In the Eye of the Beholder

What do a Lincoln tarnished penny, 2 quarts of motor oil, and dogwood trees in blossom have to do with one another?  At nine o'clock this morning, my answer would have been, "Not a thing in the whole world."  This evening, the answer is much different. 

Originally, this blog post was intended to be about finding beauty in the unlikeliest of places.  This little town of mine is home to an amazing number of dogwood trees.  They will be nearing their peak bloom soon. 

Dogwood trees are found on almost every street. Majestic white and pink trees abide quite peacably on slivers of land known as the hell strip. It's that part of the front yard between the sidewalk and street.   Plants living in that harsh environment have to be tough to survive.  The dogwoods, apparently, could care less, given their survival over the years and abundant bloom.

They care not about their neighborhood, nor about the cars driven by their owners. They live alongside stop signs, power lines, and fire hydrants. They are blind to all of those things that seem to matter so much to us.  They give themselves over to luscious bloom every spring.

This part of the blog was a no-brainer.  Beauty, if we choose to look for it, is all around us.  I guess it is the "choosing to look for it" that seems to stop all of us in our tracks.

The morning was progressing nicely.  Hundreds of dogwoods were throwing up their gorgeous arms, begging to be photographed.

At one stop I heard a voice call out, "Hey watcha doin?"  I turned my head around, looking to see  where the voice was coming from.  I peered over a tall fence to find a woman sitting on the porch reading a paper.  I felt kind of like Tim, the toolman, talking to his next door neighbor, Wilson. Not quite sure if her comment was intended for me, I muttered, "Excuse me?"  Again, she asked, "Watcha doin," without ever lifting her head from her paper.

I began my lame longwinded answer about dogwood trees, how I loved them, how many graced the town, how I was out to take photos of them, etc.  She replied, quite simply, "Oh," again without looking up.  End of conversation.  I suspect she was a bit disappointed that I wasn't on a mission to take down the neighbor across the street with the great dogwood tree in the front yard.

I might have hoped for more, but none was forthcoming.  Back to the Suburban, on to the next dogwood.  Except, the Suburban began to frantically indicate its need for refreshment.  Bright yellow warning lights suggesting the addition of oil are not to be ignored. 

The clock read 9:58.  I could only hope the auto parts store was open. 

I had just manged to catch a glimpse of Better Half in a blur of fluorescent green as he pedaled furiously about the town on his super sleek red bicycle.  I knew he could not come to my rescue. That man is on a mission, all its own, when he rides his bicycle.  He will never give up on his dream to become the next Lance Armstrong.  It was up to me to walk into the auto parts store to purchase God only knows what kind of oil. 

Bravely I strode in, the smell of rubber almost overpowering me, and waited for the clerks to finish their phone calls.  When asked, I volunteered that I needed oil for a 2001 Suburban.  I also volunteered that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, hoping they would take pity on the slightly daft woman in the ball cap.  "5-W-30 is what you need," the clerk informed me.  "It's back on the wall."  So, off to the wall I strode, filled with mock confidence.

Do you have any idea how many kinds of motor oil exist?  I stood in dumbfounded disbelief.  At some point, as the shock wore off, I began to look for 5-W-30.  Then, I began to narrow my choices by color and the design on the plastic bottle that most appealed to me. I'm not kidding here.  About that time, the clerk came to my rescue.  I asked what he would recommend.  I did not, for one minute, consider telling him how I had intended to make my decision.

As I paid for the oil, I thanked the clerk for his help.  He made some glib comment about his job, and thinking about my job, I told him I could feel his pain as I worked in Financial Aid at the local university.  He laughed.  I laughed.  He then said, "Can I help you get that oil into the car?"  Wanting with all my heart to say yes, I said, "No thanks, I think I can handle it."  Famous last words.

I managed to find the release thingy for the hood.  Then, with all my heart I hoped I could find the other release thingy on the hood that lets it open.  Voila!  Pumped up with my success, I removed the oil cap (emblazoned with the type of motor oil the Suburban uses, by the way), and promptly dropped the cap into parts unknown. 


Immediately, I dropped to my knees and peered under the vehicle.  Not there.  I stuck my head down into that dirty dark abyss, seeing nothing.  I did not quite begin to panic, but almost.  I was at an auto parts store.  Surely, they would have a replacement oil cap if I couldn't find the one I dropped.  But, what if the oil cap, perched in the innards of the Suburban, was stuck in a place that would cause the SUV to malfunction, burst into flames, and disintegrate?

About this time, my knight in shining armor arrived.  This particular knight, wearing a bright red shirt, was the clerk who had, undoubtedly and with some humor, seen me on my hands and knees, searching for the oil cap.  "Are ya havin' some trouble?" he asked.  This time, I gave no flowery answers and cut straight to the problem.  At the moment I explained I had dropped the oil cap, I spied it wedged in the abyss.  He gamely thrust his hand into the abyss and came out with the oil cap.

I thanked him profusely, and then he offered to check the oil and pour it into the oil thingy for me.  Since I had already screwed up so badly, I took him up on the offer. 

As he worked, he asked me about how the summer semester worked at my school.  I explained, asking a few questions about his particular situation.  As the conversation progressed, I learned he had only a few credits left to earn before he graduated.  We talked about how he might best accomplish that. 

Once he had finished with the oil and I had explained the intricacies of  financial aid, I thanked him for going far beyond the call of duty and he thanked me for "talking shop" on my day off.  I gave him a rag to clean his hands.  We said good-bye and I turned around to get into the Suburban.  There, on the ground in front of me, sat a tarnished Lincoln penny, heads up.

I, quite literally, got goose bumps.  I don't know whether it was the joy of the of finding the oil cap, the overdose on rubber fumes, the knowledge that I had survived, sort of, an excursion to the auto parts store, or was it the simple goodness of one person willing to help another, on a Sunday morning, in the parking lot of the auto parts store, in small town America, that prompted my euphoria?   Undoubtedly, my feelings were the result of the acts of kindness performed by my knight in the red shirt.

As I drove away from the store to resume the Sunday morning dogwood saga, I did so with a full heart.  Not only have I learned that beauty will manifest itself in the unlikeliest of places, if only I will look, I have also learned that goodness will manifest itself in the unlikeliest of places, and I didn't even have to look for it. 

There is good and beauty in this small town we call home, if only we will choose to seek them out. 

I hope your week will be filled with goodness and beauty.  Open your eyes, look for it.  I know it is there.