The novel I completed for NaNoWriMo back in 2017 was based on my relaxing “sabbatical” I took during the spring of my sophomore year of college.
When I finished the word count, my roommates surprised me at the library with a tray of cookies and a card celebrating my accomplishment! It was one of the most touching moments of my life. Thanks, Jazlyn, Catherine, and Maddie! Anyway, enjoy one of my favorite excerpts from “Bea Buckles.”
Sunflower seeds are for people who relish lazy, sunny days. They are for people who do not look at the term “lackadaisical” as an insult; on the contrary, they think it’s a beautiful word and one that reminds them of daisies.
“lack·a·dai·si·cal (adj): lacking enthusiasm and determination; carelessly lazy”
People who love sunflower seeds look at this definition of the word with a dismissive pucker of their lips. Truly lackadaisical beings do not lack enthusiasm, they positively exude it. And, my god, “carelessly lazy” sounds as if they don’t care about being lazy! It should say, “care-fully lazy”. The more documented definition of “lackadaisical” makes it seem like someone is lazy for no reason, when in fact laziness is the reason. And just look at the synonyms: lethargic, apathetic, listless, sluggish, spiritless, passionless—these are quite offensive to truly lackadaisical people. They are not flattering words that we like to use. The lackadaisical are not “passionless”, they are full of passion! Passion for the sunlight—they see the sun, not only as a necessary life source but as an invitation to put up their feet. Passion for listening to the breeze tenderly brush the trees. Passion for the birds who sing to them sweetly as they utterly sink into relaxation—into lackadaisical bliss.
Sunflower seeds shimmy in their bag for the truly lackadaisical.
And Bea was only just learning about this.
When looking for a snack in the pantry to enjoy on the porch, she dug around until a small bag of sunflower seeds fell from its hiding place on top of her hand. She shrugged, took them in her hand, and closed the pantry door. After she grabbed a small Dixie cup for the shells, she sat on the porch in her regular chair. Bea shook some seeds in a small pile on the table and delicately picked one up. The black on the shell was dulled to grey from the salt which coated it. She popped it into her mouth. She took her time introducing herself to this new experience. The seed was rattled around in her mouth as she gazed at the tree outside. Her tongue ran along the smooth shell, carefully lifting the salt. She sucked on it, absorbing all the salt she possibly could. Then she went about cracking open the shell, finding the right angle to break it apart so she could fetch the prize inside. And when she did, she sucked the rest of the salt before separating the seed from the broken shell. The seed, her prize, was smaller than she thought but she still adored the process. Even lifting the small cup to her lips and spitting out the shell was great fun.
Great fun? A mean voice inside her asked. Is this what your life has been reduced to? You think it’s “great fun” to chew sunflower seeds?
Oh, hush, Bea scolded. She brushed aside the voice and picked up her next seed.
She sat there for hours, going through the bag of sunflower seeds, doing nothing else but listening to music and sitting in the chair. She would look into that small cup and see that the shells were now black and white instead of salty-grey and white. To her, it looked like someone had started to paint the shell of the sunflower and then gave up, leaving white streaks on the seed, running off to eat ice cream with her friends or some other such activity. Bea’s lips curled into a slight smirk at the thought. The Dixie cup eventually filled with the shells and the bag was emptied.
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