Lightning Crashes

I have a book titled “2001 Things To Do Before You Die.” Joss and I both have a copy actually. We bought them together about 6 months ago, and have spend hours on several different occasions going through them together, talking about thing things we have done and could check off, discussing the things we want to do, and making some plans to actually do some of them. Since my new diagnosis a few weeks ago, we’ve gotten them out again several times, and made a much more sincere effort to cross things off.

One of the items in the book is “Start a tradition,” which prompted the peanut butter and jelly blog from a few days ago. Another is to bury a time capsule. Joss and I decided a few weeks ago, that we would do this, and that she and her children would dig it up in 20 years. I thought this was a great idea that she and her children would love in the future. We discussed including letters to the kids, pictures, items from our era, etc.

I thought about how I would have felt had my Mom left such things for me. It would have literally amazed me to find things that she was the last to touch and that still held her essence. I would have spent hours flabbergasted by the whole “time” concept. I do this often, like tonight when I came across a picture of my mother on her wedding day, standing with her mother. They were both gazing into a large mirror that I now have. It is mind-boggling to me, that the mirror that I have, once held her reflection. That the day that picture was taken was at that time, the present, just as today is for me. That when our time capsule is opened, the present that’s so real to me right now, will be just a memory in pictures of the past, the same way. I wondered if my grand children would find this buried treasure as valuable as I would have.

We planned the date to bury the time capsule for this weekend. I wrote to the family members who visited over thanksgiving asking them to bring any items they would like to include. To my surprise, they all did. Tonight I began packing things up in the capsule, which is an army ammunition can that I intend to add several coats of Rustoleum or sealer, and caulk closed. I am also putting all of the contents inside several vacuum sealed bags (another great use for the FoodSaver). I finished bagging and labeling everyone’s contents and started gathering my own. I started with the basics: a letter I wrote to James trying (but failing) to express to him how much I love him and how much fun we have together; a letter to Jocilyn with pretty much the same failure; a mouse, a cell phone, and a remote control, sure that the 2030 technological comparison would be fun; and some family pictures. I wrote on the back of all the pictures so that they would know who everyone is. I put in a dollar bill (which may very well be obsolete in 2030) sprayed with a perfume that I often wear, and sealed that in a vacuum bag, hoping that my future family will be able to experience the scent. I took a video of me and the family talking and going through all of the things we were including, and intend to add that also.

I then looked around for other things to add. I thought about adding a lipgloss, a lock of hair, or something that I had actually used, and maybe held a bit of my spirit. I started collecting more and more things. I wanted to write more letters, add more items, put more and more of me in this time capsule. It then hit me, very suddenly in a crashing jolt of reality, why I wanted to put so much in this box. Why, to my surprise, not everyone thought it was as important as I did. Why I didn’t want to seal it but wanted to keep adding everything.

I'm trying to get in the box.
I don’t want to disappear.

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