It’s funny, the crazy things you sometimes do. The story I'm about to tell you is just one of many. This is my part of the story, and it’s one beginning, I guess. It began with love and Destiny.

I honestly can't remember exactly when this happened. It was sometime this summer.  A summer of love and loss, joy and pain, and celebration.  A summer that life gave us a push and the universe said, "Make your dream come true, go get what you need, and I’ve got your back." There is life and death and love. 

I’ve been fighting a long fight, going through a lot of personal pain, working toward an effective solution. Physical therapy is a part of my life. In the therapy pool, I am free, but on land, gravity and I have some issues. I’ve been a disability advocate, though I didn't really realize that’s what I was. I grew up with disability as a part of family.  My aunt was my aunt.  Not my deaf aunt, but my aunt who had her finger bitten off by one of the zebras. Zebras are not especially nice. My brother used to tell us what the coaches were saying on football games he could lipread so well.  I simply expected people to be humane, to take the time and effort to see themselves in another’s shoes, and when they saw it, they would change. Sadly, that’s not the case anymore, not as often as it should be.

To give is a joyous thing. As a teacher and real estate broker, I love to give. I give of my service to my clients to meet their needs and help them find joy in the next stage of their lives.  It’s also teaching children and watching them grow into confident young adults with their own families.

So, as I said, I’m a disability rights advocate, and I have an expectation of humanity that has been lacking lately. I expect better from our adults, especially for our children. The universe kept sending me signs—many, many signs—but that, my friends, is a story for another time. You’re welcome to read my Senate testimony on Senate Bill 819, and you might understand a little more about who I am.

I don’t weed. Bug photography is a new hobby with my limited mobility. Bugs are fascinating!

I pay for people and food, everything else is Reduce, Repurpose, Recycle.  So, when I saw an ad on Facebook Marketplace that said, “Rocks $50 a bucket/$25,” I was intrigued. I reached out, Destiny reached back…

In the meantime, my beloved and I were having a little tiff. I am a morning person; he is not. We’ve been married 34 years. If you don’t understand this, you’re not ready for that stage of your adulting. I sent a text meant for him to her: “I have given you a back rub and a massage, what else can I do to help you wake up in the morning?” However, the words were not quite so friendly. When I realized what I had done, I immediately sent Destiny a text saying, “Please ignore, fighting with my husband.” She immediately sent back, “Mine is not a morning person either.” She understood. And that began a shared bond through humor, technology, and fallibility—and soon, rocks.

It wasn’t very imposing. Honestly, it didn’t look like much, for the love of rocks. Destiny shared that this was her mom’s place, and they were cleaning it out. Her mother had passed, and the house would be sold. She took the rocks in the estate distribution. The family, like many, was figuring out life with all its choices and sadness. I know it well now. This wasn’t her family home, but a fairly new home for her mother, and the rock collection, much of it, ended up in the front yard, I guess. I thought about my own experiences, running your fingers through the hands of time when a family member has left, remembering and saying goodbye.

So, I said, How about a couple of truckloads?, And so it began.  With every truckload came laughter.  Something much needed for all of us. When she arrived with Drew with the first truck load, she said, “We tried to bring some of the best ones,” and kept handing out some just amazing things. We were both giddy. Scott saw what I bought, and I’m sure he wondered what I spent. Suffice to say, not a lot. By the end of the weekend, we had acquired enough coral to build a wall, and rocks, a lifetime of rocks. Incredibly beautiful, unique rocks. Each represented a moment that Destiny and her mother, Merrie, shared. Each a memory.

When you looked at the pile, it was overwhelming. Sitting in the shed one morning , as I often do, listening to the songs of the seals far beyond Seal Rock. Somehow, their sound travels—it travels to us on the small ground of this house, as if they are just next door though they are on a tiny rock in the ocean.. As I write this again this morning, they are singing. The universe is sending me so many positive messages in every way you can imagine, each a story to be told.

Listening to the seals, I began to cry and realized I couldn’t keep these rocks. They were not mine; they never had been, and they never would be. The rocks created smiles.  So many smiles.  There has been a lot o grief and loss for me and for so many. The last of the clan of kittens born between us in our bed had died in my arms this past Christmas.  Time passes. Death happens. Life moves on.

