The concrete has pebbles protruding making it difficult to sit but briefly to dangle feet over the edge, lean my chest into the railing and tap my shoes together. Like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, I close my eyes and whisper the refrain, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home..." and hear the sound of debris falling into the brook below declaring I've traveled somewhere. Stones once trapped in my soles fall freely to a new place to rest, it's a fine thing.
The color of stones are different than what I remember from my childhood. Here, they are mostly gray, no point in looking for the surprise agate to put into a pocket. Quarries of my childhood shared an ancient bed with the Great Lakes, so discovering a Lake Superior agate, while uncommon, was not impossible for a girl with a good eye for color and quick reflexes. I'd bike past rock filled suburban driveways and spot the iron-red treasures flashing in the sun, take them home and polish them in a clay tumbler. And dream of jewelry.
It's not unusual to have a rock in your pocket, but an elephant in your hand, well, that is unusual. But that comes later.
I had a 9V battery and a penny in my pocket once, I swear I was close to spontaneous combustion when the penny made flat contact with the protruding metal. The warmed copper made me squeal and hop around trying to get away from my own pockets. What surprise that was! My sister laughed her head off. And as it happens, it was at a time when she was getting mild head injuries in strange accidents, so laughing her head off was not out of the realm of possibility. This hot-pants incident happened during a period I couldn't wear any wrist watch because the batteries drained shortly after putting them on. Call it coincidence, but at my most intuitive peak, I was nearly electric, that's what she said.
Having pennies or a collected rock isn't unusual at all, I bet some of you have one or both in your pocket as you read this. It tells me nothing. But at about age 19, I learned that what was carried in pockets sometimes told secrets, if accidentally revealed in a sudden show of the hidden items. For example, when looking for that extra penny, fingers fumble blindly but if you take out the contents for display, well, things can get awkward.
A bit of a broken household appliance isn't uncommon to find next to that pocketed penny. A spring or screw found on the floor while cleaning can seem familiar enough to hold on to but not familiar enough to quickly locate its rightful place. These are the sorts of things that show up eventually in the washing machine rubber seal. The door seal is a sort of ultimate pocket for for all pockets, isn't it? The washing machine: a collector and sorter of what we store within the folds our clothes, from garden debris to a snippet of wire, and always a pebble or two.
But everything you slip into your pocket isn't just in transport from the wrong place to the correct place, many people carry specific tokens in their pockets, ritualistically transferring them from one pair of jeans to the next. Right now, I have a hedgehog in my pocket. Or a gnome. Well, which is it? You might ask and I would answer it is both. It is a totem, a relic, a talisman. It's a carved stone.
Last edited by Suzanne
on Sun May 15, 2011 3:46 pm, edited 7 times in total.