Whenever something good happens, I pick up a rock. Then I bring it home.
It’s a little ritual I use to help me remember special moments in my life, and I have rocks from all over the world.
Including Spain! I picked them up off the ground in a tiny town in Spain on the day El Hub asked me to marry him. Funny story: Those rocks almost didn’t make it back to California, because on that same trip, after we left Spain, El Hub and I took a old, slow-moving overnight train to Portugal, where I packed up the rocks and a few other souvenirs into a flimsy cardboard box, which we shipped from a Lisbon post office.
At the last moment before taping up the box, I wrapped the contents in a thin sea foam green floral maxi dress I got at an H&M in Spain (This was before the chain had arrived in the U.S., and their clothes were very exotic to me.), just in case the box ripped open.
It’s a good thing I did because that box didn’t arrive in California for more than a month after we returned from Europe.