The Money Tree

What a great, totally-unplugge-from-work, day at the Philadelphia Flower Show. This was my very first time and the exhibits were incredible. This years theme was "Jazz it Up" (AKA New Orleans), complete with a French Quarter and Cajun Rednecks standing in fields of purple dwarf swamp iris waiting their turn for the outhouse. At least it wasn't crowded, a fact Tom quickly attributed to the poor economy. I guess the $22 dollar ticket price and Philly parking kept a lot of those who could afford to take a day-off at home watching TV in their PJ's.

After meandering around, getting lost in all the grand floral homages to Mardi Gras complete with player piano water feature and a Backwoods Bayoo courtesy of The Men's Garden Club of Philadelphia, I soon discovered that there were, indeed, crowds at the Flower Show all frantically shopping in the "Vendors" section of the exhibition hall. Blurred flashes of pink acrylic sweater sets and appliqued bumblebees seemed to pick-up Tom's theory of a poor economy and carry it swiftly out the window. The economy was alive and well today if you were a 40-85 year old woman swept-up in the capitalistic horticulturally inspired frenzy taking place around me. I sought safe haven in a booth selling heirloom garden seeds and decided to occupy time buy selecting my onions sets for the garden (they were the very last thing on my list of "Buys" for the garden: yellow, white, purple, sweet onions and shallots, check, check check - enough with the onions - check). 

Hands now overflowing with bags of onion bulbs, I approach the vendor to pay and overhear the women in front of me say she's 87 cents short and needs to run to the ATM, a feat even Marion H. G. H. Jones couldn't accomplish in under thirty minutes. Well, being the good Southern boy that Momma raised right, I reached into my wallet and handed the lady a dollar bill without thinking (except maybe, "I don't need onions bulbs bad enough to wait on this lady to go to the ATM for a dollar"). The lady in need of the buck was shocked but thankful, and she paid, thanked me again, and re-entered the crowd swarming around us. 

The vendor, staring after the lady as she disappeared into the mass, looked at me quizzically and asked if that lady and I were here together. I said no, that she was just a stranger, and I had obeyed Oprah and performed my random act of kindness for the day. She  stopped, smiled, teared up a little, and said that I had just made her day; she was getting goosebumps it was so sweet. I blushed, payed for my onions, and went back into the crowds.  

About an hour later, on our way to the parking garage after we've left the Flower Show, I offer to go pay for the parking and separate from Tom and Aunt Pat as they slowly make their way up to the pale blue 1990 Brougham Cadillac silently waiting up on the roof level of the garage. I follow the maze of signs demanding me to "PAY" "PAY" "PAY", so frequent as to almost be hallucinogenic, and finally stumble upon my intended destination: the AUTOMATED ATTENDANT; a giant, hulking cold green metal cube with a tiny, delicate monitor reassuringly flashing the words 'PAY HERE'. I had, at last, arrived.

I purposefully scan the parking ticket and the monitor says "Insert $17.00" and then, almost like an after thought relegated to the lower right corner, the words "No Change Given" appear.  Confident, I look into my wallet and quickly realize I'm in trouble. There's no one around, it's just me and Miss AUTOMATED ATTENDANT, and I have forty-six dollars in two twenties, a five, and one, one.  What am I to do? Do I sacrifice a twenty dollar bill in place of a buck, the very buck that's missing because I had given it to the lady at the onion stand? Was I being punished for my good deed?

Still silently contemplating my next move, three 40-something ladies obviously coming from the Flower Show boisterously enter the court of Miss AUTOMATED ATTENDANT. Suddenly struck with an idea, I ask them if they have change for a twenty as the machine doesn't give change and I need just one more dollar. They all quickly say no, and then, without thinking, all three start searching their wallets trying to get me a dollar bill! Three were quickly offered, but I took only one, and graciously thanked them. We smiled and chit chatted about Oprah and Paying-It-Forward until the monitor flashed "THANK YOU" and we went our separate ways. 

As I made my way up to the roof I contemplated how in just over an hour, the dollar I "shared" with the lady at the onion stand was offered back to me the moment I was in need at three-times my initial investment! You gotta love life with its quantum mechanical brilliance. The more you pay attention, the more you notice.

By the way, the picture is of an 85 year old stand of Grey Birch bonsai trees I saw at one of the booths this afternoon. It was poetic and though no more than 18-20 inches high, and at its mightiest not greater than a twig, it had incredible presence. It was very clear that, unlike myself, this was not this tree's first time at the flower show.