Normanday #72: One day I went fishing for compliments.
Here is the single entry from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes about…
My brother showed me how to pick the best rocks. They had to be flat, he said. The flatter the better. We were in luck. The lake shore was littered with rocks like thin, flaky wafers. They had to be round on the edges, he said. The rounder the better. We were in luck. The flat flaky wafer rocks were brittle and the edges could be broken away until the rock was the right shape. You had to swing your arm like you were throwing a Frisbee underhand. He demonstrated. His rock skimmed the lake, lightly as a water strider, lifting off the surface for a moment before touching down again several feet away. On and on the slip of rock skipped until it almost seemed to reach the opposite shore. Now you try, he said. I found a flat rock. I held it, my forefinger curved around its already rounded edge. I bent my knees as I extended my arm to keep the rock low and send it sailing. It hit the water and…sank.