I wish I’d owned my Nikon when my grandmother was still alive. I would have shot her hands. In the early morning light. In Mississippi. Sara Criss always woke up at 5:30 a.m. Not to bake like normal grandmothers. My sustenance on visits consisted of microwaved coffeecake and flat, slightly warm Sprite from cans.

Nah, she left the bed early to snag the newspaper off the front walk. Once back inside, she’d settle back in her bed and pin her hair up in curlers, the old aluminum ones with the plastic bristles. I would wake up when I heard the screen door slam. I’d climb onto her bed and listen to her read the obituaries while her hair set.

She loved the obits. Is that weird? Yeah … ok, maybe. But Southern people like stories. And I’ve come to realize we like them the same way we like flavor. Thick and dark. Sticky and intense. The Mississippi newspaper obituaries have more maudlin, dark humor than Charles Schultz on Charlie Brown’s worst day. The good ones, anyways.

The way my grandmother read them, with her drawl and her surmising, made each one into a tiny story. We would ponder their lives out loud … their jobs and various civic joinings. We’d keep them with us all day, like a last tribute. We’d reference them over lunch or in the car … like we’d known them, these barely dead, total strangers. Is that screwball? Typing this out makes me think it’s a pretty crazy game to play with a 10-year-old, for sure. But the bizarre thing was, we were bonded by our secret dead people. We honestly felt the rest of the family had lost out by stupidly sleeping till 7 a.m.

So, yeah, I wish I’d had my Nikon when she was still alive. I’d have shot my grandmother’s hands, holding the Times Picayune. I’d have focused on the wrinkles and the veins. Blurred the words behind them. Sharpened her fingernails against 10pt font. It’s a regret I have … never having photographed those hands. Come to think of it, I should have written her own obituary, too. I’d have made it funny. Quirky. Grandiose and Southern.

I believe that eyes are the windows to the soul, but I’m also quite in love with hands. I suppose I get that from my grandmother.

Making lunch, Soi Rambuttri in Bangkok, Thailand
Making lunch, Soi Rambuttri in Bangkok, Thailand
Rolling spices for hard boiled eggs in a night market, Southern Cambodia
Rolling spices for hard boiled eggs in a night market, Southern Cambodia
Afternoon shopping, at the market in Inle Lake, Burma
Afternoon shopping, at the market in Inle Lake, Burma
Cubans & Champagne, at the Veuve Cliquot Polo Classic - Governor's Island NYC
Cubans & Champagne, at the Veuve Cliquot Polo Classic – Governor’s Island NYC
Giving thanks before lunch, at Let Us Create school, in Sihanoukville, Cambodia
Giving thanks before lunch, at Let Us Create school, in Sihanoukville, Cambodia
Working a textile loom, Eastern Burma
Working a textile loom, Eastern Burma
Paying for some pancakes - Yangon, Burma
Paying for some pancakes – Yangon, Burma
Fooling around on a Sunday in Southern Cambodia
Fooling around on a Sunday in Southern Cambodia
Designer Marc Jacobs and his fashionable pinky bling
Designer Marc Jacobs and his fashionable pinky bling
Playing peek-a-boo, in Sihanoukville, Cambodia
Playing peek-a-boo, in Sihanoukville, Cambodia
Rolling the day's chew - Betel Nut vendor, in Eastern Burma
Rolling the day’s chew – Betel Nut vendor, in Eastern Burma
Someone else's grandmother, shelling peas in Agua Calientes, Peru
Someone else’s grandmother, shelling peas in Agua Calientes, Peru