A Smile, A Wink, And A Hug

by Woody

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Grateful For A Smile,

A Wink, And A Hug

            Do you ever feel like the universe smiles at you, winks at you, even gives you an unexpected hug? This recently happened to me, in order, on three successive days.

I will begin with the smile. It came in Gilroy, which is ironic because ever since the mass shooting last July, passing through the Garlic Capital of the World has made my spirits frown.

Stopping for gas, I needed to use the restroom. On my way to the convenience store entrance, I passed a young man sitting on the sidewalk with his nose in a paperback novel. I guessed him to be in his final teen years, early 20s at the oldest. Too, I guessed him to be homeless.

The air-conditioned chill inside was heavenly on a baking afternoon and although I hadn’t intended to buy anything, I grabbed a cold bottle of Coke.

I wish you could have seen the smile that greeted me when I interrupted the young man’s reading and handed him the soda.

“Thank you so much, sir,” he said, beaming far wider than my small gesture merited. I can see that smile in my mind’s eye still.

The wink came the following day, in Oakland, where my son lives. Overwhelmed by the list of 35 offerings on tap at Crooked City Cider, and with no one else in line, I fell into conversation with the woman behind the counter. She turned out to be the owner and steered me expertly to a tasty sampler selection.

A happy hour or so later when I went to close out the tab for our group of seven, I ordered one final four-ounce sampler. The owner returned with a PINT glass filled so full that surface tension allowed the nectar to bow above the rim.

“That’s a generous pour,” I said.

She winked and replied, “Seeing your family’s joy together made me happy.”

The hug came on Sunday, in Fremont, and for the third time a beverage was involved.

When I visit my daughter, I like to run at a nearby community park of sports fields. In the far corner, there’s a tree under whose shade I always hide a bottle of Gatorade so as to keep hydrated. On the way there this time I stopped at a porta-potty to un-hydrate, if you will. Not seeing anyone around, I left the full bottle outside on the ground.

A short moment later when I exited, an elderly woman was pouring my Gatorade on the grass and putting the plastic bottle in her recycling garbage bag. Seeing my exasperation, she apologized profusely.

I felt guilty for her sincere contrition. After all, it was my bone-headedness that was to blame, not hers. With a trash can only a few yards away, it was only natural she assumed my Gatorade had been discarded.

She offered to fetch a replacement drink from her van and pointed at the parking lot a quarter-mile away. I politely declined despite her insistence, for it was a long walk and she appeared frail. I told her I would hunt for a drinking fountain instead.

Off I ran on a mile-long loop around the fields.

The third time I circled around to where I started, the woman was waiting for me with a new bottle of coconut water. It was an unnecessary act of kindness and I wished I had a couple dollars tucked in my sock to repay her.

Instead, I offered her a sweaty hug which she happily accepted.

That coconut water was even sweeter than the Crooked City Cider nectar, and that’s saying something.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …