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Like A Rock

Sandy, thank you for the rocks. They are absolutely beautiful. Absolutely perfect. I adore them and have added them to our little corner of nature in our bedroom. Thank you for your thoughtfulness…thank you for your friendship.

Growing up, I really didn’t know my Dad. My parents divorced when I was something like five years old, and I remember the day they told me. I knew at that tender age that the life that laid before me now was going to be a bumpy road. My Dad was around until he met a woman that he ended up marrying. Somehow my brother and I didn’t fit into her plans. Soon my father faded into a distant memory. It wasn’t until I was 25 years old did he show up on my doorstep…but that’s another story. I haven’t seen him since.

The thing is, I can remember when I was little, and life for me was not the easiest, my Dad told me—no, it was more like an apology—but he said to me that he wanted my name to be Connie…because Connie, in his mind, meant “rock” and he knew that his first child would have to be strong and stable like a rock. There is another story that is attached with my name, but I’ll save that for another time also.

I think I will take that conversation with me to the grave. Through my life it has shaped me and created the narrative of my youth. As a young person growing up I was a rock. I took care of things…like my brother, my mother, my grandma when she was dieing. I took care of myself. I could hold anything together. Friends always came to me. People could lean on me, and no matter what, I’d hold them up. I prided myself in being a rock.
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As a young child I lived down the street from a creek. One of my favorite past times was to stand knee high in the water and hunt for pretty stones. I’d take off my shoes, throw them on the edge, and use my socks to carry my findings. When I got home I lined all the rocks up on my window sill. I wonder what happen to those beauties?

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From the ages of eighteen to twenty-one I was in a terribly abusive relationship with my first love. I was also going to Art school at the same time. I was in sculpture class and we had to create a Henry Moore like sculpture out of stone. The professor provided the class with a plethora of stones to choose from and of course I picked the prettiest of them to carve. But it happened to be the hardest of them all. I was in the studio at school for hours upon hours every day, getting nowhere with this stone. I remember at the time how this stone, and my challenge with it felt so reflective of the relationship I found myself in. I had picked the most beautiful of boyfriends and stones, but no matter how much love and attention I put into it, I got nothing back but pain and agony. No matter what tools I used, I seemed to get nowhere. Eventually I gave up, on both the stone and the boyfriend. When things finally settled, and I found myself in a better place, I took that stone that never became of anything, and wrote exactly how I felt: what dreams were shattered, what hopes I had, how I longed to heal, and how far I came. I wrote everything that was inside me from twenty one years of pain on that rock, and then I threw it out my second floor duplex kitchen window. Finally–the rock shattered into pieces! I picked each little piece up, swept up the chards, and put it all in a bag. That night, at a beautiful sunset, I threw each piece into Lake Erie–my beloved best friend. Those years have hopefully become sand.
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Around the time I threw the rock out the window, I was volunteering for the Cleveland Performance Art Festival. An incredible Artist named Ivan Rados was the headliner. For some reason, him, his wife, and I really hit it off. When they were in town for this weekend I spent every evening with them lost in amazing conversation. As a young aspiring Artist, their lives seemed so full of creativity and life…I was in awe of them both. One night, as we walked down the street to an after party, Ivan picked up a rock and gave it to me. He told me to keep it near, because he knew that one day my life would be just the same as his–full of creativity and life…and that my life would be so beautiful and true. He asked me that when I realize this point to put the rock in my shoe, to remind myself of where I came from. That rock sits on my bedstand ever since. I think its time I put it in my shoe.

Oh thank you to the sweet oracles that have blessed my life.

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These last rocks are my favorite. Only a few are present in this photo, the rest sit silently in a beautiful glass vase in a corner of our bedroom that we place all our nature pieces and Buddhas at. I guess you could call it an alter. But I love these rocks. It wasn’t until Hansel and I found each other that I started to find the most prettiest rocks again. Rocks of all shapes, all sizes, the most gorgeous of patterns, the most energy filled when you touch them. Some are from our first visit to Arizona before we ever moved here. The rest are from Costa Rica, in the place we soon will call home.

I guess you can say I have a things for rocks. It’s in my name, its part of my story, they have literally been stepping stones in my life…taking me from one chapter to the next.

(Photo taken in Sedona.)

Peace & Love.

Thank you to all of you that have sent me such healing vibes…I’m back to my ol’ self again! Lots of love to you my dear friends!!! Stay healthy! (Drink fresh juice! Practice Yoga! And love!)

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