A shell, a piece of bone, a tumbleweed,
some driftwood, Indian beads, a little stone…
these things hold memories, and how I need
them. Grandchildren learned names of shells with speed
from my collection. Don’t forget pinecone
to add to shell and bone and tumbleweed.
My mother cooked Thanksgiving once to feed
us in the pinewoods. Warm that year, sun shone.
These things hold memories. O, how I need
remembrance of the driftwood she would plead
with us to bring up from the beach. Windblown,
a shell, a piece of bone, a tumbleweed
arrived onshore. And then we would impede
their further travels, as our mom was prone
to loving things of nature. They, her need,
defined her as might the Apostles’ Creed.
Each lovely signature stood all alone
in her home, shell and bone and tumbleweed.
I understand the memories I need.
My song, “Alabaster Seashell” began with three simple stanzas I wrote when I was 17. I vaguely remembered only part of the melody for the “Alabaster Seashell.” But it was the beautiful chord progressions, which utilized a different guitar tuning, that enraptured me. I knew my song needed something more, but I had no idea how I was going to expand my song about a seashell. I started to experiment to see what I could come up with.
I have always loved seashells and deeply appreciated their indescribable beauty. When my art career first began, I received an assignment to create a series of eight, large paintings of seashells, which would be marketed as prints. As I painted dozens of seashells, I became quite familiar with their intricate shapes and colors.
I was surprised how telling the story of a seashell memento also stirred up many emotions inside of me. My memories of collecting seashells began during childhood. I kept jars of them in my bedroom and each shell represented a beautiful memory of a day spent searching the seashore. With those feelings, I started to compose some new lyrics to add to my song, but then I had such a major revelation with “The Alabaster Seashell” that it took my breath away.
My song was originally based upon the story of a boyfriend giving me a seashell when I was in my teens. With that story, I pictured myself older and looking back at the treasured memory my boyfriend gave me long ago, after we were no longer in love. But as I sang my old melody, suddenly my heart took me somewhere else. I was swept to a clear day at the beach. I squinted as the brilliant sun warmed my soul. My young son was walking with me along the seashore. Then, he bent down and excitedly cupped a sparkling white seashell in his hands to show me. His blue eyes were shining. The revelation of how my song had changed and the memory of that tender moment caused me to become overwhelmed with emotion. I realized that I had discovered how my song could be expanded.
I decided that a seashell was a beautiful metaphor about seeing death in a positive way. The creature that once inhabited the seashell left something beautiful behind when it died. Although the creature was gone, the seashell could bring comfort with its beauty and with the memories. The “Alabaster Seashell” reminded me of a magnificent day combing the beach with Jason. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I quickly scrawled out additional lyrics for my song.
These are original pages where I developed new lyrics for a song I wrote when I was 17.
I’ve visited this area last year after hurricane Irene hit it..the stone walls are patched, the lawns back in order and local residents are once again preparing for a storm, this time Sandy….. hopefully, it won’t repeat Irene’s damaging force.
I have always related to stones, thought that somehow, in the kingdom of things, they speak a language. Listen. Listen hard. You’ll hear the water burble over them, the children’s laughter as they toss them here or there.
And look. See those colors, shapes, the veins? What stories might they tell? Where have they been and what might they have housed? How old are they?
Along the beach I pick up little stones, and big ones too, you know, those angular stones, gray usually, with holes and bumps, which I think are bruises from their journeys.
Kind of like us….we have holes in us, sometimes in our hearts, and bruises? Oh, for sure. Where are your bruises? I know where mine are. A stone is hard, yet water has given it a sheen, a coating, a shine on rainy days. When sun beams down upon a stone it seems to smile.
Me too. Hard. Yep, there are places that haven’t been softened yet, but I know that the “sun and water” of my life will touch and change them.
He was returning from his early morning beach walk rather disappointed. No sharks teeth again. He knew it sounded silly, sharks teeth being so important among all the shells, glimmering upon a palette only God could paint.
How many years had it been? Fifteen, twenty? She had seemed so fragile, so frail that day.
He remembered her smile as he placed the perfectly formed sharks tooth into her weathered palm. It was to be the last time they walked in that placed together.
Somehow, he just needed that sign from her today, the one that said, “I’m still with you.”
As he sighed and started towards the cabin, he spotted an opened cockle shell. In his mind, it looked just like a heart. “You ARE here!” he exclaimed as the wind gathered his words and scattered them into the waves.
He picked up the opened cockle shell carefully, hoping not to break the tenuous hinge that held it together. Overjoyed by the “sign” of the heart-shaped shell, he failed to notice what was hidden underneath it-a perfect black sharks tooth.
I didn’t take this photo, and am no way responsible for how awesome it is. Well…except of course that it’s my son in the photo, and I guess I had a little something to do with how awesome he is. I’m thinking about him and waiting to hear that he’s okay with all those storms through the DC and Virginia area where he is. And this is definitely a good example of a fleeting moment…the sun was caught just before it went down and out of sight. It’s one of my favorite pictures. The photo was taken by my brother in April of 2004, at Seaside, FL.
