Rocks of Love

I was reminded the other day of how loved I am when my mother, sister-in-law and kids went for an evening walk and came by to visit. Even on that short walk, my niece remembered how much she loved me. “Tata, I brought these for you.” While walking over, she found these beautiful raw, uncut, fresh-from-the-earth quartz.

This is not new to me. I have two grown kids that were just as generous too when they were tots. Christopher would come in from playing outside in the yard with a little dirty gray rock and present it to me with a kiss.  Later, we would go hiking on the weekends, gorgeous variegated jasper all around and my daughter Mackenzie would smile with chubby cheeks of joy as she handed me a dirty gray piece of shale. By the time she figured out the pretty stones were what we were picking up, she had decided picking up rocks was altogether stupid.

Rock love runs in the family. Ten years later, my nephews continued this practice. And now, last but not least, my niece has continued in this wondrous tradition, never dropping the torch. Now Mackenzie smiles with glee when I receive my rocks of love, “Tata loves those, you know.” Thank you, dear.

It is a sign, though, that my niece is growing up as she’s able to differentiate between rocks and concrete ...

Two Peas in a Pod, smiling

...because I’ve gotten that in the past (“Oh my, so beautiful,” look at it admiringly, keep smiling, “Let’s put it someplace special,” place gray rocks and concrete on the piano with the travel souvenirs, “It’s wonderful, thank you so much,” make mental note to throw them back outside for future tokens of love and smack Mackenzie for that evil giggle).

P.S. – Someday: grandchildren, rock love, and then I will do the evil giggle!