Grandma’s Arms

I’ll bet we all have those “aha” moments when something from our past suddenly makes sense. Like the woman who told me she couldn’t stand to use a hair dryer because it triggered such severe hot flashes. Then I didn’t get it. Now I do.

When I look into the mirror I see my grandmother. Not because I look like her, but because my arms and neck do. My grandmother had a good but hard life. As a 7 year old orphan she was “taken-in” by a farm family so they had some household help, that was common then and they were good to her.  She did hard physical work there, then later as a dairy-farmer’s wife during the depression, and then again as a school cook after my grandfather was debilitated by heart disease. My grandma was short and kind-of stocky, but she was solid muscle and I thought she was beautiful. In her later years, when life granted her the luxury of less physical work, her muscle retreated and her arms became flabby.  She was probably my age now. I remember her looking into the mirror and telling me “take care of your neck and your arms or you’ll hate them later.” I was young and I didn’t get it. Now I do.

When I was overweight I covered my upper arms at all times, even when I was melting in the heat. Now, after two years of weight loss and exercise, from the correct angle my arms look a little sculpted. But if I hold them straight out from my body they hang. My neck is wrinkled. I dislike how they both look. I am registered to be an organ donor when I die and I’m sure I have enough skin to help more than one burn victim. I briefly considered plastic surgery but I can't see volunteering for surgery so I have convinced myself my arms are reminders of my past. A reminder of the perils of weight gain and a fond reminder of my grandma.

I hope there is a granddaughter in my future who thinks I’m beautiful and who heeds this advice coming across 4 generations – “take care of your neck and arms or you’ll regret it later.” Then I’ll wrap her warmly in my over-sized arms just like my grandma did.

Day 26 and counting.

P.S. I go sleeveless anyway. I’m tired of being hot.