ROCKS!!!!!
You may be curious why I write about something that is taken for granted or the insignificance of it.
I used to think the same way, ROCKS!! Really, what could possibly be so important as a rock?
In 1974 I remember laying on a beach in Sunny California with my mother, one of the very last memorable experiences with her, I can remember it like it was yesterday,, peering over her shoulder briefly I spotted a very smooth small flat rock, it intrigued me so much I gave it to her, as she placed this tiny rock in her old leather patchwork purse I smiled and enjoyed the rest of that afternoon with her.
Some time later when I was finally seperated from her for the last time I cried for days, asking questions of WHY!! The emptiness and the void was too much to beat to point of sheer and utter isolation and deep depression, why have you left me, why have you forgotten me.
Then one day in 1996 shortly after her passing I was going through her meager belongings and to my utter amazement found her old tattered leather patchwork purse and at the very bottom of it was that tiny rock. I cried for hours, but this time they were tears of joy knowing that she had not forgotten me at all, for a little piece of me was with her for the rest of her life.
So yes my friend I there is a rock story and one tradition I plan on passing on to a friend.
by 
ROCKS!!!!!
You may be curious why I write about something that is taken for granted or the insignificance of it.
I used to think the same way, ROCKS!! Really, what could possibly be so important as a rock?
In 1974 I remember laying on a beach in Sunny California with my mother, one of the very last memorable experiences with her, I can remember it like it was yesterday,, peering over her shoulder briefly I spotted a very smooth small flat rock, it intrigued me so much I gave it to her, as she placed this tiny rock in her old leather patchwork purse I smiled and enjoyed the rest of that afternoon with her.
Some time later when I was finally seperated from her for the last time I cried for days, asking questions of WHY!! The emptiness and the void was too much to beat to point of sheer and utter isolation and deep depression, why have you left me, why have you forgotten me.
Then one day in 1996 shortly after her passing I was going through her meager belongings and to my utter amazement found her old tattered leather patchwork purse and at the very bottom of it was that tiny rock. I cried for hours, but this time they were tears of joy knowing that she had not forgotten me at all, for a little piece of me was with her for the rest of her life.
So yes my friend I there is a rock story and one tradition I plan on passing on to a friend.