I spent a few days with my brother, who is suffering from the after effects of a brain aneurysm. He has no difficulty thinking of the right words, he just can’t get them out, his speech has been terribly affected. When we were young, my brother loved to collect rocks. He went through a polishing phase as well, no rock was left unturned or rough. He used a rock tumbler, a small affair of red and yellow plastic with a plug in electric motor and a yellow yellow plastic drum. We loaded the rocks into the drum and with cacophonous clattering, the tumbler achieved the work of years of wind, sand and water, in a couple hours, longer when you’re only seven.
The last time I visited the Black Hills, I bought two pre-polished rose quartz rocks. I no longer owned the tumbler, but the rocks reminded me of my brother, just the same.