Leftovers
Sunday, November 25th, 2007I don’t know what is more stuffed with turkey, dressing and pie – me or my refrigerator. As I gaze at its contents, now overflowing with bits and pieces of a wonderful holiday celebration, I can’t but wonder at what truly makes the Thanksgiving leftovers so great: their flavor or their memories. A bite of the turkey reminds me of the endless “just 20 more minutes” before the bird was ready. The aroma of the sweet potato casserole elicits a smirk when remembering the forced smile I wore when its contents were described to me – and my subsequent sheepish request for seconds after my hesitant initial taste test proved a delightful surprise. And the melt-in-your-mouth sweetness of the apple pie warms my heart with the memory of love and appreciation at my handiwork.
Since when did leftovers get such a good rap?
Wasn’t there a time, not so long ago, when I myself felt like a “leftover”? A remnant of a past life – incomplete, worked over, and left on a shelf for another day? A walk around my house was a tour of a life that use to be: half the crystal, a few snatched tools from a wrench set, books with no book shelf, chairs with no table, empty spots where family portraits use to hang.
When you are viewing life through the lens of leftover-as-less-than, life takes on that hue. You notice what you don’t have and find evidence of it everywhere. Just like when you’re looking for a car and that is the only car you see on the road, or when you’re trying to get pregnant and all you see are babies, or you’re divorced and all you see are happy looking families everywhere. Leftover is what happens when you don’t have the complete picture.
Thanksgiving, however, has made me realize there is yet a different way to look at leftovers. Rather than focusing on what is missing, focus on what is present. Yes, there may not be enough plates for a party of eight, but hey, there’s plenty for an intimate dinner party. There’s food for many meals to come, each resplendent in memories and yet additionally able to create ones for the future. That which is left is often times more flavorful, as the individual ingredients have now thoroughly aged and integrated into a new more robust version of itself. And life, as a leftover, is equally as rich: embroidered with the trappings and trimmings of days gone by and poised to take advantage of the moment present.
If life were such that I had a choice as to whether to start afresh or to move forward with the collection of experiences I’ve accumulated, there would be no hesitation in my choosing. I would gather up my bags of leftovers, grateful for each morsel, and head on down that winding road. What was once thought of as a burden now has become a life sustainer and enhancer. Life as a leftover brings new hope, new experiences for growth and new ways to transform that which was into that which will be – and its pretty darn tasty too!

