Milky Crystal Reflections on a Foggy Thursday Morning

I grew up in a house with windows fringed in faceted crystals. In the afternoon light the avocado green of the linoleum kitchen floor would be fairly cut with rainbows and I would stand by the fridge to bathe my toes indigo. When my brother left for college my mother really got into crystals--she bought a quartz singing bowl and would run the suede stick around the inside edge to produce low vibrating sounds that I could feel in my throat. (This accompanied by the poodle she got should have warned me that my parents were about to get divorced, but that's another story for another time on a day that we are not discussing rose quartz.)

Cue the Zamfir.

In the past when I have written about my new house I have received comments with lots of exclamation points and CAPS telling me to shut it with the woe is me and to volunteer. I don't so much feel those in my throat as I feel them in my butt. They suck. But you see I am from Marin, not so much the new Marin of Range Rovers but the old Marin of hot tubs and bead freaks. Not to get all Sequoia NaNa on you, but here we take our hippie shit veeery seriously, and the other day while gardening I found a large milky chunk of rose quartz crystal in my front yard.

Here I have taken a photo of it with my garden Buddha and Zoey's My Pretty Ponicorn. It seemed appropriate at the time.

I looked up rose quartz online and in the wise words of a gal named Whitehorse Woman: Rose quartz soothes negative influences and allows you to know your true self through opening up your 4th chakra. I'm not really sure what that means but I like the sound of it and will listen to anyone named Whitehorse Woman, (although WhitePonicorn Woman would have really gotten my attention).

So that's that. My house has been blessed by pink crystals. Zoey likes to hold it in her hand and say Namaste, mostly because it makes me laugh.

And in slightly unrelated news: The other day on the phone, in a fit of missing her granddaughter, my mom told Zoey that anytime she looked in the mirror that she, Grandma Glitter, would be staring back at her. And now Zoey is afraid to look in the mirror. Which is pretty much how I feel all the time because now I kinda' want a singing bowl. But not a poodle, and totally not a divorce.

The End.