Skipping Stones

There are many things that when you really think about them are odd. Many activities we do and things we say that don't seem likely. Like skipping stones. Really, think about it. Who decided that it would be cool to see if heavy rocks could dance on water? And why? Presumably this first occurred when as a species we were beyond subsistence level existence. I remember in psychology 101, according to Maslow's hierarchy of needs that first hunger, thirst, and sleep must be met long before the need to skip stones. It is a frivolous activity at best and probably the result of an accidental discovery, like dynamite was. I think the likely scene unfolded thusly- a crocodile was after someone's child and the brave mother tossed a rock at it. The rock totally missed the crocodile but went skipping at the perfect angle all across the lake, felling a duck and the crocodile went after the already immobile and thus easier prey. A child was saved and a new leisure activity was born.

Then, there are those unlikely things we say, like my daughter's new favorite phrase, "Good grief!" It can be applied to any situation but often is a quicker way of saying, "This is the thousandth time you have told me that - what do you think I am... a 12 year old?"
But when you think deeply about those words, they make little sense. They are like "jumbo shrimp" or "amicable divorce", "boneless ribs", or my personal favorite, "elementary calculus".
What is so good about grief?

Personally, I find little to commend grief. The effects of prolonged grief are as devastating to our health as Dippin Dots at every meal, and a whole lot less fun. It takes more muscles to frown than to smile, thus the physical exertion involved in grief can exhaust the hardiest of souls. The only real good I can see in grief is that it rhymes with "leaf" which is useful for poets.

Yet everyone will at some time in their life, likely experience grief. Some will wallow in it, and some will drown in it. Some lucky few only dabble in it but even for those brief excursions into grief, I doubt they are shouting about how good it is.

Yet oddly, there is a good side to the aftermath of grief. No one holds a hand more warmly than someone who has grieved similarly. And no comfort is so encouraging as from someone who has been in the same abyss and crawled out whole on the other side. So maybe the good in grief is since it is inevitable, it is not without purpose if we can follow its trajectory to the other side, like a skipping stone, where someone is waiting for a message of hope.