I’m loving this “post-a-week” challenge so far. It’s kinda like a high school essay contest without the grade anxiety and the dreams about not being allowed to graduate because you showed up late to your midterms in your underwear… or.. .um.. .was that just me? … *ahem* … anyway… The blog topic question proposed by WordPress today is:
If you had a time machine that only let you spend one hour in a different time, what date would you go to?
Maybe this question is easy to answer for some people. But for me it opens up a world of ponderings. There are so many hours I wonder about. Some moments I would like to revisit because I want to re-experience them, some moments were crossroads where I am now curious about the consequences of the choices I made. Some moments are old snapshots from family albums, a look at my family heritage. And some moments are merely dreams of the future, patches of time I would love to peek at so I can add their insight to the inspirational pictures on my vision board. Let’s set aside all the “Back to the Future” consequences and double people and all that, shall we? Here are my top picks (so far):
Alex’s 30th birthday. One hour with grown-up Alex to visit with the young man he has become. To ask him questions, to enjoy his company. Who knows if I will be around to see that day in real life? It would be my honor to get a glimpse into his future.
The hour Hannah arrived in the world. Just to be able to experience again the greatest moment of my life as a woman, giving birth to my baby girl. That may seem strange to some, but I would relive it– labor pains with no drugs and all– in a heartbeat.
Baking bread with my mother when I was five. I am like my mother. I have her hands. I have her expressions. She says to me that the way I see Hannah is the way she sees me. That just as Hannie is “my little Boo” so I am also her “Boo.” I would be honored to witness my mother as a young woman at the beginning of her family life. To appreciate all over again the blessing of being a loved and cherished child.
September 1938. I would like to meet Pauline, my paternal grandmother whom I never knew. Pauline died when my father was Alex’s age. In September 1938 she would have been near age 25, immersed in her teaching career and surrounded by family in her small town community. She would be five years away from having my dad, 15 years away from her untimely death from cancer, probably hopeful for the future and motivated enough to change the world for the better. I want to know what she’d tell me about life.
The day my grandparents met and/or fell in love. My maternal grandfather, with whom I was very close, always told a story about how he went to a high school concert on a date with another girl, saw my grandmother in the choir and immediately fell in love. My Grandpa was well-loved by everyone (especially the ladies), always a gentleman, and the spitting image of Santa Claus when he was older. My Grandma got Alzheimer’s at a young age, so by the time I was old enough to know her, she wasn’t really the person she had been most of her life. I want to see what their lives were like, who my Grandma really was and how charming and/or typical, funny or quirky my Grandpa was when he swept her off her feet.
My last birthday. Okay, I admit it. Sometimes I read the last chapter first. And yes, I have been known to peek at presents before Christmas. But come on, aren’t we all a little curious about how it all goes in life and what’s around the corner for us? Notice, I didn’t say “the day I die.” I’m not that morbid. I kinda hope my final birthday celebration will be a huge party with a hundred friends and relatives dancing and eating chocolate cake.
There are other days of course. Some single moments, an hour at a time, that I revisit from time to time in my head. Or daydream about when I am quiet and alone with my thoughts. I also have my hopes for the future tacked up on a little mental vision board. They all stitch together into one big quilt. And when I’m centered and happy, I can wrap that around me and be warm and comforted while I remain firmly rooted right here, right now, in the present.