Today I bought a sunflower. Small by sunflower standards. I walked into the grocery store and there they were all in containers wrapped in yellow paper. They looked like a bunch of kindergarteners, all lined up and standing straight and perky waiting for the principal to pass inspection.

The flower itself gives you the immediate sensation of a face, the small green leaves drooping out from the stiff main stem imitate hands pleading to be overlooked for the flower above. There were a few promising buds on each of the plants but all had only one bloom open right at very the top quite prominently perpendicular to the pot.
Its whole effect is like a kid, with hands on hips, giving you a slightly daring and absolutely infectious grin. It is irresistible. I picked one of the a bit bigger ones and placed it in the center of my shopping cart and then I begin looking for what I originally in mind to buy.

No sooner had I turned the first corner, past the bakery section and just into the chocolates, I passed another shopper – an attractive, smart looking woman, with blood bobbed hair. Her eyes didn’t catch me at all but went right to the sunflower, which generated an immediate smile. It was spontaneous, unplanned and ever so real.

I took a couple of more steps but I couldn’t resist confirmation. I turned, and with a pardonme asked, “did you just smile at my flower?”

She couldn’t contain yet another give-away and looked and smiled at it again. “Yes, she said,” with an jingle of joy in her voice.

“Well thanks,” I managed, surprised with my sillines, “that’s exactly the reaction I hope to have at home. There is someone there who can use a smile.”

“Well,” she said, “thanks for giving me the chance to smile. It made me feel great.”

Odd conversation for a grocery excursion and if that were it I would have been merely pleasantly surprised.

Passing through the tight turns in the deli section, I caught a number of others glancing and grinning. The toilet paper row seemed to have the only few indifferent but then in the fish section we got two and a half smiles more and in frozen foods, near the waffle fries, I had one more full-fledged conversation about little miss sunflower.

A mother with her 5 year old in her cart stopped, smiled and with semi-shy glances at the plant, almost embarrassed to admit that she’d been taken hold of so easily by such innocence, asked about her. We talked about her cuteness and costs, as if she were a recent baby that was out with granddad.

Curious. I surely was getting a lot of sunshine for my $3 dollar investment.

Now I have always had a great respect for the power of nature and her ability to wow and awe and humble and charm and engage and tickle the spirit. But here’s one small, eighteen inch plant with only one four inch bloom – not a lot of biomass compared to the rainforest, the Everglades, the coral reefs, or even my backyard – that is stirring smiles from dairy to deli, from frozen foods to fish, and out through the veggies.

Small but surly, it surely speaks to the gentle power of the potent little sunflower to on its very own, without animation, just from posture, poise, and plant power, garner a grin and gain a grip on our spirit.

II

I tell this tale to a group of friends at a noon meeting and in doing so talk myself into returning to the store for two more smile makers. I dash in, grab a couple of more, taking care to find the bigger grinners, and hop into the express line. Even this short skip gains me 3 or 5 more smiles, one even over the shoulder.

At home I give the first one to the sickest in the house, my mother-in-love. She is appropriately wowed yet feels that another flower we had from the garden was more worthy of the photos I was trying to shoot. Even so, she was pleased.

Another I place in the living room on top of the antique sewing machine where we typically put a potted plant with a flower. This one will catch folks on the way into visit Carmen.

The third, I place on the front steps just to the right of the door, where all passers-by might see her, where those at the door could, and where Tere couldn’t miss her.

When Tere came home, she was moved to think that someone had thought of her. She held her up, speaking to her, telling her how lovely she was and how wonderful she was to be waiting there for her on the step. Tere brought the smile champ in and was grinning, eyes to ears, forehead to chin.

After, checking on her mom, Tere came back to me and when I spoke to her about the plant she broke into tears. The thoughtfulness of the plant touched her vulnerability and she cried some of the tears that she holds in because she doesn’t want her mom to she her sad. I held her while she found her smile again and the sunshine and rain mixed.

So, it seems that touching spirit doesn’t always yield smiles. Stirring emotion doesn’t guarantee grins. Never-the-less, the plant power today was potent and in the end Tere was pleased to have been thought of in midst of turmoil, to have had a smile given to her, to have been held when the tears came.

