just stay pinched for a spell, the turgor gone.  Time and age had taken over.  I would often think of my Lola's hand as an ancient tree with gnarly roots of veins coursing through the expanse of her hand and up to below her wrists.  I loved the lack of firmness in her hands -- to me, it told of countless stories and treasures of ancient wisdom -- that ONLY grandparents have.  Whenever Lola or Lolo wove their tales, we their grandchildren would listen transfixed through the duration of the stories, wide-eyed and thirsty for the lesson to be learned, or the thing to watch out for next time...so we don't follow the same fate as the protagonist.

(Alamat: Philippine Myths Legend Folktales -- http:/folktales.webmanila.com)

So here I sit, forty some odd years after being transplanted from the old country.  I would often find myself gazing at my own weathered hands; testament to countless tasks working with them --

I remember when I was in my early twenties, admiring the same two hands and thinking to myself how strong, firm and beautiful they were...subjects of photographs, hung in galleries for public viewing and now this...

I would pinch my own skin, as I was wont to do my grandmother's many, many moon's ago...seeing for myself how the elastic firmness of my hands are no longer... a signal of the passing of the years and the many wisdom and stories I have collected...one day to be shared with my grandchildren who will do the same to me -- who when the time comes, will also call me Lola.