I remember my blue sundress, the one my mother made. I loved it. Every Saturday I would put it on and leave my house and play within the safety of my rock walls. My friend and I played house for hours between our two properties and while her house would have have walls like the garage or the old car my house would simply be have walls made from rocks or pebbles. I would lay them out in straight lines and create rooms. We could play for hours and while I was inside my house I could not see out, and others could not see in. My grandparents house in Idaho burned down when my mother was a child and my grandfather rebuilt it with rocks. The flat sparkly ones, a crazy stone quilt made from flagstone. I wonder if my love of rocks came from the security and love I felt in that home while visiting. There is a family joke- my grandma never saw the Grand Canyon or Yellow Stone because she was too busy looking down finding rocks. She was even know to smuggle rocks out of National Parks inside her bra! They had a rock tumbler in the closet in the formal dinning room and I used to lean my head against the door and press my ear to her the rocks spinning inside. Now like her I have rocks everywhere. Rocks in plants and on shelves, rocks in bracelets and made into magnets. I line my flower beds with rocks and in a way I guess I have lined my house with rocks. It is a safe and secure place inside my little house lined with rocks.
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