Smiles heal me. Giving heals me. Seeing the joy I can bring to another person.  Try it.  Find a positive and real thing to say to another person, anyone really, that gives them a smile in their day. Everyday. It may save a life.  It may save yours.

So, I started giving rocks away and collecting smiles. I sent the smiles to Destiny so she could share in the joy of the memories, old and new. I was giddy. It was so much fun. I don’t get out much with my mobility issues, which I’m hoping will someday be rectified. So, the rocks were a kind of way to connect with folks who were stopping by, or just walking by on the street.  Yes, several times this summer when I have been outside, a neighbor I don’t know well will walk by and I will shout, Hello!  DO YOU LIKE ROCKS?  And smile.

I don’t remember if the rocks came before our angel, or if our angel arrived before the rocks. I believe they arrived at exactly the same time. Sergio Albevera is our angel. If you ever need a great painter, Sergio is your man. He brought Mario, Anselmo, Ramone, papa, joy and beauty and friendship. We all had sausage biscuits and scones and fruit for breakfast under the umbrella in the yard for days on end.  With the wedding on the beach on Labor Day weekend, I feel like we lived our very own Oregon version of Under the Tuscan Sun. This was definitely the summer of stories and angels.

So, I began giving away rocks, capturing smiles and sending them to Destiny.

On our way back to the coast from a medical appointment and a wonderful visit with friends, (of course I brought rocks) we stopped at the Dairy Mart in Monroe. If you’re not familiar with Dairy Mart, it’s a Pacific Northwest institution. They have all your delicious dairy products, like a small 7-Eleven, and some serve chicken on a stick. If you’ve never had chicken on a stick, this reference will have no meaning to you. If you have had chicken on a stick, then you understand.

So, there we were at the Dairy Mart, exhausted with a box of rocks, and we had come back to get chicken on a stick on the way home. We were late—it’s popular. I looked at the case: three sad, dried-out, late-in-the-day chicken on a sticks. I said, “Excuse me, is that the only chicken on a stick there is?” He said, “Yeah.” He said, I can give you one for free.  I asked, “Could I buy all three at a discount?” He said, “No, I can’t sell them to you at a discount.” We both shook our heads. It tells you what kind of day it was that neither Karl nor I nor anyone up until the writing of this version of the story months later had thought of offering one free, two at full price, as a discount.

So, needless to say, my senior moments have begun. They’re not called senior moments now, you know; they’re called screensavers. We must keep up with the times. In the Dairy Mart that day, both of us were weary— weary of the systems that are broken, weary of the lack of autonomy, weary of the craziness this world has become. We looked at each other, and in that moment, I asked, “Do you like rocks?”

He looked at me quizzically. Karl said, “We pick up some agates on the beach occasionally, sure.” I said, “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” So, I went to the car and got this fist-sized agate with a lovely geode center that I’m pretty sure I have found the mate to. (I would love to get together with Karl someday to see if these two pieces truly do go together.) Again, that’s a story for another time.

I went back to the counter and handed it to Karl. He looked at me. I said, “Do you like this rock?” I said, “It’s for you.” I smiled. Enormous grin—that’s the thing that feeds me, that enormous grin. Seeing the joy, whether it’s a kid learning to read, or when someone says, “Math isn’t so bad,” or when I see a young person growing into a kind, compassionate, adulting human who finds their own voice. In real estate, I get to see people find a home or move on from one. They chose me and I get to help them in that process. It’s a heck of a joy to know that you helped someone in one of their biggest life events. As their concierge, their guide, their representative, their trusted broker, and hopefully someone who brings them a smile.

My mentor often told me, “Real estate is not about sales. Real estate is about relationships. “You’re not simply the person people come to when they want to buy or sell their home, but you’re the person they know, the person they have a relationship with, a person in their community.” Just as in disability advocacy, I think what I get out of life is joy: bringing joy, seeing others be happy and being able to continue that happiness for themselves. To share connection and build friendship. To create community.

