Temporarily Permanant or Permanantly Temporary
It's drying. The concrete finisher said that it takes concrete a good 28 days to completely dry. Twenty-eight days. What a random number. I wonder who first figured that out. One of my neighbors, no doubt. Reminds me of a cycle. Guess that makes cement a female of sorts.
Once the guys were done finishing the driveway, I asked the foreman if we could write our names in a small, inconspicuous corner. Actually, I asked Charlie to ask him, because I felt too embarrassed to do it. I know we paid for it, and it's ours to do with as we wish. But I felt like I was defacing their artwork. They had worked so hard and for so many hours to get it perfect, and now here we were wanting to do something as silly as write our names in it.
When Charlie asked him, he smiled and said, "Heck yeah! But do it now, because it's starting to dry up around the edges!" So Averie ran inside and got a chopstick, and we all took turns writing our names in the wet cement. Once it was done, we all stood there with dopey grins on our faces, looking at the markings we made. Feeling pretty happy. I remembered always wanting to do that as a kid, but never getting the chance. Why? Why is something as small as that so satisfying?
When Caris was finished with her name, she stood up to look at it and proudly exclaimed; "There! We're set forever!" I smiled and said to her, "Or at least until the next owners come along and take it out." She looked at me and replied; "Oh no Mommy, when we go, this goes with us. Promise me that when you and Daddy move or sell this house, you will take this little corner with you."
This morning, as I was watering down that driveway yet again, I stood over that little corner and I couldn't help but smile. Nothing is forever. Not even some names carved into a little square of concrete. But that memory, and Caris' heartfelt plea for permanance struck such a powerful chord in me. What a silly thought to break out a piece of concrete if you leave. A silly thought that I will no doubt honor someday down the line just because she said it. After all, even if I did leave it here, it would mean nothing to the person who lives here next. To her, it means something as concrete as permanance. So for me, it means everything.
It's drying. The concrete finisher said that it takes concrete a good 28 days to completely dry. Twenty-eight days. What a random number. I wonder who first figured that out. One of my neighbors, no doubt. Reminds me of a cycle. Guess that makes cement a female of sorts.
Once the guys were done finishing the driveway, I asked the foreman if we could write our names in a small, inconspicuous corner. Actually, I asked Charlie to ask him, because I felt too embarrassed to do it. I know we paid for it, and it's ours to do with as we wish. But I felt like I was defacing their artwork. They had worked so hard and for so many hours to get it perfect, and now here we were wanting to do something as silly as write our names in it.
When Charlie asked him, he smiled and said, "Heck yeah! But do it now, because it's starting to dry up around the edges!" So Averie ran inside and got a chopstick, and we all took turns writing our names in the wet cement. Once it was done, we all stood there with dopey grins on our faces, looking at the markings we made. Feeling pretty happy. I remembered always wanting to do that as a kid, but never getting the chance. Why? Why is something as small as that so satisfying?
When Caris was finished with her name, she stood up to look at it and proudly exclaimed; "There! We're set forever!" I smiled and said to her, "Or at least until the next owners come along and take it out." She looked at me and replied; "Oh no Mommy, when we go, this goes with us. Promise me that when you and Daddy move or sell this house, you will take this little corner with you."
This morning, as I was watering down that driveway yet again, I stood over that little corner and I couldn't help but smile. Nothing is forever. Not even some names carved into a little square of concrete. But that memory, and Caris' heartfelt plea for permanance struck such a powerful chord in me. What a silly thought to break out a piece of concrete if you leave. A silly thought that I will no doubt honor someday down the line just because she said it. After all, even if I did leave it here, it would mean nothing to the person who lives here next. To her, it means something as concrete as permanance. So for me, it means everything.
posted by Pua; Bakin' and Tendin' Bar | 1:55 PM
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