I was sittin’ on the couch with mom when she picked up that great big old shell we’d had forever. It was the kind some people drill a hole in and turn into a novelty lamp. “Listen to dis,” she said as she handed it to me. I put it up to my ear. “Dat’s dee ocean Landa,” she announced. “Oh yeah, I hear it mom,” I said. She quickly got up and grabbed a basket. She started scamperin’ around, gathering up all the shells she’d ever found, collected or been given through the years. They were stuck here and there around the house . . . in flower pots, in ash trays, in candy dishes and tied up with red ribbon hanging on the wall. “Dey are all singing Landa,” she said as she set them on the coffee table. “I just heard it von day . . . dey are singing . . . singing vid dee ocean.” She sat back down and proceeded to pick them up individually, listening carefully to each one herself before passing it on to me. She’d smile and laugh and exclaim, “See dis von . . . dis von has it too.” I looked at my mom, like a child, exuberant about some new incredible discovery and I said to her, “How do you figure the ocean can still be in there?” “I don’t know Landa . . . I jist don’t know,” she said as she handed me the last shell. It was so small but sure enough, the ocean crashed and roared inside its tiny pink curves. “Mom, have you showed these to anyone else?” I asked her. “Oh NO Landa,” she exclaimed as she arranged the shells, “I can’t do dat . . . I can’t take dat chance . . . vee haf to keep dis a secret . . . or some von may try to schteal dem!” She looked over at me and said “Don’t tell nobody . . . vee may haf to sell dem some day.” Then she shoved the basket up under the couch.