Rocks for Sale

As I was driving down our street on a recent Saturday morning I came upon a very interesting sale. The neighbor kids across from us were out on their driveway in front of a hand painted sign that read, “Rocks for Sale.” Naturally, I had to investigate. The kids had painted some rocks and added glitter to create what they considered works of art. These sub-precious stones were for sale at the bargain rate of only 25 cents each. Now I’m a sucker for anything that kids sell. In fact, we have a family policy that no matter how much of a hurry you’re in you have to stop at every lemonade stand and make a purchase. And I had to admit that a rock sale, while clearly unconventional, conformed to at least the spirit of the aforementioned lemonade policy. Needless to say, I stopped to peruse the geologic curiosities of the neighborhood rock barons.

Clearly these preschool kids were onto something because their creations were interesting, to say the least. They thought they had some truly marketable treasures and who was I to dispute the unbiased artistic wisdom of children. This gave me pause to consider some of the things that grownups assign value to. In fact, we seem to fill our lives with trinkets and conveniences that have little more intrinsic value than those glitter rocks did. Our stores, art galleries and even art museums are brimming with items that have no more utility than a rock, and are often far less appealing … at least in my opinion. Not to mention that you’d be hard pressed to derive a greater joy-per-dollar benefit than these particular 25 cent rocks promised. I’m clearly not an art critic, but you would have to concede that throughout our culture there are countless items, art and otherwise, for which the assigned value is often unrelated to the intrinsic value or the utility value. This merely confirms the old adage that beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder.

Consequently, I would challenge each of you to survey your own life and consider what things are truly precious. If you’re anything like me, you may discover that you have assigned value to many things that are actually worthless in the long run. What is more, we often work ourselves to death so that we can own all these things. Perhaps they even own us. As it turns out the most priceless things in our lives are probably the ones that don’t cost anything; like people, happiness, laughter, faith and the like. So those are the things in which to invest our precious and limited resources.

I’ve included a poem below that I actually did write on another occasion, while watching some little girls assign artistic value to a pile of rocks on a beach long ago. They taught me a lesson which I have never forgotten. That lesson was that joy can be derived from almost anything if you approach it with the heart of a child. So don’t fill your life with stuff that doesn’t matter. Instead, look for the beauty in what is near at hand … and discover how to enjoy it. And if you should happen to pass happen to pass a sign that reads “Rocks for Sale” hit the brakes, dump all the coins out of your car’s ash tray, and get yourself a whole bag of the little beauties. I bought five.

Pebbles

I watched a little girl
Sitting on the beach today
Sorting through the stones and pebbles
Which she kept or tossed away
To me, they all looked worthless
Yet, her childish eyes could see
A value hidden in them
Which, somehow, eluded me
For out of countless thousands
She chose a special few
Based on shape or size or texture
Or some unusual hue
Proclaiming they were priceless
That she must have them for her own
She found value, even beauty
Where I saw only cold, grey stone
Tomorrow they’d be stones once more
Which she would cast away
To be polished by the ocean
And found again another day
And it occurs that she’s no different
Than most grownups I have known
Who spend their lives pursuing
What they consider precious stone
Which they pile up in heaps
Around their children and their wives
With the goal that all their treasure
Would bring value to their lives
Until, one day, they wake up
And discover, to their shock
That what they spent their lives on
Amounts to but a pile of rock
When we search for things of value
We must choose most carefully
So we only keep the real gems
And toss the pebbles back in the sea
                   By Frank Carpenter ©

Collections

Have you ever paused to think about the things to which you ascribe value? I think an interesting way to approach this question is to consider what we collect. In one way or another we are all collectors of some sort, often without even knowing it. There are the obvious collectables like stamps, coins, etc. I know that in my youth I collected stamps. As it turns out the stamps weren’t all that important to me and, upon reflection, I realize that I mostly enjoyed sharing the time and interest with my step dad. He would probably say the same thing because we have a lot of fond memories of buying, organizing and generally messing around with stamps. I think it was kind of a rainy Saturday pastime because, even as a distracted middle-aged adult, rainy days still make me think about sitting around the dining room table in my childhood home with my step dad. I would venture to say the best hobbies and collections are those that revolve around relationships.

