The TIME CAPSULE- then and now.

THE TIME CAPSULE-then and now.

          In 1990, I interred not a body but my time capsule in Van Cortlandt Park, in the Bronx. I played there as a child; I climbed rocks, chased birds, skated on the lake in winter and rowed boats there in the summer. It was only fitting that the capsule be buried and hidden there, in the burial ground on vault hill.

          1990 was a good year- Germany was reunited; Namibia became independent as did Armenia. And Microsoft released its 3.0 operating system.

          Van Cortlandt is a special place in the Bronx. It has 1,146 acres. It has an old growth forest of hickory, sweet gum, birches; it has over 300 bird species, 130 different kinds of butterflies, ants, and local animals. It has the largest freshwater lake in the Bronx.  I am interested in nature.

          I had considered many places- historic, religious, and educational. But the park seemed to have all of those. The Lenape Indians first inhabited it and formed a village called Keskeskic which means sharp grass. A perfect place to hide the capsule. The VanCortlandts were residents many centuries ago. Their building survives. My capsule might. I was into history. There was the USA first public golf course, railroad tracks, a parade ground, a stable and a little area devoted to veterans. Perfect.   

          The park was never closed, not even on the Sabbath, and the education abounded- you could learn of life from a-z if you tried.

          So when it came time to consider placing my time capsule at that relatively calm time in history, I made my decision. I secured the waterproof, plain, coffin like box from a funeral parts warehouse called “forever yours”.   

          Now the big decision of what to toss in, in no particular order. I tossed my driver’s license. I would never know when it might come in handy to get from point A to point Z! I tossed a valentine I got when I was 13- my tribute to nostalgia along with a black and white photo of my first love and his first love, his car. Along with those, in went pictures of family, the beginning and the newest. And friends. Some I was later sorry I added since they no longer loomed large or small as friends. Baby pictures that brought a smile to my face and wedding pictures to wipe that smile away. Oh, my college degree. A girl without a degree these days is like a day without sunshine. That’s a stretch. My first passport filled with memories of where I once was and maybe someday could be again along with my first bankbook- I would remember to save for that rainy or encapsulated day. A 15 cent subway token took no room at all but reminded me of travel through the city for so many years. And a library card; you just never knew when you might be starved for knowledge of one or another subjects. 

          Into this repository I’d have games- scrabble, monopoly, marbles, clear and cats eyes. My underwood portable typewriter won in the 1950s radio show called Juvenile Jury. My favorite 45 records, sing along ones and dance with kinds. I must have books- the secret garden, I married adventure, the Diary of Anne Frank, Europe on 5$ a day, a dictionary and maybe a world atlas. I wouldn’t want to emerge in a brave new world naked as I had once before come so into the box a tie dyed shirt, a mini skirt, jeans, a nightie, bra and undies, my first black dress and pointy toed heels, a fisherman knit sweater, knee-hi’s and sneakers or maybe penny loafers.  Hair rollers, Tangee lipstick, blue waltz perfume from the 5 and dime. Oh, my Jewish star. My father’s dog tag and my mom’s work ID card to establish my roots should the opportunity present itself. And my old teddy bear, ever faithful and the best secret keeper.

          That was then. Fast forward. 2020. Secretly late at night, armed with sanitizer and mask, I disinterred my sacred object. It could not stay there in this plague year. It might never be found. I loved it when it came out easily and unscathed. Home I went. On the floor, I took stock of all that I had treasured, all I hoped humanity would treasure. Yes, it all would stay. But more needed now to be added and a bigger vault was needed. And a new idea miraculously entered by quarantined brain. I would get a coffin ready. After all, I am 77, being prepared was a grand suggestion. 

          The next day, I called a funeral home. I could not go in person so I looked on line, using new operating systems. I was now 5’3 ½, down ½ from 1990, I was 120 pounds, always seemed to be, and my body was intact. I hadn’t lost my hair yet. Or my mind.

           A plain pine coffin- I am Jewish, a simple, liner, I crave comfort, and room for those 1990’s treasures plus the ones I’d need now to add. First and foremost, my last will and whatever since I am older and that needs to be there. I’d add some jewelry I’d amassed with designated beneficiaries. Who wants to find the capsule and watch a battle take place?  I’d add a tablet and a cell phone. I don’t have an Apple watch. I’d add some art that I had collected, a lovely copy of a Winslow Homer. Into the capsule would absolutely have to go my prescriptions- valium, baby aspirin, vitamins and more. I did say I am 77! I’d toss in my glasses, near and far ones, tinted and plain. More than one pair. Rod Sterling, who died at 50 and probably also had a capsule, had a wonderful tale about a lone man breaking his one pair of glasses at the end of the world. Not me. I’m prepared.

          And I’d add more. This time, running shoes; cooler weather items since global warming (which I do believe in) has altered the climate. My car keys- I have a new car, hardly driven these pandemic days. And most importantly things my grandkids gave me- better than anything. Maccabee who is 15 and Benjy who will be 7 soon have enriched my life with class photos, drawings often looking like unidentifiable objects and something quite intangible but definitely to be included, love and hope for a brave new world that can continue to enjoy hiding and unearthing time capsules.

          The capsule is here, under my bed for now. I can’t freely venture out to scout perfect sites with Covid all around me.. So it rests, collecting dust and secrets. When I am 78, maybe I can find a new home for it.  Of course, without me in it just yet. Maybe the world will be a new home. Maybe.