So, there I was at the Dairy Mart, and as I started sharing the story with Karl, his colleague, Anthony, was staring at the rock. “Anthony, do you like rocks?” I said? “Yeah.” he said. “Isn’t it time for Anthony’s break?” I asked? Karl, with a big grin, said, “Yeah, Anthony has a break coming up.” I said, “Anthony, my husband is out there with a box of rocks in the car. You should go pick a rock on your break.” And Anthony did. I went to the bathroom, and Carl packaged my single chicken strip—the one gratis token of appreciation and a symbol of our times when we all feel like so many widgets in the machine.

Upon my return, I continued sharing the story with Karl—why I’m giving away the rocks. That I am sharing, something that gives me joy, and collecting smiles. That I was sending a picture of each smile and rock to Destiny as a memento of a moment she and her mom shared, a memory of something going beyond that moment. I don’t know if this is what either of them would’ve wanted, but Destiny seems to be very pleased. She is full of joy and life.

As I shared with Carl, he looked at me and he said, “This is the real stone soup.” And I was so excited, because I thought, “Yes, this IS the real stone soup.” Quick, let’s write it down before I forget. Karl handed me my receipt and a pen.  I wrote, “This is the real stone soup, thanks Carl,” and Karl said, if you’re going to write i down,“It’s Karl with a K.” And there you have it, that’s how the title came to be.  Without Karl, you might never have heard this story.

So, I walked out to see which rock Anthony had chosen. I still remember the rock he chose. I’ve started remembering a lot of the rocks that folks have chosen, not simply because of the photo, but because of the smile.  I’ve become fascinated with the choices people make about rocks. Anthony chose a small, unassuming, round rock with many, many circles on it—impressions of some geological event. It was one of my favorites in the box. It felt like the rock said “infinity” all over it. I said to Anthony, after I took his picture, “Why that rock?” He said, “It speaks to me,” and I knew exactly what he meant. He shared that his mother gave him his love of rocks as well.

I have been sharing this crazy rock adventure with my sister, Anna. She had reminded me that, as a child, she had always said rocks were alive. She said people never understood what she meant, but we all connect to rocks in this way that connects at almost the level of humanity. People love rocks; it’s wild. I have seen the strangest behavior from people who love rocks.

I’ve realized I need to have a warning sign: Caution, childlike tendencies may appear. Please refrain from activities best performed by a kitty, puppy, monkey, or baby. Act your age—silly, I know, you can’t, it’s a rock! Giggle. Photos at least slow them down. I’ve had an electrical contractor with shoulder surgery scrambling on 4 yards of glass. Made my heart beat like nothing else. A colleague and dear friend came for lunch.  We spent a lot of time working together in the service of kids in the GED program, so there is shared joy and heartache. The kids had a glorious time digging through the rocks, swinging, and searching for buried treasure.  The adults had a lovely time watching!  After everyone was and headed out of the driveway, and mind you, she had heard the stories of the electrical contractor and why the rocks were now surrounded by plants and pots as if to kindly say, “Don’t even think so.” As the car pulled out, she came back into the driveway. I said, “Did you forget something?” She said, “Yes, I see a rock right there,” and she climbed through the crocosmia and reached into the pile. We laughed and laughed. What can I say? Smiles and laughter. This is what feeds me.

So, I say all this to let you know that so many, many things have happened with these rocks, even before we arrived at the Dairy Mart. Each a story to tell, each rock that has a new home that will bring joy and friendship and conversation. Each a story that can connect us in some way, because, as my sister always said, rocks were alive.

So now the story is yours. Some of these rocks went to a second-grade classroom, where they will be on a teacher’s desk, shared throughout the school, and/or taken home by individuals. Each of those rocks has a story to tell, and the new hands in which they reside may someday tell it. Some of them went to the Oregon Coast Humane Society annual gala and fundraiser, and will appear in the Oregon Coast Humane Society holiday fundraiser. If you are fortunate enough to have acquired a collection on your own, share it! Find a way to connect, perhaps with a neighbor, perhaps with a new friend.  If you want to start, reach out. If you need a rock, just write me. There will always be more rocks.

I heard of someone else in the community who is also giving away a rock to every contractor who visits her home. I love that. If you have rocks and you love rocks, throw a couple in your pocket, and next time you’re out somewhere and you see someone who you might not ever talk to, walk up, start a conversation with four simple words: “Do you like rocks?” Then pull those beautiful things out of your pocket that you have to share and bring a little bit of that joy into someone else’s life and your own. When we share, we see with new eyes. When we connect with our humanity, it’s hard to walk away again. So that’s the real stone soup.

