Moments in Time

"I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."                                  -- Anna Quindlen

Cleaning out my parents' condo brought it all home to me.

How, when you're gone, all that remains for the living are the (hopefully) treasured memories and evidence of a life filled with rich moments that will be savored always, like long-simmering chicken soup. That time of sorting things out was a powerful experience for my brother, Jeff, and for me. For instance, there was the incident involving the "Stupid" vases…

Back then, my brother and I hadn't been close for years. Blame it on distance, circumstances, whatever. Tackling the condo, however, was something we had to do together whether we liked it or not. This was the only window of time to find a way to agree on what I would take and what he would take. We dove into the task with haste - both of us wanting to get the job done as quickly as possible.

Completing our survey of the furnishings of the den, we turned the corner into the dining room. A pair of Steuben vases was sitting on opposite sides of the breakfront. Jeff had always called them the "stupid" vases because he never could remember the proper nomenclature. We knew that these were valuable. Neither of us wanted to seem greedy, but they were awfully nice.

"I'll tell you what," he said;
"you take one vase and I'll take the other."

"No," I replied, "they're more valuable as a pair."

We just looked at each other, tears forming, terribly aware of what we almost threw away. We too are more valuable to each other as a pair. Standing there in that dining room we realized that our relationship was still there for the re-taking. Too often families can become estranged as they tackle the job of divvying up a parent's estate and we suddenly understood that the value of the "stuff" didn't matter as much as the value of being siblings, united.

That was three and a half years ago, and neither of us has forgotten that instant in time.

Life is created moment by single moment and thus we're always presented with fresh chances to start anew. (Note: You don't have to wait until New Year's Day.)

But we do have to recognize the opportunities inherent in the present moment. We need to be conscious and aware that we're creating the experiences for which we'll be remembered. Especially the small, seemingly insignificant ones.

When my brother and I look back at our childhood, we first recall those times that we, as a family, laughed the hardest. Next we try to call up the details that seemed so ordinary then, but provide the tickets to the best memories now, like the pottery ashtray I made for my mother in third grade. As I handle that ashtray, I can suddenly "see" my mother reading a book in bed, tapping the ash from the one cigarette she allowed herself daily back then, into my misshapen little gray and white glazed bowl. I can sense how relaxed and comfortable she was in those moments and that recollection feels like a gift.

These are the kinds of memories of my parents I hold close, and they're the kinds of memories I want to leave for those who come behind me. Of course there are more things I now want to know about my mom and dad; simple things I wish that I had thought to ask them.

But I have been learning recently that I can actively create and organize "future" recollections so that my children and their children won't have to search for me in what is left behind. I can do this by focusing more on what Anna Quindlan calls the "doings" of our lives and less on the "getting it done." It's true that when my son and daughter were young there were hundreds and probably thousands of getting it done lists. But now I want to change my focus.

I want to do it starting this holiday season. In the midst of the traveling and daily running around, in the midst of the buying and wrapping and cooking and visiting, I want to make an effort to recognize what makes this year's season, and each of us, unique. Even, and especially, in our most ordinary of moments.

I want to take pictures of the hours between events - not just the Chanukah and Christmas Eve celebrations with our families, but the hours of car riding in-between. Not just the beautiful dinners on the table, but the preparations leading up to those meals. I want to journal and blog about the interstices of our lives and not only the main events so that interested readers down the road can understand and participate in my journey.

To me, that is the essence of appreciating each moment. It's being aware that it's all we have, not just for now, but forever. In each moment in time we have all that is and the seed of what will be.