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Friday, 06 May 2011

The Stone Connection

By Mary B Summerlin who keeps a photostream at Flickr

Stone on beach

My memory begins many, many years ago as I was thrown up on a rocky island beach. I was not alone - there were thousands and thousands of others. I was a big, rough, white stone.

I lay there as the waves washed over us - tumbling us about. The seasons came and went - came and went. I experienced calm sunny weather, rainy cold weather, and violent storms with thunder and lightning and driftwood pounding me!

One summer day, Mary and her friends were walking on the beach collecting shells and stones. Guess What?? I was selected! Mary carried me home and now I sit in a clear glass dish on a table in the living room.

My friends are other stones Mary has collected from all over. I am the small white smooth stone with a little indented place for her thumb. I feel very special when Mary holds me because she always smiles. I remind her of warm happy times on the island. I like that - it warms me too.

I get a first class view of what goes on in Mary's house - very interesting! I think the biggest danger is when the "li'l darlings" come to visit. That’s Erica and Meghan, the grandkids.

They are four and five years old. They're always so excited - full of ideas for me and games to play and stories to tell. Why, if Mary doesn't watch out I might end up under the couch - or who knows?

Friends come over - most can't resist touching me and my friends. They like to rattle us around and sometimes they just hold me or rub me or put me in a pocket. The feel of me seems to bring them comfort. I can usually tell if they're upset, anxious or just feeling good. Ha! You didn’t think I knew those things, did you?

I like it when Mary comes home with a new stone. We are all different - different colors, different sizes, different shapes and different textures.

That doesn't bother us - we are all friends! You know - human beings could learn from us.

[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post


Lovely, Mary!Just a few days ago, a friend sat and fingered the rounded stones in a bowl on my coffee table--several of them from you.Then they turned to the egg collection, some are gifts from you, also. It seemed to give them much pleasure.

Mary, I would never have thought of writing from the point of view of a stone. Most writers chose living things.
When I was 5 or so, I dug a very deep hole in the lot behind our house. My mother could not even see me, and I had one very special stone. One day I lost it and I can still remember the distress I felt. I never found it again.

Just lovely..I always picked up stones from trips to faraway places & when my oldest granddaughter moved (with my son/daughter-in-law & baby brother to faraway Arizona, I was just crushed..I went to visit & the first day she took me to the road & picked up some stones, red, white, gnarled, etc. & she said, put them in the bowl Nanny and at night we can both look at them and be closer together..nice to appreciate nature, it sure takes good care of us..great piece...thanks..

What a great way to start the day; reading such an evocative story. I usually wear a circle of jade on a silk rope around my neck. I love the feel of it and I think it knows my feelings also.

Wonderful. Nothing too small or common but what we can learn from it if only we have imagination and
the imagination and the talent to tell about it.

My sister liked to collect stones and I was sometimes fascinated by her choices.I didn't always see the beauty in the ones she selected, but she did, and that was really all that mattered.

Good writing,Mary and the picture is beautiful.

Mary, my friend, Allison, preached my mother's funeral at Oak Creek in northern Arizona, and she had us each choose a stone to pile up next to the creek as we talked about mama. I still have those stones. I'm going to get them and hold them in my hand.

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