My sweetheart gave me rocks for Valentine’s Day…and I was thrilled to pieces. Of course these were no ordinary rocks…at least not the small, smooth kind handy for skipping across bodies of water or anchoring flowers in a clear vase (I covet those, too, and on walks can never pass one by without stooping to pick it up and drop it in a pocket). No, these could more aptly be described as boulders. Richard says at the quarry they differentiate by calling them half-man, one man or two-man, depending upon how much of a man is required to lift one. R is secure enough in his manhood to settle for half-man rocks. When I suggested that, between the two of us, it should be easy to lift them out of the truck, he declared, “What do you mean? We’ll just roll them out. They’re rocks! What can happen to them?” Now the trick is placement. There are four of these beauties, and I won’t want to squander their impact by misjudging where to put them. Tomorrow is predicted to be a beautiful day, and I look forward to carting my rocks around, with the aid of a dolly, to try out different locations and dream of their future with moss and lichens and little ground covers spilling around them.

So far, so good. It’s a long time until my birthday…maybe if I play my cards right I will rate a load of gravel.