For me, it’s sharing rocks and collecting smiles. Learning, growing, connecting, building community—this is my real stone soup. Find your own. Become a part of it in whatever way you can.

Love first, love last, love always. 

Stories never really start or end. They simply were of before. Perhaps they are of now. If shared in a community, hopefully they will be always. Thank you Merrie for letting me honor your story.

It's funny isn't it. Life. Death. Change. You'll think you know what mattered in a life. You think you know what matters in yours. We all plan for it, don't we? What our life will be? Who we become? Who we are now? What we will leave behind? Sometimes, it’s not what we think. Not even something we can even predict or imagine.

To be able to bring a smile to someone's day makes me happy. A little happy for them, a little happy for me. Sometimes there are days when, for some of us, that little moment of happy may make all the difference. Something comes from loss. Grief, pain, growth, rebirth. A cycle we all experience as a part of our humanity. I recently re-found a quote by Helen Keller. Security. “Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.”

― Helen Keller, The Open Door

She was a jumper. So am I. So was Merrie I think.  Destiny is for sure. To jump into life is a glorious thing.  Honestly, you often don’t look before you leap.  But you only get one.  Life.  This Is The Real Stone Soup Thanks Karl didn't start with me and it won't end with me. It fills my journeys with joy. It brings smiles and giggles to my day. It brings friends old and new to my doorstep. When they come, I tell them of Merrie, who lived in joy and loved rocks, and of Destiny, who will bring joy into the lives of others for many years to come. 

She and I never met. In learning of her life, she is all the more missed.Merrie Shannon LaPrade October 1, 1962 ~ December 21, 2023 (age 61).   She dedicated herself to making a difference in the world. She left behind three beautiful daughters and a world better for her being in it. She also loved rocks. I think she would be smiling to know what has happened with her collection so far. 

You see, we're giving away her rock collection one rock at a time and collecting smiles and sharing them with the world. To know that a life inspires so many in the world after you are gone gives continuity to the cycle of the human spirit. Your life is living on through smiles.  Not just any smiles either. These are the smiles of childhood. The smile of humanity. The smile of who we are together, not apart. It's the smile that connects us. I see that smile when people choose a rock. I love capturing those smiles and sharing them. They are somehow different. They feel like joy

Many stories have begun through rocks and smiles.  Each of them I look forward to sharing with you, the reader, and Merrie, wherever she may be. I'm honored to be a conduit through which the universe sends these rocks out into the world. Thank you, Merrie. It certainly wasn't fate that connected us. It was Destiny. Your light lives on in her. She is joyous. Her joy has changed my life and so many others. Stay tuned for more stories. Fight the good fight wherever your next adventure is and know that here on earth, you are in our hearts. 

Love first, Love last, Love always

Jen

From Altadena. Thank you Emily.

Essay on January 24, 2025:

By Emily Aitken

1/24/25 was the day I finally returned to my neighborhood. Two weeks and two days after the flames consumed it all. I knew what to expect. I had seen the pictures and the videos. But still, as I sifted through the remains, I longed for pieces of my old life. Artifacts of the past. Proof of existence. Evidence that life had once been lived here.

The longer I searched, the more futile it became. The more temporary and small my life began to feel. Because all of the items I collected, consumed, loved, and even some that I had probably held onto for too long, had been reduced to ash. Melted into their raw form. Stripped to their mechanical components. Mottled and bent and bruised and discolored.

Of all the things that had been destroyed, I found one item that had survived to tell the tale. A small stone that my mom had given to me with one word etched into it: "Healing." And as I looked around the ruins of the neighborhood, a place where children played, love was made, tears were shed, families were reared, life in all of its beautiful mundanity was lived, I looked to the mountains.

How strong they stood. I looked at the sky, still shining blue. And as the sun set, the golden hour light was still just as stunning as it had been before. And I began to have hope.

Photos by Savannah Greenly

Editor's Note:

This was written by my youngest daughter, Emily. She attended PUSD - Norma Coombs, Aveson, and PHS, eventually graduating from UC Santa Cruz. To all her teachers....job well done!