![Transcription Center logo](/themes/custom/tc_theme/assets/image/logo.png)
This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.
towel to dry my hands. The towel was worn, frayed and all the original color faded. She dried my hands as she washed them, touching each finger individually. First the tops, then the bottoms, and last in between each finger. Just enough pressure to feel the towel and her hands doing the work of drying a child's hand. At home we quickly washed our own hands with cold water, stopping before the water was clear. Only my grandmother used warm water. After my grandmother washed my hands I knew I had a body and it could feel. She gave me dimension; I was no longer flat. I stood out away from the background of trash and away from the molding of the doorway. Being dirty at my grandmothers had the most pleasurable rewards. My grandmother took special care to wash every finger, top, bottom and in between. I was clean to the touch. All our family photos were taken with a black rectangle box camera made by Kodak and owned by my grandmother. This was a simple manufactured pinhole camera. There was no light meter, no film speed. She would hold the camera below her waist, close to her body, keeping it steady, look down into the viewfinder and push the metal lever that was on the right. Our life came out frozen in black and white. There was no color film or color image. My grandmother was the one that bought the film, took the pictures and had them developed. There was a sequence, a plan and a result. Most of the pictures were taken in her front yard. This is the area that defied Arizona's fire and ice 22