When I was young, I wanted to be her. I would sit on the floor of her closet, dreaming of the day I would have beautiful dresses and matching shoes. She taught me to sew. She was kind to my friends. She took care of us and loved us and seemed to expect nothing in return. I never realized how much I was learning just by being near to her.
When I was a new mom, she was my greatest support. With words and actions, she made me believe I was doing a great job.
As the years passed, we became friends. We would talk on the phone, meet for coffee, catch a moment here and there. I trusted her and deep in my gut, I knew how much she loved me.
She doesn’t remember those days, those years. She doesn’t see me as her daughter. But she seems to know I am a person who will take care of her so we go off for a cup of coffee. We sit quietly with our cups. Conversation is too difficult. But she still inspires me. And I am so thankful for what I have learned from her.
There is something about a beach filled with rocks that draws me downward. I can spend hours walking, looking, stopping to pick up a rock every now and then. Should I take this smooth one home? Or the one with the specks of green? How about that odd shaped rock that seems to be battered and broken? I don’t think often of the source of these rocks and stones. Perhaps they are newly formed. Or maybe they have been a part of the beach for years, washing out to the sea and then back again. What is it about a rock that draws me downward?
Olivine – another new to me word from the August prompts list