If you know me at all, you know that I am building a collection of photographs of hands. I love them. Maybe I am sentimental. Maybe it makes no sense to you. Maybe, it has everything to do with the way I held my Mamaw's 97 year old hands last weekend and thought about all the things they have done, all the people they have loved, all the babies they have held in her long lifetime. And how, now, even a squeeze from her tired hand went straight to my heart. These hands are not hers. They belong to my husband's beautiful grandmother, also in her 90s. I honestly forgot I took this photograph. That's how it goes. I take photographs in the moment, and then they get lost in the shuffle of all the other things... the many other things, in my life that come first. When I stumbled across this image today by accident, it sort of took my breath away. I'm glad that I saw this beautiful piece of china in his grandma's cabinet, and how the light fell on it in just the perfect way that made me know I HAD to photograph it. And how I knew that photographing it in her delicate, beautiful hands would actually make it so much better. Life is so fragile. So fleeting. And even when it hurts, there's always something beautiful to be found in the pain.