Monday, September 18, 2006
I love them. I always have.
I love shells.
Shells and rocks.
Shells and rocks and flowers.
Shells and rocks and flowers and snowflakes and lakes and pine trees and song birds and rushing rivers and...
Well, I like all that stuff, but most of it I really can't put into my pocket and bring home to sit on a shelf or in a jar to remind me of things I love and the God who made them and who I love even more. But shells and rocks, yes. If you visit my house you'll see for yourself.
It's not a recent involvment. I've been picking up rocks and putting them in my pockets since the first time I discoverd pockets. My test of whether clothes were good or not was usually two-fold: was the fabric smooth or soft against my skin and were there pockets?
It has been, however, within the past few years - maybe since I turned 40 and I quit trying so hard - that I've not apologized for this non-scientific attraction to these things.
So really...when my birthday comes and you're feeling some sort of urge to send a gift...rocks or shells will do. You won't be the first friend to give me those things as a gift and, I hope, you won't be the last.