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Angela Posey-Arnold

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Collections Inc.
by Angela Posey-Arnold   
Rated "G" by the Author.
Last edited: Saturday, November 01, 2008
Posted: Saturday, November 01, 2008

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Someone ask me to write about what I collect. The following story is what happened.

Rocks of Ages

By Angela Posey-Arnold

Growing up I collected all sorts of things but my favorite thing to collect was rocks. Loved those rocks. At the age of eight I got a rock polisher so I could polish my collection. If I close my eyes I can still hear the sound of the polisher going round and round all night. By morning I had perfectly polished rocks.

The collection of rocks became rather large so in an off season for kool-aid sales, I began to paint the rocks. Employing my friend, Stacey, to assist me, we painted various types of rocks and actually sold them to two ladies. Those ladies happened to be our Mothers but hey, they had money and they liked our rocks.

A prerequisite for dating me during my late twenties was the ability to carry and load large rocks. When I prayed for my future husband to come along and sweep me off my feet I always added, “And Lord please, let him be strong”.

The Lord hears and answers prayers like that. Not long after my prayer, I started dating “Bear”. His football coach had given him the nickname, “Dancing Bear”. If we were Indian by heritage I would have changed it to “Bear Picks Up Big Rocks”. On one journey alone he heaved a large pickup load of sandstone from a nearby creek. Of course, we were newlyweds and he was still showing off his muscle.

I just love different shaped rocks. On trips I will see one that is just fascinating and exclaim, “Oh Bear look at that rock, how pretty the colors are.”

“Do you want it?” He will say.

“Oh yes, will you get it?”

“Of course I will, beautiful.”

 We found one while visiting West Virginia in the shape of the State of Alabama. It came home from West Virginia with us to the state of Alabama.

Being married now for twenty years we have a very nice collection of rocks. He will still get the rocks, but I feel bad asking him now. I don’t want him to hurt his back or anything. But, sometimes I see one I just have to have. I’ll shyly say, “Bear, you hunka, look at that rock over there. Did you see it?”

“No, sweetheart I did not see it, now come on let’s go”

“But..but..but.. it looks like Texas…….”

“Angie, do you want that rock? I mean do you really have to have THAT particular rock?”

“Well, no I don’t HAVE to HAVE it. But, did you see it?”

“Ok, I will get the rock.”

“No, no, I don’t want you to. Just forget it. I am afraid you’ll hurt yourself. You are 48 years old now.” I remind him ever so sweetly.

“No, no. It is fine baby.  I can get the rock. What, you don’t think I can get that rock? Well I can. I’m getting the rock”.

“Okay, thank you sweetie pea”. I smile as he loads it into the truck for the ride back to Alabama from Tennessee.

“You’re welcome. It is not as heavy as it looks”. He says. Then I usually hear something that sounds like, “whew.”  

Our first home we lived in for eleven years. Our big rock collection has taken on many forms over the years. It has been a rock wall, a water feature, a sidewalk and patio. Every time Bear moves the rocks he is a little older and each time he says, “This is absolutely the last time I am moving these rocks.”  If I recall correctly he has moved them five or six times since then and said the same thing every time.

Bear recently built himself a new gunsmithing shop behind our log home. I looked out the window of my office to see him moving my rocks.

“Bear, what are you doing moving those rocks?”

“I just thought I would make a walkway.” He said as he dropped the big rock he was moving with a thud.

“I thought you weren’t going to move them again.”

“I’m not. This is killing my back. I have been moving these for twenty years. This is absolutely the last time I am moving these rocks!”

 “Hey, it was your idea.”



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