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A Crystal-Packing Mama
| Article
# : |
13709 |
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Section : |
LIFE
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| Issue
Date : |
8 / 1988 |
1,413 Words |
| Author
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Kathryn N. Hardin
Kathryn Hardin's humor articles first appeared nationwide
thirty years ago. This Arkansas grandmother draws on her
life, past and present, for her current anecdotes. |
Just when I thought it was safe to go out without my crystal, I find there is renewed interest in the mystical mineral. This time, not only are crystals taped to carburetors to improve gas mileage, worn to promote healing, carried to put one in touch with the universe, and placed on desks by executives to soothe jangled nerves, they are now being sewn into the seams of blue jeans. I wouldn't even hazard a guess as to the wonders that this is supposed to bring about.
Had I foreseen that one day crystals would catch the fancy of New Age enthusiasts and Shirley MacLaine would wear them to the Academy Awards, I could have cornered the market on this phenomenon. But, never one to spot a trend, on my vacations to Hot Springs, Arkansas, I headed straight for the antique shops and drove right past the real buys--chunks of quartz displayed on dusty roadside stands.
By the time that I learned crystals were in such demand that New York travel agencies were organizing gather-ye-rose-quartz-while-ye-may excursions to the quartz mines of Arkansas, and by the time government regulations and skyrocketing prices affected the crystal industry, it was too late to corner the market. I did, however, find two chandelier drops in our attic. I took this to be an omen that robust health and mind expansion--if not wealth and prosperity--were still within my grasp.
I gave one of the drops to my daughter-in-law and kept one for myself to see just what earth-shattering changes would take place in our somewhat pedestrian existence.
Several weeks later, my daughter-in-law claimed that her crystal was having a profound effect on both her health and her attitude toward life. Unfortunately, I had to report that mine wasn't working at all. I was still bothered by the same old aches and pains and wasn't even remotely in tune with the universe.
"It's because you don't believe," she said earnestly.
Actually, what I had in mind was something on the order of penicillin, which would work whether I believed or not.
A friend--knowledgeable in New Age matters--told me the trouble might stem from the fact our drops are glass. (I'm wondering if I should tell my daughter-in-law she has a placebo. It seems to be working for her, and I'm not one to knock
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