thinking

Long before I knew anything about Rodin’s Thinker, I had one up close and personal that I visited whenever I went to my grandparent’s home. Thinking back, I remember that I always made sure to pause at whatever table it rested on in each of the places my grandparents owned. I coveted this figurine that was quite heavy for a small person to pick up, lingered beside it transfixed as I studied the protruding mouth, wide nose, and well-defined finger groves. There was something comforting about the smooth, cool ebony metal, something intriguing about the bronze bracelet that brought movement and sound to the still object when I would gently slide it from the base to the wrist. To me it was so very beautiful and each time I walked away from my private meditation with her or him depending on how I viewed it on a particular visit, I hoped that one day it would be mine.

When my grandmother died, the statue went to live with my mother; though an adult, I found myself performing an admiration ritual similar to the one I began as a child only now I would always ask if I might take it to my home. This past weekend my wish came true!

Hard to believe that I never noticed the tiny etchings on the crown of the head that give the feel of hair, still can’t determine if it’s male or female. Of course, none of that matters as I think about the memories it evokes and wonder who in my family will be next in line to love it as much as I do.

It's the little things that mean so much and as you think about what little thing that might be for you, always...

keep your peepers open!®