Reid will sometimes close her eyes and reach out, touch one of us, and say, “Is this Mama?” Or maybe she’ll be touching something and ask if it is a [something or other]. Ken and I seem to have come to unspoken agreement that we should respond “yes” to the questions, whether or not that is the truth, or supply a silly answer to the silly question. At one point I asked if she could tell the differences between Ken’s hands and mine. Reid told me that she could do so easily. “Mama’s hands are wrinkly,” she said with a smile that made me almost forget that “old” usually goes with “wrinkly”. Sadly, it’s true. Ken’s hands are freckly and hairy but wrinkle free. My hands, on the other hand, - sorry I couldn’t resist that - are as wrinkly as Grandma Joyce’s hands should be. Her hands are even wrinkly for her age, in my opinion. Reid will have to hope that she has inherited her dad’s hand genes or I’ll gloat at the first hand wrinkle.