Monday Night Hen Party.....

Everyone I know knows that on Monday night I go to the "Hen Party." This is what we call it. Really it is just my mother, my children (ages 4 and 6), myself, my aunt, her daughter (age 14), and my grandmother (age 82) who join the hen party. We go to someone's home every Monday and drink coffee, eat dessert, and the best part of all: we talk. Like only women can do we have a gab fest. We sit and just enjoy the time of reconnection. Yep, it happens every Monday night. I got to thinking about the legacy this leaves upon my children. They have connected to a great-grandmother that they adore. They know how important it is for me (and them) to sit and confide in the people they can trust. If you don't have a "hen party" ,and you are female, find some friends that would carve out some time during the month, week, or even year. Unite with them in the camaraderie that is woman. You will truly be changed by them.
I am leaving a poem about my grandmother, enjoy:

Her Hands

by Sarah Amick

Her Hands, can you see them?

wrinkled, from years, dry from work;

Her Hands, wearing rings bought from places she has traveled:

Isreal, Europe, and Shipshewana.

Her Hands, can you see them?

feed the birds in the morning,

the birds have come to sing a warm spring song,

the Warblers sing tenor, while the housefinches sing soprano.

Her Hands, can you see them?

have raised seven children,

Her hands, wet from a thousand loads of dishes,

baby baths, and wiping away

the tears of weeping children;

Her Hands, clutching the handle of a new cane,

because... "I'm wobbly."

Her Hands, can you see them?

soft, warm, and holding us.