A Nail Polish Destiny

I wrote the following story back in December. Tomorrow is Nail Day and I wanted to share this with all of you.

A Nail Polish Destiny

by Marna Fahrney on Sunday, 18 December 2011

Have you ever done something that felt like destiny, like you've either always done it or have done this particular thing in another time or place? As if it just fits and feels like home?  I can't recall exactly how I became the Nail Girl at Settler's Park, one of our local assisted living facilities. Almost an entire year ago I signed up to volunteer to read to the seniors every other week. And somehow, out of that, came an entire bag of nail polish, cotton balls, nail files, cuticle oil, and lots of music from the 40's and 50's.
Their activity room is located in a large open area just past the main entrance and directly in front of the dining room. There are two long tables lined up end to end with a couch behind them. Each week, when I arrive, nail bag slung over my shoulder, my ladies are lined up on one side of the table. I never would have thought that getting your nails done would be such a popular thing to do. What a warm greeting I receive when they notice me. I quickly get set up, knowing that I only have a couple of hours before they go to dinner and I don't want anyone to be left out. I have even filed and clipped nails on some of the gentlemen residents (which they thoroughly enjoy). They have all decided that their favorite part of the entire experience is the last step...lotion. I use cocoa butter lotion and massage it into their hands. Proof again that human touch is healing in many ways. I try not to rush this part because I know how they enjoy it. I only spend an average of six hours a month with these ladies. I wish I could be there more , it doesn't seem like enough, yet in that short amount of time, I feel like we've become such great friends.
We laugh together, about all sorts of silly things. We sing along with the songs that play on my radio. I have stations that I know they will enjoy, like Dean Martin, Perry Como, Loretta Lynn and their latest favorite, Doris Day. A few weeks ago, there were several conversations going on at the table while I was busy filing, clipping and painting nails  when Que Sera, Sera came on the radio. First it was one lady singing along. Then two, then the rest joined in on the chorus. A table of 16 women, most in the 70's or older, all singing,
"Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be."

I had tears in my eyes. Not because of our impromptu sing-a-long, we actually sounded quite good, but because I was realizing how precious this moment was. Each of these women has come from a different background, each has their own story, and each of them now live in this retirement facility. Even if they wouldn't have been friends in their younger years, they are finding common ground now, and seeming to enjoy the small, special things that life brings their way. There was such joy in that moment. I will never hear that song the same way again.

I hear such great stories in those few hours. Stories of young love, marriage, raising families, children and grandchildren. Some are still married, most are widows. But each and every one of them has a story to tell. And much love to give. We've laughed till our sides hurt, we've shed tears when one passes away, we've worried when another is not at the nail table due to illness. They have become a family, and I'm somehow included in that. How fortunate am I?
This started as a simple way to give back. I've always loved spending time with seniors. Growing up, I was incredibly close to all four of my grandparents. This is just an extension of my love for them. And now, after a year of twice a month nail visits, I have found friendship, love, affection and a deep appreciation for these beautiful women. I see past the wheelchairs, the walkers, the memory loss, limbs that don't move the way they used to. In my mind and heart, they are young women, falling in love, helping their children with homework, in their kitchens cooking meals, with endless supplies of energy, living life to the fullest. Age is only a number. Beauty is where you find it and I've found it here with my lovely friends. This is my destiny. I know when I walk through that door on Wednesday afternoons, that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Close to my Heart

Spinning, twirling, and tracing the outline of the stones in Grandpa's turquoise ring as I sat next to him on the couch, my chubby little fingers, touching his strong, weathered hands. I loved that ring. He didn't wear it often but it still seemed to be a part of him. It symbolized his spirit, kind, generous, loving and strong. Both he and Grandma loved turquoise jewelry. We would often go camping in the Sierra Nevada mountains and there were several little shops that carried Native American goods and turquoise jewelry. If their good friends Noel and Vera were camping with us, we had to be sure and stop because Vera loved Minnetonka  Moccasins. She always had a pair in her trailer and they looked so comfortable.On one of these trips, they bought me a small and simple ring, something appropriate for a little girl. I treasured that ring and wore it almost everyday. I remember when the stone developed a crack across the center and I had to stop wearing it. It was just about too small for me at that point but I think I would have gladly switched it to my pinky finger just so I could continue wearing it longer. Fast forward to two years ago...I now have my own business. One of my clients gave me the best gift ever. She went on vacation to Arizona and chose a turquoise ring almost exactly like my original, and I wear it on the same finger. She did not know the story of my ring or how much it meant to me. I opened the box and almost cried. I am in awe that life has a way of bringing you back to special times and involving new people in the journey. What a precious gift she gave me, without even knowing the entire background story. I wear that ring each day and while it's not the exact same ring that Grandma and Grandpa gave me, it brings a smile to my heart and comforts me.
Grandma Myrt had a wonderful collection of turquoise. She was always so careful in her purchases. She never wanted to appear gaudy or tacky in any way so she would only wear one or two pieces at a time. She was petite and I remember her saying that one should never wear overly large jewelry, even costume jewelry. She said that it would overpower our natural beauty. I loved looking at her hands and touching her rings. She had the most beautiful and elegant hands that I have ever seen. She was 52 when I was born, not necessarily old but not a young woman either. I've often wondered how different her hands were when she was twenty-one and first married. I can remember each crease, each wrinkle, every line, and how her rings fit on each finger. I must have appeared strange while staring at their hands. I don't know why I was so fascinated by their hands and their rings. I'm glad that I have those visual memories stored in my heart. I can see my grandpa Zim's hands holding a pencil, working on a design project at his drafting table in the garage. I can see Grandma's fingers glide across the keys of her organ and hear the occasional click that her long nails make as they touch the ivory. She took lessons and practiced almost daily, a hobby that she took up when I was little. Grandpa would hold my hand when we'd walk through a parking lot and I loved how rough and masculine his hands felt. He passed away last fall. I was given his turquoise ring and I knew that it was too big for me to wear. I certainly did not want this beautiful ring to sit in a box to never be enjoyed. I went to one of our local jewelers, J. Tabor, with an idea of turning the ring into a pendant that I could wear with a silver chain. He was able to create a masterpiece. It is exactly what I wanted and so much more than I hoped for. He kept the shape of the ring on the underside of the stones. The curve in the ring, where my Grandpa's finger touched it, is still there. Sometimes, when I wear it, I smooth my finger over that curve and close my eyes and think of the many times I held his hand, the many times that he wiped my tears, comforted me and held me. When I wear my Grandpa's ring, I feel safe, secure and loved. His spirit is always with me but I especially feel it on the days when I have the pendant on.