salience
March 22, 2005
"Your hands girl, what's wrong with 'em?" he asked.
"What? That's just how they are." I answered.
It's true, right or left, I'm not delicate by any means. Definitely not the prettiest thing to look at, and I am almost embarrassed at times. But you must remember, these two, they've been with me through quite a lot. And it isn't until someone points it out that I look down and take stock of the mixing and pouring cement, painting houses in 01923. Cooking, learning instruments, cleaning, being field commander for 200 person performances in a 48,000 arena--obstacle courses, writing 50,000 word fictional works: FTX's, teaching music. Karate sequences and weapons training, it's all a sort of muscle memory...
I moved to cover them up with a much more beautiful Parisian gift, this was my sisters' Confirmation after all, let's be at our best for the bishop. But my brother stopped me.
He said, "Yeah, now that I think about it, your hands are nothing like hers," gesturing to our cousin sitting farther down in the pew.
"Yeah," I agreed, "hers belong to an entirely different person, you realize."
"But," Lorenzo said taking my hands in his twice callused extreme, "don't cover them: there's a grace in your strength, you know?"
"What? That's just how they are." I answered.
It's true, right or left, I'm not delicate by any means. Definitely not the prettiest thing to look at, and I am almost embarrassed at times. But you must remember, these two, they've been with me through quite a lot. And it isn't until someone points it out that I look down and take stock of the mixing and pouring cement, painting houses in 01923. Cooking, learning instruments, cleaning, being field commander for 200 person performances in a 48,000 arena--obstacle courses, writing 50,000 word fictional works: FTX's, teaching music. Karate sequences and weapons training, it's all a sort of muscle memory...
I moved to cover them up with a much more beautiful Parisian gift, this was my sisters' Confirmation after all, let's be at our best for the bishop. But my brother stopped me.
He said, "Yeah, now that I think about it, your hands are nothing like hers," gesturing to our cousin sitting farther down in the pew.
"Yeah," I agreed, "hers belong to an entirely different person, you realize."
"But," Lorenzo said taking my hands in his twice callused extreme, "don't cover them: there's a grace in your strength, you know?"
lasaliente, 20:32
