Tt may sound like an odd thing, but the first thing I remember about my grandmother was her legs. Maybe it was because I was a kid and they were eye level, or maybe I just intuitively felt they were unusual legs. I think by our modern sensibilities they would not have been deemed attractive. They were full, fleshy, legs, with dry, dry skin. She had knobby knees and thick thighs with full claves. Most women would probably wish for better legs, more shapely, more defined. To me, they were just my grandmother’s legs. Even now, as I look at old photos of her I can see her distinctly shaped legs and I admire them.
I remember her legs and I wished for them. Her legs had character. Had this unique charm that enchanted me. She would wear shorts probably knowing her legs were not considered feminine, but never seemed at all concerned. Sometimes when she was laying out reading she would position them as 1940’s pin up girl would. They were so beautiful to me. Radiant in the sun, with their unsual shape and dry skin. She never put lotion on despite having aged dry skin. To this day I don’t mind dry skin, hoping to one day have such character in my skin. Time can have its way with me, and I wear it proudly.