Relative Something

I saw a short feature on a news magazine program about a man who collects cuff links. The response it triggered from me appeared to surprise Cyndie. I said that I don’t want to be a collector. Now, to me, my comment makes a lot of sense, given my current interest in jettisoning my unused possessions.

I was surprised by her surprise. When she paused to consider the source of her reaction, the only thing she came up with was, rocks. Fair enough. I have been known to pick up a rock or two that appeal to me, hanging on to them for varying durations of time. 

Yesterday morning, I took a look at a couple of the batches of rocks around me and noticed one thing about them that particularly struck me.

I don’t know where they are from.

I don’t seem to attach any specific value to the exact location a particular rock is found. In fact, I don’t even reliably know the general area where whole batches of my rocks are from. I do know that a fair amount have been plucked from the shores of Lake Superior. I don’t know which batch, (I have a tendency to keep them in the groups in which they are first assembled), was found in which areas of the lake, nor during which special outing.

Meanwhile, others locations where I have picked up rocks include, our lake place in Wisconsin and a number of other random places I have traveled, including the Himalayan Mountains of Nepal.

I don’t know what my absent-mindedness indicates about the situation, but it does give me confidence that I will not suffer by sending the rocks back out into the world.

I guess I don’t want to be a collector.