To get back on task, I wonder what you collect. I love books, but only have about one shelf worth that I really care about. Some folks collect books rabidly. Books are a good thing, but they are meant to be read and many people collect them for decoration rather than their historical or intellectual value. I know someone who collects matchbooks, which at least have location names on them that can associate them with memories. Lots of folks collect pictures. Especially since the advent of digital photography in the past 10 years, there is a lot more to do with our photos. Again, I appreciate that photos are also wrapped up with memories and history. I have known a couple of people, though, for whom the obsession with the photos at times eclipsed the loved ones they represented. Garage people collect tools. Kitchen people collect the assorted appliances and utensils of their passion. Garden people, in their own way, collect plants and flowers. Art people collect various paintings and other mediums. Some have a bent towards sports memorabilia. All these are fine passions and have the potential to be finer still if we employ them for the service and encouragement of others.

Keep in mind also that, at least to mind, what qualifies one as a collector is not the quantity of objects, but their passion for, and commitment to, those objects. I’ve known families who had only two cars, yet they were so passionate and meticulous about those particular cars that I’d call them collectors. Let us also consider that there are even some people who collect other people. They are not slave owners, mind you, but they are so conscious of the number and quality of their relationships, as well as the enjoyment and pursuit thereof, that I’d definitely categorize them as collectors. So you see, there are many ways to approach this concept.

And what about me? Definitely not the cars, but maybe the people. My stamps have been in a box in the garage for a couple of decades. I do collect obscure, old, and unusual post cards. However, I do so only for the purpose of mailing them to others as part of my own correspondence. The only thing I really collect on an ongoing basis is rocks. No, I’m not a geology buff. I just pick up rocks when I travel that represent particular memories or events. They aren’t large, nor are there all that many. Nonetheless, I have bowl of rocks on my desk at work filled with my favorite rocks. I tend to pick up interesting ones that have a flat side, which allows me to write the date and the name of the place on them. What, might you ask, makes a worthy rock for my coveted bowl? Here are a few examples:

· I have a rock from climbing to the top of Mt. Whitney
· One from each of my children’s universities
· One from walking on the beach with my dear wife
· Some from several national parks of particular interest
· My dear friend brought me one from Babylon during the 2nd Gulf War
· I have a tiny sea urchin from snorkeling with my daughter (OK, not a rock)
· A strange looking rock from my son’s new back yard
· Quite a few from assorted vacations
· My wife visited Sri Lanka right after the tsunami and brought me some rubble
· A piece of a crumbling wall in a French country village
· A worthless rock from a gold mine my father-in-law visited (family joke)
· One from the central coast beach where my bride and I fell in love
· A brick from a forgotten town in Arizona named after my great, great grandfather
· Another brick from the home we lived in when we first married (now destroyed)
· A piece of petrified wood from a favorite mesa in Utah

Well, I think you get the point. And what is actual cash value of my complete rock collection? It probably tallies up at about nine cents. However, they are priceless to me because the rocks tell the story of my life, or at least the high points of my life. They show where I spent my leisure time, where we took our family vacations, and also where I generally wrote a poem to accompany the memory. These are not just stones, but touchstones that catalogue my travels. They are like the products of an archeological dig which give clues to where I went, how I lived, why those memories matter, and who I shared them with. Anyway, that’s why I collect rocks. And I’m certainly not advocating that anyone else should, but it works for me.

As you perhaps review your own tendency to collect, I hope I may have opened a window of perspective for you. Enjoy your own passion, and don’t forget to share it with others and explain to your loved ones why you collect things and what they mean to you.

Rocks
You never know what folks will value
And when I pause to recollect
The list is nearly endless
Of the thing that we collect
From plethora of tourist trinkets
Stuffed animals and guns
To works of art and cars, I guess
There is something for everyone
I know a fellow who saves matchbooks
Some coins or stamps or swizzle sticks
Antique, retro, modern
Really, you can take your pick
Me, I’ve got a thing for rocks
And wherever I may be
I pick up a rock along the way
Maybe even two or three
I write the date and locale on them
To recall the place to me
And each becomes a sort of bookmark
That represents a memory
I keep them in a bowl at home
Digging through them now and then
As they are tangible reminders
Which take me back again
To people and to places
Which, through the years I’ve known
And a host of moments that I
Cherish more than precious stones
These rocks have no commercial value
Yet, they’re priceless, don’t you see
For they catalogue my lifetime
And each contains a memory
By Frank Carpenter ©