Paperweights

I almost ate a rock today.
It had been wedged in my shoe between the jack shaped plastic sole gaps. I came into my office, swung my right leg to rest on my left knee and pulled out the little rock. I was trying to get some task done so I placed the rock top of my computer monitor which is stationed under my desk. Phone calls rang, my lunch hour errands elapsed, and I later found myself snacking to tide over my appetite until I could go home. I poured myself a serving of Japanese crackers which have a crunch and texture I have loved since I was younger. I was fussing over something when I looked down and grabbed a stray cracker that I had allowed to slip. I put it into my mouth and realized by the weight and the way it grinded against my teeth that it was not a Japanese cracker. As I let it roll off of my mouth and into my hand I realized what I had done. I was still recuperating from the crude texture as I opened my office door and flung the tiny offender into the cement walkway. Returning back to my desk I realized that this event paralleled another moment in my life.
Bravo was an Airedale my dad brought home one day who was mostly tan but had darker streaks of brown and black on his curled fur. He was also a mostly happy dog even though he did not get a lot of attention from me or any of my siblings. I don’t remember exactly where or how it happened, but Bravo ate a rock. Well, I do remember it happened while we were on vacation and so we couldn’t visit my dad’s brother as long as originally planned because Bravo had to get surgery. The veterinarian excised the rock from Bravo’s stomach and I don’t know if he shined it up or if my dad did that later. All I remember is that my dad put that rock on his desk in his office of our house and would tell everyone who came in that it was the most expensive paperweight he ever owned.
Paperweights remind me of Bravo and my dad, but they also remind me of my mother and youngest brother. We had another paperweight while growing up. This one was square and contained a small ship and blue and clear liquid. When you shook the paperweight it would mix the little ocean inside and throw the ship against it’s contained edges. One night my mom was in my brothers’ room taking a break on the bottom bunk bed while my youngest brother was above her. He wanted her attention, “Mom! Look!” Dutifully she leaned her head away from her protected covering to see my brother holding something straight above her. But it slipped; and the ocean roared and it’s contained edge fell and crashed between her eyes. Did I see this? I can’t say or remember for sure. But I remember this moment and how she pulled up from the bed holding her head in pain and preparing for the bruise to come. I still hurt a little for her today thinking of this moment.
And so these stories continue mapping in my mind, sudden shadowy tributes that snap together even with the most shapeless similarity. But that, I believe, is a true beauty in life.