A week ago or so, we attended a lovely wedding and witnessed one of my dear friend, Nancy’s, sons marry a sweetheart of a gal. Nancy, creative genius that she is, was in charge of all the flowers and floral arrangements. Everything was in my favorite color — PINK. I just know that the bride did that especially for me. {wink, wink} As we were leaving, Nancy wanted me to take the centerpiece from our table as a “Mother’s Day” gift. It was beautiful and I enjoyed it for days.

Today, where the flowers once radiated, we have –rocks. Not just any rocks, though. These are BEACH DAY FRIDAY rocks, gathered by the grandchildren on one of the Fridays we spent at the beach last summer.

As summer begins, the grandchildren build sand markers & structures, then as it progresses they drift away to collect shells and, eventually, as summer winds down they get to the serious business of gathering rocks.

At the end of last summer, I placed two large pails of rocks in our garage, along with all the beach gear. So when my husband suggested that I replace the flowers with the rocks in the garage, I thought it was a novel idea.

Sometime around early January, when the days began to get downright chilly — even for me — I pulled my black jacket out from the downstairs closet on my way to work. It has deep pockets. A few days into the week, I was removing it and getting ready to sling it across the back of my desk chair, when it brushed against the desk. Thudded, actually. Did I mention it has deep pockets? So I reached in and, well, pulled out a rock. I have a vague recollection of a grandson running across the sand as we were packing up for the day and frantically yelling, “Grandma! Don’t forget my rock!” So I placed it in my pocket on that August afternoon and left it there until January.

When it was time to leave work, I placed it in the space on the driver’s door where normal people usually put maps and other driverly things. And for months it would roll back -and-forth, or south-to-north, every time I stepped on the gas pedal to stop or go.  On one rare occasion when my husband drove my car, he asked, “Why is there a rock in the car door?”  So, I told him. Then he asked, “Are you going to just leave it there?”

“Why, yes. Yes, I am.”

As of last month, I am driving a new(er) car. I transferred the rock to the new(er) car door. Silly, what did you think I was going to do with it?

And here we are nearly at May’s end, with summer itching to break through.

SEA LONGING {Sara Teasdale}

A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall

Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,

The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land

With the old murmur, long and musical;

The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,

And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow –

Tho’ I am inland far, I hear and know,

For I was born the sea’s eternal thrall.

I would that I were there and over me

The cold insistence of the tide would roll,

Quenching this burning thing men call the soul, —

Then with the ebbing I should drift and be

Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,

Less than the seagulls calling to the sea.