As a kid, I liked to collect pretty rocks. The shinier the better. The more misshapen the better. Sometimes I’d even find a dull looking rock and crack it in half with a hammer to see if the inside was shiny. I’d be delighted if the insides sparkled.

Today I still have pretty rocks, and, to some, random rocks around my house might look a little peculiar. But, then again, I’ve never claimed to be “normal” so perhaps visitors chalk it up to my eclectic taste in décor.

I came by some of these stones while living in West Los Angeles. Others were picked up after I moved to the Midwest.

The new rocks are healing stones.

(Now relax, family and friends. I have not taken to worshipping inanimate objects and I’m not delving into devil worship.)