Oil Change Walk – Urban Perspective

It is 8 a.m. and I’m at the auto shop. One thing I love about my small town is that, after hugging the mechanic who will change my car’s oil, I can just wander around aimlessly taking photographs. And I know I’ll find something good: like this permanent tic-tac-toe on the sidewalk.

Or the: No Longer A Bus Stop! sign. Apparently the property owners got tired of groups of people standing on their lawn for hours.

An old metal trailer for “haulin’ stuff” sits on the street, its rusted pink body bringing to mind creepy carnivals selling questionable cotton candy. Don’t misunderstand, I’ll eagerly ride the crankiest Tilt-A-Whirl and eat blue spun sugar without giving it a second thought. Why? Fun and deliciousness.

I come to a narrow walkway between houses. I like tiny spaces. Instead of seeming constrictive, they make me feel safe.

I look down to see a banana-yellow fire hydrant with a coral cap. I enjoy its jaunty air and am thankful for its usefulness.

When I turn the corner, I am greeted by a magnificent house/boat. The wheel covers on the trailer, which is keeping the boat afloat, have melted into the street. Though I can see the ocean from where I stand, I’m unsure if the boat will ever make its way there again.

A bit further up the street is a blue door that reads: PRIVATE. Perhaps the people from the No Longer A Bus Stop! crowd have tried to enter there.

I step off a red curb. I’m fascinated by its brilliant color against the errant emerald grass that squeezes through the asphalt and concrete cracks. Life always finds a way.

I’ve made it to Portuguese Hall. I reminisce about my childhood time spent in or near New Bedford, Massachusetts, where most of my relatives lived, some still do. It used to have the largest Portuguese population in the U.S. I remember eating my fair share of chouriço—a Portuguese sausage.

I’m now on a loop back to the auto repair shop. My cell hasn’t rung yet, but my body senses how much time I have left before they’ll call. I wind around a large fence protecting a lumber yard that covers a curved city block. A bird at my feet flies up to perch above me and sings a short song. I feel uplifted.

I pass an old warehouse painted pale pink with a chipped blue cement entrance. I’m entranced by deterioration, perhaps because it’s happening to all of us. I find it beautiful.

Parked in front of the building is a truck. I’m oohing and ahhing over the rusted patina of the drum and the squiggly rubber lines oozing from a metal strap. Art is everywhere.

I am now about to cross the Skunk Train tracks. The little tourist train can’t go far due to a tunnel collapse back in 2013, which is still too expensive to fix, but it does what it can. Don’t we all?

Just a block away from the shop, my phone rings. Yaris’s oil is shiny and new, just waiting to slide through the engine. I wave goodbye to a droopy-flagged mailbox, now ready for the day ahead.

Photos © Sondra Sula.

If you like these blogs, you’ll most likely enjoy my latest daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.

If you haven’t read Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, another daily devotional, you may like that, as well.