Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
As a family we built our ranch. And my favorite part of this process was the fresh concrete. For my parents and us kids this slick slab of concrete was imperfect perfectly flat and untouched.
It needed something.
And that which it needed was our handprints. For every new driveway, new sidewalk or new porch that we poured we left our mark. And every time I go back to these handprints I press my hand up against the indentation. My hand still has the same lines in the shape of a ‘M’ on my palm, it still has the scar on my index finger where I dropped a bowling ball on it and no matter how much it has grown it will always be mine. And so will our home.
And the small and delicate handprints on the back porch of my new home that read ‘Ciel’ will always be theirs and so will a part of this home. They will always hold a special place and memory in their heart. If they should return one day I hope that they will measure their growth too. Although I don’t know those handprints they make me feel at home.