The Shells By Linda Stowe
Growing up, I felt more attached to one set of my grandparents. I saw them more often and found them endlessly interesting. For years they spent their winters driving an Airstream trailer to Sarasota, Florida, and when they returned, our attic filled with the evidence—colorful clothes, starfish, conch shells, musical instruments, even a coconut painted to look like a human head. There was always something novel about what they brought home, and just being around them felt like an adventure.
When I became a teenager, those starfish and conch shells came to mind when I joined the planning committee for my high school prom. We had chosen the theme “Under the Sea,” and I suggested the shells as table decorations. Everyone loved the idea. When I asked my grandmother if we could use them, she hesitated, worried someone might break one. I promised, on my honor, that I would return them safely.
Prom night was magical. The committee had gone all out—painting backdrops, hanging decorations, bathing the gym in blue light until it looked like a dreamlike seascape. The shells were the perfect finishing touch. I was floating on compliments, proud of what we had pulled off, so caught up in the moment that it took me a while to notice what people were doing. Guests were taking the starfish and conch shells home with them. By the time I realized and tried to intervene, most were gone, and a few of those remaining were broken. I was devastated.
The next day I told my grandmother what had happened. I felt sick about it, unsure what to expect. This was, after all, the same woman who once chased a fox out of her henhouse. I cried as I explained, but she surprised me. She spoke calmly, philosophically, saying that while the shells had once held memories of the beach for her and my grandfather, they would now carry new memories for the students who took them. She turned my mistake into a lesson about doing something meaningful and letting go. It is a lesson I did not fully understand until I became an old woman myself.
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Polly here.
This story completely touched my heart. What an awesome and amazing woman Linda’s grandma must have been. And what a lesson she handed to all of us.
I mean, my stomach dropped when I read the line that people were taking the shells home, and that the ones that were left were broken. My heart completely sank.
Her grandma’s reaction is quite the teaching.
Our world and our lives are so “real” to us on the physical level. We are in physical bodies living in a world that is full of material possessions and “stuff” that we put value on. Things that we get attached to. Things that we say are “ours.”
But in reality, none of this belongs to us. None of this is lasting. It all changes, every moment, every day. We are spiritual beings living amongst all of these things.
Eventually, we transcend all of this, in what I hope is a lasting way.
Until then, we lose the starfish and the shells; we break the heirloom vase or bang up the car; our pets pass away; or, worse yet, our loved ones. It all moves and shifts.
And somehow, we must learn to move and shift with it. And find the lessons in each turn.
