flowers

Sunflowers

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
Summer 2021

I don’t remember when I decided sunflowers were my favorite flower. 

Was it before or after I started working part-time in a flower shop? (I started working there during my last semester of high school and continued working there during the years I spent at community college before transferring to a four-year university.)

I do know that a year after I graduated high school, my mom gave me a large tote bag, with sunflowers on both sides.

Spring 1995. This is a photo of the photo.

It was a perfect gift then, but I’m pretty sure neither one of us imagined I would still be using that bag today, thirty years later.

Why do I like sunflowers? Or should I say, why do I like sunflowers more than other flowers? Several reasons:

In my eyes, they’re bright and happy flowers. Cheerful. 

As flowers go, they’re pretty low maintenance — no thorns or excessive leaves to remove before snipping off the bottom of the stem and putting them into a vase full of water. 

I always felt good about selling sunflowers because they’re long-lasting, unlike other flowers, like irises for example, which only last a day or two, maybe three if you’re lucky. 

Yet, the older I get, and the more my body changes, the more it makes sense that I would find myself identifying with sunflowers. As in, maybe I liked sunflowers for more superficial reasons, and now I regard them as a sort of symbol of my life. 

I like to think I share some of the characteristics that make sunflowers the special flowers they are. 

Sunflowers, with their bright yellow color, are said to symbolize positivity and optimism. Generally speaking I try to go through life looking for the good. Hoping for the good. Spreading good by complimenting a stranger’s pretty pink nail polish. Sweeping my neighbor’s back patio. Picking up the package of cookies that fell off the shelf at the market (even though some days it really hurts to bend and pick anything up).   

Sunflowers are resilient. They are known for their ability to turn towards the sunlight and to thrive in what many would consider to be impossible-to-thrive conditions. And let’s just say that becoming chronically ill at age 34 left me no choice but to develop my resilience and create this whole other career and identity for myself as a writer. 

Sunflowers are hardy. Tough. Because when you live with chronic pain you don’t have a choice. You have to be strong.  

Some of the sunflowers in my writing room.

And, sunflowers are also a symbol for the chronic illness community. 

“The Hidden Disabilities Sunflower is a simple tool for you to voluntarily share that you have a disability or condition that may not be immediately apparent – and that you may need a helping hand, understanding, or more time in shops, at work, on transport, or in public spaces.”

That’s why you’ll find sunflowers on my website (in the header).

And when I dream of my book and the cover for my memoir-in-essays, I imagine sunflowers on it in some way. 

Dear Readers, that’s the story behind my favorite flower. May I ask, what’s your favorite flower? And, is there a particular reason why you chose that flower? Feel free to share in the comments. Let’s create a virtual bouquet of all our favorite flowers!

More sunflowers in my writing room.

Mochas, Candles, and Pain

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

What they saw?

A regular customer. The woman who always orders a small mocha — hot (if it’s cold outside) or blended (if it’s hot outside).

What they didn’t see?

Me, carefully holding my cafe mocha, slowly walking back to my car, thankful that my sunglasses covered my teary-eyes. 

Because I hurt. And because I was sad that I hurt this much. Again. 

I had woken up that morning after having a fitful night’s sleep, filled with strange dreams. 

I dreamed I was telling someone (not sure who, in my dream I didn’t actually see anyone else) that my husband and I met in high school (true) and were high school sweethearts (not true — we were classmates in the same English class junior year). I told this invisible person that my husband and I have been married twenty-three years (true).

I also dreamed that I was doing some physical therapy. I had to sit in some sort of chair and use my legs to push the chair back. But there was resistance, which made pushing the chair difficult. When I woke up, my legs felt like they had gone through a workout. And in the midst of all that, I saw a monster truck. (I told you — strange dreams.)

After taking my son to school, I went to Trader Joe’s. The benefit of going on a weekday, shortly after 8 am, is it’s a whole lot less crowded. Fewer people means shorter lines, but also less exposure to any germs (even though I continue to double mask when shopping). But the disadvantage of going to Trader Joe’s on a weekday, shortly after 8 am, is that I don’t have anyone to help me shop, or load the car, or bring the bags into the house, or put everything away.

Which means I was hurting and feeling kind of down and that’s when I decided to head to our neighborhood cafe and get a mocha to bring home while I wrote. 

The mocha didn’t lessen my pain. Neither did the scented candle I lit (Black Cherry Merlot from Bath and Body Works) or the flowers I had bought at Trader Joe’s. 

There’s really only so much I can do in terms of managing my pain. 

So in the absence of true relief, I try to pay attention to the “little things,” the things that bring me joy, or peace, or comfort. 

Readers, what “little things” bring you joy, peace, or comfort?