I learned another lesson in loving.
I love her and I love sunflowers.
They are Tere’s flower – like a birthstone – the sunflower is Tere’s flower.

Pronounce pergolas,
tutti-frutti, serendipity
‘n’ hold ‘em in mind.

 now to now

now it’s a very un-regal sunrise.
we’ve soiled ourselves and woken many
with early a.m. anal anxiety
diarrhea-drained of fluids and filled with fears.
we’re skipping morning and midday meals
scared of what food might create.
nursed back into our regalia,
and coxed into the cafeteria
we take another bite in our life.
by early eve we’re spiffy, re-diapered,
dapper and dancing with friends.
as sun sets, we call to regale ourselves,
to taste the deliciousness of it now.

apology

This is the month of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, respectfully August 6th and 9th. This year’s been 65 years. This is the first year that U.S. – read us – sent a formal representative, an ambassador. Never has our president gone. Never has there been anything near an apology and probably never will there be.

I read an online AP article about the memorial celebration at Nagasaki, where the ambassador attended. The article pointed out that the Japanese are not looking back and expecting apology for the past; rather the memorial is to look to the future to prevent more nuclear bombings. There was an online chat following the article in which apology did come up and in which there were some very harsh words and bitterness and anger and it set me to thinking about the nature of apology.

It is odd to me how confused we have become about the nature of apology. Working from the personal out, I would say that an apology is not explanation for what I have done. It is not an acceptance of what another has done (that is forgiveness.) It is not an acknowledgment that what another has done was right. It is not an admission that my action was not justified. From what my moral teachers have passed on I have these notions of what apology is.

An apology is an acceptance of responsibility for my actions because regardless of all extenuating circumstance and contexts, I have a choice. I am responsible for making and carrying out that choice. In small child terms, even if you hit me first, I am responsible for whether I hit you back. This does not change as we mature and extend this to international behavior.

An apology is a recognition that what I have done in some ways has harmed, hurt, the other. Again in child terms, if I hit you it does not feel any less painful to you because you hit me first. This is so even in the case of war.

An apology is fundamental to healing. It means that I am willing to move to the next stage of healing – forgiveness. Without apology and forgiveness we continue to be in pain and create pain. It is much like picking at the scab of a wound. It will never heal properly.

Perhaps, this is why our teachers always made us children say we are sorry to each other regardless of who hit whom first. Perhaps we have forgotten those lessons as we grew older and tougher or perhaps we have regressed to childhood and are without a teacher to intervene.

Whether we were right or wrong in dropping the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, whether we were justified or not, even though the Japanese acted horribly in the war, even though the Japanese still owe an apology to China, the US, or others, we can take responsibility for the bombs we dropped, the harm we caused, and be mature enough to simply say, “I am sorry.”

This simple act of apology does not change history. It does however impact the future. It allows us to recognize the horror of nuclear war. It facilitates healing which in turn helps avoid further conflict. It models the behavior we hope our children will learn and follow.

So, with all of the caveats and explanations understood, I am sorry that we dropped Little Boy and Fat Man on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I am sorry for the suffering and pain they caused. I hope it never happens again and for my part I will endeavor to keep it from happening again.

Within this frame, I have for a number of years called Japanese friends on August 6th and apologized. This year we happened to be in a sushi restaurant and I apologized to the young waitress, who seemed and bit embarrassed. On the way out the chef/owner was standing near the door. I apologized to him. He smiled slightly. Bowed. And said, “thank you.”

Sunday, when I called you

and I had to let you go

because I’d arrived at my dad’s,

I said I would re-call you in the afternoon.

I found my dad in the cafeteria

and he didn’t recall or wouldn’t say

that he’d already eaten the brunch.

The waitress told me.

So, I rapidly ate something myself

and then went off to wait for him to finish up with his friend.

I said I’d meet him back at his apartment.

He didn’t show up.

He forgot me

and went to see another friend,

whom he’d forgotten plays bridge on Sunday

and she shooed him away.

By that time I’d given up

and took off

and went home

and slept the afternoon

and did my own forgetting

and I didn’t call you back.

Parallel flaws in recalls

yet not quite the same.

Anyway, I am sorry I forgot

but I remember I forgot.

Another time we must chat

and fill in the blanks

and write a new book.