My Magic Pebble

small round stone with a hole in the center (on right)

discovered in the early 80s

I once had a fine rock collection. This small stone is all that remains. I am guessing at one point I was persuaded to return those rocks to the gravel road where I found them. I loved scavenging and searching for one more shiny pebble. Some kids walk the beaches looking for sea shells, I searched the plains--the prairie trails, the section lines, the gravel roads.

One of my prize possessions was a caramel-colored rock that fit easily into the palm of my hand. I remember, once, bringing it out of my rock box and proudly showing it off to a visitor of my mom's, one of her high school friends. The visitor's response was less than enthusiastic. I think that she noted a small bulging imperfection on the side of the rock and pointed out that bit looked like a wart. I was wounded and slunk away cradling my prize possession. It's funny how I still remember that. And how I dare, still, to hold out my precious things for inspection, eager for approval.

The "magic pebble" I've saved is one I once wore on a chain around my neck. It actually looks a bit like a coppery-colored petrified Cheerio! I am not sure if nature or man hollowed out that center bit, but I love that after 25 years I have managed to hold on to some of the strangest things--things so easily dismissible by others, even by me.