RIVER CITY JOURNAL: THINGS WE THROW AWAY CAN BE THE SOURCE OF REAL HAPPINESS

The next time you are ready to discard something that is past its prime, take another look and see if you spot the beauty.

How we humans affect one another continues to amaze me. You know the kind of story I'm talking about. People who don't even know each other cross paths, and one or both lives are dramatically changed forever.

The Reader's Digest is famous for just this sort of story. They are always uplifting, even if the bittersweet tales make you smile and shed a tear, possibly at the same time.

I don't know what it takes to get into the Reader's Digest, but I can tell you I have been touched by people I don't know so many times that the folks in Pleasantville would have to put out a condensed version if they collected all my stories.

Here's one. It's fresh.

As you will recall, my wife and I currently are apartment dwellers after nearly 30 years of suburban lawns and flower gardens. Even when we lived in New York, we managed to remain Midwesterners, horticulturally speaking. My wife planted zinnias in the fenced-in dog run provided by the apartment building where we lived. And we put flower boxes on the fire escapes.

It has been more challenging living in an apartment in downtown Cape Girardeau. We have a nice second-floor balcony that has been pressed into agricultural duty. And there are two concrete urns at the street-level entrance to the apartment.

Last year we fizzled in our effort to grow zinnias on the balcony. But the urns overflowed with asparagus ferns throughout the summer and well into autumn. We decided last fall not to bring the ferns in for the winter, because they are too messy.

This spring we got the garden bug again. We settled on petunias for the balcony. We also planted vining vinca in the boxes along the balcony railing, adding a decidedly southern touch to the overall effect. We even stuck some forget-me-not seeds in with the vinca, not knowing what they would do. They've done quite well, thank you, and are blooming.

The urns this year were given over to geraniums. My wife has a special touch with most flowers, but I think she's kin to geraniums. They have been spectacular through the cool spring and even through the boiling summer.

Someone mentioned the geraniums a few days ago. I said they were the result of a joint effort by me and my wife. You know what I mean. She tells me what to do. And I do it.

This means watering every couple of days. Once a week, I add a bit of fertilizer to the water. Just enough to keep them addicted.

My wife knows that taking old blossoms off blooming plants encourages them to bloom some more. So I patiently remove as many of the expired petunias as I can find -- or reach, now that they are through the balcony railing.

The geraniums, of course, are easier to tend. I try to wait until one of the blossom stalks is really ugly before I take it off, but sometimes I overdo it, mainly to bring along new blossoms.

OK. Here's the point of all this.

I was standing on the sidewalk the other day removing old geranium blossoms. I had quite a collection in my hand, soon to be dumped in the trash. I was so intent on my efforts that I didn't know I was being watched until a man spoke from right behind me.

"Real pretty flowers," he said. I turned to see who it was and didn't recognize the short fellow with a slight speech impediment.

"Thanks," I replied.

"Whatcha gonna do with them?" he asked.

I was just about to launch into my highly scientific -- yeah, right -- explanation, but I simply said, "Throw them away."

"Why?"

"Well, because you have to take off the old blooms so the new ones can come on."

By this time I detected the likelihood that my curious visitor was special in ways that all of us understand. He looked to be in his 40s, but he had the uncomplicated mind of a child. His interest came from the purest thoughts, not cluttered with the heavy weight of living in this day and age.

"Say," he said, "could I have them?"

I was finished with my culling, and I handed him the dozen or so stalks with faded geranium blooms. Now that they were all together, the flowers were still a vibrant pink.

"Take them," I said. "Hope you enjoy them."

The man's face was crinkled with delight. I can't remember the last time I saw anyone so ecstatic over anything.

"A bouquet for my wife," he said, beaming.

And almost instantly he was halfway down the block, on his way home to a soon-to-be-cheered lifemate.

I stood there for several minutes watching him disappear over the hill. I thought about what had just happened. I tried to decide who was happier: my visitor, who was overjoyed with the happiness he could take home to his wife. Or me, for being able to contribute slightly worse-for-wear geraniums that otherwise would be tomorrow's garbage.

It is likely, I've decided, that if we paid more attention to the potential of old geraniums, we would all enjoy life quite a bit more.

I don't think I will ever pick another geranium as long as I live without remembering the smile on that man's face.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.