![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PVRTsf1gaeOSbKeYQdgFZ2pDm9DQlJC6AZDS7bzEmzNEIXsvcjONjnVwnXRB0xgq5Jw62cA5Vbz-aK8jIYlBL4S_1FZSQ78gt1UYYe6q5VLtw3LtAxHhKeft67KGOE-GUkplSPEPw0Bs/s400/image.jpg)
One must have old, interesting containers for rocks. (See the dark rusty thing above, it's not a rock; it is the rusted trigger from a hand gun, found in my backyard. I wonder about the story behind that!)
The rocks that have been carved into hearts are sweet Valentine gifts from Tall Husband. (Oh, I know that the little French perfume bottle isn't a rock but it feels great in the hand. Besides, it has sentimental value: it belonged to my daughter when she was a student in Paris. If I remove the cap, I can inhale Misha's wild and heady girlhood.)
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