Seashells
So… Yesterday my mother, brother and I went to the beach. There was a dense fog so we spent much of our time looking at our feet as we walked along the shoreline. My mother pulled 2 zip lock bags out of her bag and tried to give them to my brother and me so that we could collect seashells.
While the seashells were nice and plentiful on this beach my brother and I resisted the bags and insisted that we were not six and if we did want to take one or two shells home we could hold it in our hand or put it in our pocket.
So my mother held on to the bags as we walked and all 3 of us occasionally picked up a shell that caught our interest. My mother then suggested that we hand any shells we considered “cool” to her and she would carry them until the end of the walk when we could each pick one or two of our favorites to keep. We agreed even though we realized that we were still filling little bags with shells. The only difference was that now my mother was carrying the bags and our inventory was mixed and somehow this seemed less childish.
It became clear early on that we had not established a working definition of what a “cool shell” was. For my brother it was quite simple- a large shell = a cool shell.
My mother, on the other hand, went for shells that were fully intact in their original shape, regardless of their size. Ones that spiraled, angel wings, sand dollars... it didn’t matter as long as they were whole and untarnished.
I picked up a variety of shells. I picked up ones that were distinctive in coloring, were broken in a way that intricate inners were exposed, or had evidence of a second purpose such as coral grown off the side.
I doubt that any of us had thought about what constituted a “cool shell” yet distinct patterns had emerged. As we continued we all acknowledged that my brother’s shells were large, my mothers were attractive, and mine were, well, interesting. Knowing my mother, brother, and I, I find it interesting but not surprising to see who gravitated to what kind of shell.
I guess sometimes it is the little things we do with out thinking about it that show a lot about who we really are.
What kind of shells would you have picked up?
While the seashells were nice and plentiful on this beach my brother and I resisted the bags and insisted that we were not six and if we did want to take one or two shells home we could hold it in our hand or put it in our pocket.
So my mother held on to the bags as we walked and all 3 of us occasionally picked up a shell that caught our interest. My mother then suggested that we hand any shells we considered “cool” to her and she would carry them until the end of the walk when we could each pick one or two of our favorites to keep. We agreed even though we realized that we were still filling little bags with shells. The only difference was that now my mother was carrying the bags and our inventory was mixed and somehow this seemed less childish.
It became clear early on that we had not established a working definition of what a “cool shell” was. For my brother it was quite simple- a large shell = a cool shell.
My mother, on the other hand, went for shells that were fully intact in their original shape, regardless of their size. Ones that spiraled, angel wings, sand dollars... it didn’t matter as long as they were whole and untarnished.
I picked up a variety of shells. I picked up ones that were distinctive in coloring, were broken in a way that intricate inners were exposed, or had evidence of a second purpose such as coral grown off the side.
I doubt that any of us had thought about what constituted a “cool shell” yet distinct patterns had emerged. As we continued we all acknowledged that my brother’s shells were large, my mothers were attractive, and mine were, well, interesting. Knowing my mother, brother, and I, I find it interesting but not surprising to see who gravitated to what kind of shell.
I guess sometimes it is the little things we do with out thinking about it that show a lot about who we really are.
What kind of shells would you have picked up?