|From Delores at "thefeatherednest"|
What I remember most about my grandparents are their hands.
Grandpa had big hands, calloused and worn with broken nails. But, he held my little hand as if it were a china tea cup.
Grandma’s hands smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. She cupped my little hands around a baby chick.
I miss them, how they sounded, the smell of Grandpa's shirt, the softness of Grandma's apron. But, most of all, I miss their hands on mine.