My Nana's Nails

I was looking in the store for the perfect color of nail polish the other day. I knew exactly what it was, as I had seen it on my Nana's nails all my life. Her perfect self made manicure was always fresh, never chipped and worked in every season.

I remember my own progression of nail polish going from bubble gum pink, to hot pink with glitter, to the requisite black of my teen years, to red hot during college and then an overpriced French manicure after landing my first real job. Throughout all of these transitions, Nana's nails remained the same; a mauvish dusty-rose color. This bottle of hers sat on an end table next to small fingernail clippers and an Emory board. At this same table her hands would pick up a juice glass of blush wine while reading the latest Dick Francis novel. These fingers would dog-ear the pages of her daily Guidepost devotional. They mended clothes and quilted in perfect little stitches. These fingers tapped on the steering wheel in time to the latest Michael W Smith cassette tape in her car or took notes on her seemingly endless yellow legal pads that covered nearly every surface of her dining room table. These were the fingers that rub the stain out of anything while a soft concentrated whistle escaped her lips. These fingers wrote letters and cards to her loved ones, tightly gripped a zip line over her brothers lake and held boarding passes to Costa Rica and Paraguay to visit her family who were serving as missionaries overseas. Later in life, those fingers gently stroked her cats, turned pages in quilt magazines and cheered Derek Jeter with each run scored. In her last days, in hospice care, my mother-in-law kept those nails manicured, knowing that it kept a part of her present, even though she was slipping away from us. It’s amazing how thinking of her hands reminds me of so many things she did. She was a woman of amazing accomplishments, but what she did was not the same as who she was. 

When I think about the choice of color, that subtle mauve lacquer, I think about who she was. She was a woman who spent most of her life working in a man’s world. Long before it was cool to be sexy and smart, she could manage with strength in an Anne Taylor suit paired with slingback heels. She could stand shoulder to shoulder with the male leaders in a Fortune 500 company, dressed in timeless suit separates, elegant jewelry, and a perfectly coiffed perm. She wasn’t vain, but in her wisdom, she knew she was being judged not only on her work, but on her work “as a woman”. She would never be viewed (or paid) equally with her male counterparts, regardless of how consistently she performed her work at the highest caliber. She knew she had to look feminine enough to be the token woman when required, but most days she was simply doing her job well. She needed to portray grace and strength. Femininity and authority. Every inch a woman, but just as professional as a man. Navigating these elements in the 80’s and 90’s looked different than it does today, although I’m not sure the glass ceiling has budged that much. She was my role model as a professional woman, a business woman, a female leader even in male dominated industries. 

I’ve worked in engineering, management and leadership in academia - each surrounded by men and often in positions of authority. There are countless times that I’ve faced a situation at work and thought to myself, “what would Nana do?”. When I first started in industry, Nana spoke frankly into my work life, boldly telling me when my skirt was too short, my heels to high or my attitude too cocky. She gave me healthy doses of realism to counter my utopian text book view of the world. She gave me wisdom for interpersonal relationships, from the lowest paid part timer through the CEO. She wanted me to learn from her success but was humble enough to share with me her mistakes. Her nail polish choice is a perfect example of how she found balance in so many situations throughout her life.

I painted my nails mauve with a smile on my face, with wonderful memories of my Nana and hopes that I have made her proud.