My Eulogy

Back in the day when I was a teacher, one of the assignments I gave my students was to write their eulogies.

I was thinking about that yesterday--my eulogy. What would I want it to say?

Recently, I read a quote by Arianna Huffington that said, "...our eulogies celebrate our lives very differently from our resumes. They don't commemorate our long hours in the office, our promotions, or our sterling PowerPoint presentations as we relentlessly race to climb the career ladder. Instead, they celebrate cherished memories, shared adventures, small kindnesses and acts of generosity, lifelong passions, and the things that made us laugh."

Yesterday, as Savana and I were walking, we passed two very different houses. The first home was simple, modest, but well-kept with a manicured, fenced-in yard that was moderate in size. The second home? It sprawled on a large piece of well-groomed land, two story, elaborate. It boasted of large salaries and hours of upkeep.

I said, "That's the kind of home I want someday," pointing to the smaller, more modest home.

Savana shook her head. "Not me. I want that one," and she gazed in awe at the mansion.

Thirty years ago? I would have chosen the same. I would have dreamed of a mansion-like home with lots of room for children to run and a kitchen that filled the hearts of my guests with envy. But of course...time has a way of changing those dreams. I recognize, now, that a large home means a large amount of cleaning. A large yard means hours of mowing and trimming. A large home means large bills.

No thank you.

Small is just fine with me. Small leaves room for time for other things than cleaning and manicuring. Small leaves time for the simple pleasures of life.

The pleasures that I seek for my eulogy.

Sometimes I forget that each day matters--that each day is a celebration of sort. Sometimes life becomes a monotony of days that run together, each one alike. But those days of monotony run together to create a life...so at the end of the day, that monotony is all that really matters. The loading the dishwasher and running the vacuum cleaner and cleaning the fish tank and the going to and coming home from work...It all runs together.

Roy and I go to Sam's Club every Sunday. And the thing with Sam's is that we buy in bulk. Everything is in large quantity. This past week we purchased dishwasher soap which means we now have 120 pods underneath the kitchen sink. And as I put it away, I thought, How much living is going to go on between today and when we have to buy dishwasher soap again? Because really, before we turn around twice I'll put it on my list and head to Sam's to once again replenish my stock. And if I think back to the last time I bought it...what will I remember about the time in between? Probably nothing. Probably it will all be just a blur of the day in and the day out.

Somehow that needs to change. Because that time in between? It needs to be filled with cherished memories and shared adventures and small kindnesses and acts of generosity and lifelong passions and the things that make me laugh.

That time in between needs to be all about creating my eulogy.