Like any kid, I kept a few collections when I was growing up. I collected stickers, pins, hockey cards, but I quickly got bored and gave them up.
What I never tired of collecting though was rocks.
I just loved rocks. I’d picked them out for their shape, their colour, for the little glitter of gold I saw in them or just because they looked lonely in the middle of the sidewalk. I would often leave them in my pockets and my mom would find them at the bottom of the washing machine. I’d keep them in bowls of water by my bed because everybody knows that rocks look better when they are wet. The bottom drawer of my nightstand was full of my favorite rocks, the ones I wanted to keep close to me.
I had no interest in rock formation, geology or gemology. I didn’t want to learn about them. I just liked rocks. I liked the weight of them in my hand. I liked their faint, organic odor, their texture against my skin.
I did think the concept of a pet rock was silly though. I didn’t want faces on my rocks. I just wanted to look at them the way they were.
I got over the rock collecting thing, of course. But if you were to go through my drawers now, you’d still find a few stones here and there.
I nearly had a stone orgasm a couple of years ago when Blork and I went to Nova Scotia. He took me to a deserted beach in Cape Breton and I found myself in heaven: miles and miles of absolutely perfect shaped pebbles, the kind you pay a fortune for at garden centers. Discovering that beach was like finding a treasure. You know those dreams we all have where we keep finding money on the ground and we pick it up and we find more money and it never stops?
I started picking stones like mad, quickly filling up Blork’s pockets as well as mine. I was really bummed out that we had flown to Nova Scotia because it meant I was restricted on the amount of stones I could take back. I’m still considering driving back there and bringing back home boxes and boxes of the pebbles. The rock garden I would make!
The stones are now in a decorative bowl in our dining room. I keep two of the heavy, flat pebbles by my desk, piled one on top of the other, and I often grab them and play with them in my hands as I think about something to write. (They are also great to keep books open and flat.)
All of this to say that I went crazy this morning when I saw the new line of furniture that a French design company has started making. I. Must. Have. A. Rock. Chair.
I must. Please sell them in Canada soon.
i love rocks too. i flew back from anticosti much heavier than i had flown in (which is fine because they weigh the 50kg/person luggage at departure but not when you head back, hehehe). i love fossils too. and the Kid loves rocks and i do find them in the washing machine quite often (i also find money, washed up kleenexes and melted library cards – all his). when he was four, i watched him pick up gravel and pocket it, and i thought « city boy! ». he had to start somewhere!
ok that’s a NICE chair!
Ou, those would be so easy to copy! :) (feel a little guilty saying it, but it’s true.)
Je peux toujours essayer de t’en ramener un…
The mention of pet rock reminded me of a colleague who often declared that « he couldn’t even look after a pet rock, of course he’s not your guardian! » to kids who would try to pass off a barely older sibling/relative as their legal guardian.
Rachel: My mom was a great « couturi�re ». She would have taken one look at the « rocks » and would have reproduced them a few days later… But I read they are ecological (the foam or something) and the fabric looks luxurious.
Vanou: Peut-�tre un coussin! ;-) Il me semble de voir un passager essayer d’embarquer une grosse roche comme �a sur l’avion!
I am glad that I am not the only one whose childhood fascination with rocks remained until adulthood.
aj
Au Cape Breton? Ramasser des pierres?
Been there, done that!
Litt�ralement! 8-)
L’�t� dernier j’ai pass� mes vacances en NS aussi! Et j’ai ramen� comme souvenir pour ma m�re d’�normes galets trouv�s sur la rive juste au nord de Ch�ticamp. Ouf! Des pierres ovo�des ou ellipso�dales parfaites, grosses commes des ballons de foot, des melons d’eau, etc…. WOOT!
Vous auriez d� entendre les d�sapprobations de ma blondes quand j’ai charg� le coffre de la voiture de plusieurs kilos de pierres, alors qu’on allait parcourir la Cabot Trail… hi hi.
� environ 4 km avant le d�part de la rando Skyline du parc national
I must be the only one who looked only at the pictures and thought they were real rocks. Duh.