Rock On

The objects in the picture below are not Easter Eggs. They are rocks I collected from Phillips Beach, in Swampscott, MA. For some reason, all the rocks on this beach, regardless of their mineral make-ups, are egg-shaped. What could possibly lie on the ocean floor along this beach, in particular, that would cause this phenomenon? I should know the answer; I had a geology class during my senior year of college.

Because I attended a liberal arts college, I was required to take either a math or a science class, even though I was a music major, concentrating in voice. I had struggled with math (due to an un-diagnosed learning disability) throughout school, so I chose Geology, which required a three-hour weekly lab as well as a weekly lecture. I had always loved collecting rocks and shells and stuff. What could go wrong?

My roommate, Jane, was a history major and nearly as math-phobic as I. We sat next to each other in lab where each week we were given a printed page with a lengthy problem to solve which required the ability to use graphs, maps and do lengthy calculations. Our classmates completed their work and usually left early, leaving Jane and me with the two lab assistants.

Worse still, the music building, Swigart Hall, was right across the street from the science building. I could hear my fellow music majors practicing piano and vocalizing through the open window. This, along with past math trauma and the utter impossibility of my being able to complete my work sheet, would cause me to have a panic attack. Even if Jane managed to struggle through her assignment, she would stay with me out of loyalty; she knew what was coming. And each week, things became a bit worse since my terror manifested itself through laughter. The longer I was trapped, the more likely any little thing could set me off.

For example, there was a large pull-down topographical map in front of the class hanging above the blackboard. Each student had to consult it by pulling the map down like a shade, then allowing it to roll back up. I had been stifling giggles and snorts throughout the first half hour with some measure of success. When I approached the map, it refused to pull down, no matter how many times I tugged on the handle. I took a peek over my shoulder and saw that everyone was watching me. I pulled and pulled until…Yaay! The damned thing finally unrolled. But before I could sigh in relief, it rolled itself up with a loud SMACK before the whole map fell from the wall and crashed to the floor at my feet.

This topped the time I dropped a box of rock specimens and had to crawl after them under my classmate’s desks. I left the room in hysterics and sat in the hall, my back against the wall, doubled over with laughter. The lab instructors were used to me by now. From time to time, one of them would peep out the door and ask, “You alright?” Still unable to catch my breath, red-faced with tears streaming down my cheeks, I nodded, waving them away until I could gain control and return to my seat.

By the fourth lab session, my anxiety and despair had risen to such heights that after a few errant giggles I would simply put my face in my hands and begin sobbing. “For Heaven’s sake, go help her or we’ll be here all night,” one assistant would hiss at the other. Fortunately, The head of the Geology department, Dr. Trexlor, was a kind, empathetic opera-lover, who came to all my concerts and recitals. He must have agreed that an injustice had been committed and that those three hours each week would have been more beneficial for all had I been allowed to spend them across the street vocalizing and learning repertoire. He passed me giving me a D plus.

Despite my inability to calculate the diameter of a sink-hole or to find the mass of an igneous intrusion, I still maintain my fascination with rocks. We humans, like sedimentary rocks, are squeezed and shaped by the layers of the past and the present, pressing in on us. We metamorphose because of forces that act to change us in our environment. Our passions can erupt or ignite like lava, resulting in violence or sparkling works of inspiration.

Rocks, like humans, have a history, and many hide wondrous secrets. Sometimes, the dullest of rocks contain the purest gold or even a fossilized record of life that once existed. Long after my own brief spark of life dulls and my own borrowed minerals return to the earth, these beautiful, mysterious egg-shaped rocks will still exist, waiting for their next own next iteration.