Saturday, September 25, 2010

The Unfinished Business of Peas and Eggplant

In the process of packing today, I pulled some things out of a junk drawer I hadn't thought about in a while: six little blue and green ceramic vegetables. Two pea pods, two string beans and two eggplants. Anyone who has been in our house knows that I often have things stashed in unexpected places, but these little forgotten pieces gave me a moment's pause in the business of filling boxes.

These little ornaments have special meaning to me because they belonged to my friend Laura, who passed away five years ago. Her boyfriend gave them to me after her memorial service, and I was really touched that he and her family thought enough of me to offer me a little memento from among her possessions. I've never really known, however, what to do with them.

The ornaments are molded into the vegetable shapes on one side and flat on the other side, presumably designed to be glued or caulked to tile or some other surface. When they came to me, Laura's boyfriend explained that he knew she had plans for them in her kitchen, but didn't know exactly what. I accepted them gratefully even though I didn't have the first clue, either.

So they've sat in the junk drawer (at least they're in the right room!), waiting patiently for me to decide how to use them. When I pulled them out tonight, I thought about how Laura and I both have had unfulfilled intentions around these little objects. It got me wondering what other plans in her life were left incomplete when she died [though I will say she lived such a full life in her short 41 years, it's hard to imagine she had a long list of regrets]. Naturally I also started thinking about all the hopes and plans I have for my own life, and what would be left unfinished if my time on earth is suddenly cut short.

It's so easy to look at the calendar and assume that tomorrow will look more or less like yesterday, and that we have as much time as we think we need to accomplish the tasks of our lives. But whether it's a plan to write a novel, make a career change, travel the world, or just take a walk with someone you love.... time is always limited. And once that time is up, it's up -- with only our legacy left behind to speak of our intentions.

That legacy is not held in the assets to be distributed; but in the hearts we touch, the lives we change, the difference in the world because we were here. I'm lucky to be surrounded by memories of some wonderful people, who have taught me to be a better person in so many ways; and that is a small part of their legacy. But it can't end with me, either; and it's up to me to transform those ideas and qualities and pass them on -- to my kids and to others with whom I come in contact. I am also charged -- as I believe we all are -- to leave the world better than I found it in some small way. 

It reminds me of this:

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it. (The Talmud)


Our time is limited, our responsibilities are great. Am I healing the world with my life, or adding to its grief? Am I doing my part or abandoning the work? Every action taken, every moment spent, contributes to my legacy in some way - whether tiny or enormous.  It's nice to be reminded of that, even while cleaning out the junk drawer. Maybe I really should try to find a more prominent place for those ceramic veggies!

No comments: