rockin' it

Twenty-four years ago today, my dad passed away. So why am I posting pictures of rocks?

Every time we moved to a new city, somewhere in the middle of packing boxes my dad would look at my mom and say, “Dear, half the weight on this moving van is your books and rocks.”

He wasn't entirely wrong.

My grandparents are really the ones who started this family love affair with rocks. Every winter, they escaped the cold Illinois weather and headed to the American Southwest and Mexico. Along the way, they collected rocks and brought them home. Grandpa would take them out to his shed, put them in a tumbler, and polish them until they shined. Then he would hand them out to his grandchildren.

I loved those rocks.

When we sold Mom's house, all of my siblings mentioned the rock collection. Everyone wanted some of the rocks, and as the oldest sibling, it became my job to figure out how to divide them up fairly.

My solution? Mom had a collection of wonderful old jars, so I lined them up and, much like I used to divide jelly beans among my kids at Easter, I dealt out the rocks. A little bit for everyone.

Today, one of the shelves in my living room holds part of that collection and all the memories that come with it.

The top shelf is dedicated to Todd's dad. The flag was presented by the American Legion to Todd's sister in recognition of his service in the Navy.

The middle shelf is dedicated to my dad. It includes a few mementos from his career at Sears, along with some Hummels that remind me of the years he was stationed in Germany.

As I look at those shelves, I see more than rocks and keepsakes. I see family stories  and reminders of the lives they lived. And every time I walk by, I think of my dad's comment about the moving van and smile.