Painted Rocks and Circles

I was born. And as much as I don’t remember the day, I am sure my mother would say it was one of the best days of her life. Needless to say, this was a critical moment in my life…because this is when “my life” began. I was so unaware of the step I was taking onto the pathway of definition.  I guess I must have been unaware for some time, as my earliest memory is of when I was two…oddly, the memory didn’t involve anything super outstanding or traumatic, but it did have to do with M&M candies and clogging,…whatever that means.

                                (My sister is the one facing the camera, flag-waving like crazy)

After this point in my life, other memories pop up here and there, but most of these later memories involve a moment of realization or learning.  I was four when I learned that something was wrong with my great uncle next door, he regularly had the cops over for a visit and one time he drove into the Yield sign across the street. If that wasn’t odd enough, he came and yelled at me, who had happily been riding my bike in our yard, for being in the way. He was what my mom called a “drunk.” I was kind of afraid of him after that, and when I saw him driving his blue-striped truck, I kept my distance. I also kept my distance from his dog, a blue healer who apparently thought I was either a threat or a treat. I guess over time I became more accustomed to my uncle’s behavior as, even though it was rather crazy, it was less mind-boggling. No surprise when he’d show up to my grandmother’s house wearing a sweatshirt for britches.

(Great Uncle's house back in the old days....)

I also learned at a young age that not everyone was interested in buying a painted rock on a street corner. All of the business went to those little brats at the other end of town who sold cheap, watered-down lemonade. Needless to say, even a young lassie notices that only her mom enjoys paying five cents for such a gem. In order to make a profit, one must invent something that everyone needs—at least that is what my aunt says.  I regret to say, a couple of years ago I passed up an opportunity to buy a painted rock on a street corner full of kids. I still kick myself.

I learned that getting dog poop on your shoe at school was quite humiliating; I learned that even though kindergarten recesses were spent running from all the boys, the boys weren’t interested the next year, and that coaxing a chase only led to more humiliation when they pulled away and began chasing their new crush—some blond chick with an annoying giggle. I realized that not everyone wanted to be part of my “Happy Kitty Club” and that despite being five years old; my friend from piano lessons wouldn’t be coming ever again because of a “heart failure.” No surprise that after this moment, I realized that “life” was more than simply living…it involved dying.

It is quite amusing how even as I age, I still have these pockets of memories that are stirred when I drive by that old clogging station or when I see that tall, lonely house sitting on the corner of center street and 100 West—the crooked, faded yield-sign gone.  

I am reminded of the fact that everyone is going through or has gone through something every time I see the mother of my five year old friend from piano lessons. More recently I was reminded of my early business endeavors as my little two-year-old daughter, upon being told she could select any of the collectibles from Great-Grandma’s assortment, chose the only non-collectible thing that happened to be sitting there with everything else—a painted rock—and this reminded me of the fact that life is full of the beautiful circles that bring us back to our memories and lessons learned. 

I have found that some memories can be painful, but I have also realized that I wouldn’t trade them for anyone else’s. They are what build my character and keep history alive—a history full of experiences and people; people who have their own history of character-building, who experience their own various connections, whose connections involve you, and there again you have more circles in life being revealed. A circle is my favorite shape. It has no beginning and no end, but yet, it can expand as it is filled—it has potential to grow. It is continuous, it is eternal, and it represents life so beautifully. If a person were to live their life with eyes wide open, they would find it was full of these circles—reminders of the experiences and people who should not be forgotten—these experiences and these people have played important roles to this person’s character, helping to fill their circle in some way—helping them to become what they have the potential to become.