I believe I have mentioned in this spot before that some days are diamonds and some are rocks. There have been an awful lot of rocks lately. Still, I feel compelled to dig for those precious bits: the moments that make all that moving of boulders worth the effort.
In the wake of the massacre in Las Vegas there have been dozens of stories emerging of heroism and sacrifice. The husband who shielded his wife on their twenty-third anniversary. He died. Sometimes diamonds are found encrusted in rock. The former Marine who "borrowed" a truck and drove thirty victims to a hospital. The truck wasn't big enough to get everyone out.
Tom Petty died. Still, there is all that music that now gets the attention it deserves. We can sing along with the ones we know by heart and listen closely to those that never made the greatest hits circuit. "Great American Songwriter." Once more highlighting the tendency we have to celebrate folks after they've gone through the door.
A presidential moment: "He brutally murdered more than fifty people, and wounded hundreds more. It was an act of pure evil." Then the teleprompter went off and the "President" returned. Tossing paper towels at Puerto Rico. And told us how "wonderful" it was to be in Las Vegas, visiting the victims of that brutal murder.
So many rocks.
I suppose it really helps to look in places where diamonds can be easily found, like Tom Shane's villa or in the sky with Lucy. Elementary schools have an abundance of them. You don't often have to look hard, but this past week has been a hard core mining expedition. It's probably selfish of me to expect more hugs from short people who only know me by my last name, but I'm running a little low on things that sparkle and shine.
Which is precisely what makes them so precious.
Keep turning over rocks. Move them around. You never know what you might find.