I have always had some disdain for pat sayings like, “Don’t forget to smell the roses.” First of all, there were no roses in the concrete courtyards where I grew up. There were also no roses in the deep south where my relatives farmed from sunup to sundown. So even if I didn’t forget to smell the rose, I couldn’t find the roses. Yet now, so many years later, I have learned to appreciate such sayings. Using mental exercises and developing defense mechanisms to overcome and defeat depression, I have learned to smell the proverbial roses. I call these exercises looking for miracles in the mundane.
Looking for the miracles in the mundane started with me noticing how well and whole I felt out in nature. This is also when my amateur hobby as a photographer began. Little things that often go unnoticed by others gained my attention. Questions about those things brought them into greater focus. Why does that tree’s leaves turn golden in the fall while another tree’s leaves turn red? How long do turtles swim in the lake with only their little heads at the surface? Why can’t chickens fly, after all they have wings? I began snapping pictures of everything that intrigued my curiosity. (Visit the gallery on this site to few a view of my pictures.) Thus, came thousands of pictures of roses, not proverbial roses, but real roses.
As I traveled the states fulfilling my bucket list to spend time in all fifty states, I made botanical gardens one of my “must-see” destinations. Through the camera lens I discovered all roses were not the same. Their shapes were different. Their colors varied, and their scents were not the same. There are so many varieties of roses, and each of them have their own unique characteristics and features. With a little research, I found out that new roses were being introduced all the time. Botanists crossbreed certain varieties to develop yet another type of rose.
As if all these roses weren’t enough, I began to find bugs and butterflies in my photographs. In Chicago, I found birds in my pictures. In Alabama, I got sidetracked by waterlilies which lead to ducks, geese, and swans. Since I’m naturally curious (my kids say my best gift is interrogation), I began researching what birds are indigenous to Georgia. This started a new hobby, amateur bird watching. I have photographs of cardinals, robins, woodpeckers, peacocks, geese, a variety of ducks, yellow warblers, blue jays, trashers, and hummingbirds. Of course, I still don’t know why the males are so colorful while the females are brown or gray. I suppose it’s a way of protecting the mothers from predators, but I like the idea that the males have to sport their wears to attract the females and keep their attention.
In nature, one thing always leads to another for me like the pattern of river water flowing over boulders; the snow melt flowing down the mountain side; the colorful fall leaves from tree to tree and state to state; the ebb and flow of ocean water, the beauty of a moth or a butterfly; little brown rabbits eating my mom’s garden plants; baby deer frightened by their own shadow; squirrels playing chase in a nearby tree; pigeons having a parking lot scavenger hunt, and my dog snuggling next to me to chase my blues away. These are all miracles in the mundane.
Every day we walk right by miracles: wildflowers growing on the hillside, children laughing and playing, an elderly couple looking passionately into each other’s eyes, a prism of color in a puddle mixed with motor oil, a lizard sunning himself in the driveway, the brightness of a full moon, the pictures in the clouds floating overhead, and our own reflections in the mirror. The miracles in the mundane help us to remember there really isn’t anything mundane.
The mundane is in our way of thinking. If we allow ourselves to lose interest in the world around us, we miss the miracles. If we allow ourselves to be thrill seekers, we reduce every miracle to something boring and monotonous. This becomes our loss. The best things and people around us go unnoticed not because they are not there, but because we have closed our eyes to the mystery and wonder that surrounds us. So, here’s my suggestion, “Don’t forget to smell the roses.”
- Reprint from DeKalb Voices Review, 2023 with revisions.
The Good Word 