Oct. 09, 2003 ~ Reasons to smile
A few years back, Husband was waiting to have some tests done at a hospital in a nearby town. Way across the room, a stranger smiled broadly and waved in my direction. Looking first one way and then the other, I saw no one looking back at Mr. Friendly, who continued to wave and smile as if we were big buddies.
I smiled back and waved in return, nudged Husband, and asked if he recognized that very smiley older man. The look on his face told me that he did not. The man kept smiling and waving, and I kept smiling back, while Husband looked perplexed. Finally the woman sitting next to the smiler took him by the arm, and led him across the room in our direction. As they approached, he seemed verrrry familiar, but I couldn't quite place him. He looked an awful lot like someone we knew. Husband and I stood to greet them, hoping for the salvation of last-minute recognition. Moments before they reached us, Husband grinned big and said, "Honey, that's Joe ______!"
"Is NOT!" I snorted.
But it was. I sputtered and stammered and tried to think of something intelligent to say. Fat chance.
His woman friend laughed and said she had TOLD Joe that no one would recognize him without his hat. Clearly, she was right. Or else I was a moron. Or both.
You might call it a cowboy hat, or possibly a Stetson, but around here it is just a hat. And I had never seen Joe without one. Ever. Until that moment. I tried not to stare. He was laughing. She was laughing. Finally, I laughed, too.
"Joe?" I began.
Before I could even finish the question, he said "It's in the truck! They won't let me take it with me, and I didn't want to leave it in the waiting room, so..."
I still smile, remembering that one.
Is there any flower prettier than a rose? White ones and nearly-black ones are my favorites, but I am a rose admirer, not a rose grower. The only ones that live here are the ones planted by the previous owners. Those bushes survive on sheer willpower and determination, in spite of my lame attempts to care for them properly, in spite of the cows periodically munching them down to the ground.
We had a light rain this morning, a welcome sight in this rain-starved land. On the bush by the back door, the rose petals sparkled like diamonds. I bent to inhale their sweet fragrance, then went back inside for scissors, cut a few blooms, and put them in a vase. Their beauty is effortless. Perfection. Rarely can I pass a rose without noticing it, without smiling.
I walked back outside to check the rain gauge. It happens to be the world's best. Why? Our other ones were plastic, and sooner or later, they always cracked in the sun and were then useless, because they didn't hold water. One day Joe asked if we'd had much rain the day before, and I told him that our gauge was broken, so I couldn't say for sure. He walked away without a word, rummaged around in his office, then proceeded to hand me a small box.
"Open it when you get home," he said.
Inside... was the world's best rain gauge, made of glass.
Rarely do I pass it without noticing, without smiling.
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