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They’ll care about a pandemic time capsule

I’m not entirely sure why I had some thoughts this past week about a time capsule.

But of all things to think about and crowd my head for room and attention, there it was.

My only connection to such things is having written a few stories about them in the past.

What prompts them being created — or unearthed — is that a special occasion is being acknowledged or something new is being built or, in other cases, something old is being torn down, and there it is — ta-da!!!

A time capsule!

The contents of these are, well, anything timely, whatever captures the moment, documents history or suits the occasion.

If memory serves, I believe the Richmond Community Historical Society, for example, did one in honor of the village’s 200th birthday back in 2015.

And more recently, in 2019, I recall the Steubenville Lodge No. 45 Free and Accepted Masons planned a time capsule in observance of its 200th anniversary celebration. The intent was to bury the time capsule in the Masonic section of Union Cemetery in Steubenville, then open it 25 years later.

Personally, I’ve never entertained the idea of doing a time capsule for any reason or occasion, but now that we’re moving into March and approaching a one-year anniversary of all the pandemic implications and restrictions, I’ve reconsidered.

I attribute that to the sticker I almost wiped off the kitchen island the other day, the one Better Half was given when he got his first COVID-19 vaccination shot.

To the average eye it’s just a sticker, like the ones you get when you go and vote, but to me, a four-eyed person, I saw beyond the commonality of it.

Hey, this is history, I thought to myself, inspecting it. You don’t get these every day. Years from now, one of our descendants could be standing in the “Antiques Roadshow” line awaiting an appraisal on this, I’m imagining (or over imagining!).

And that’s why I told Better Half we should do a you-and-me pandemic time capsule.

On an interest scale of 1 to 10, I got a response of around minus 3, judging from his expression.

I get that.

When you’re living through history as it’s unfolding, maybe you don’t think much of it, or that anybody will really care down the road about personal memorabilia associated with it.

But our kids and grandkids and beyond will care about it, I assured him. They’ll be interested and grateful to look back and have this personal history stuff, courtesy of Ma and Pa Kiaski. Won’t they??!!

I have no shortage of things to put in one, including:

– A Bob Evan’s takeout menu. On March 14, 2020, Better Half and I ate out at the local Bob Evans restaurant with two of my siblings on what — who’d have thunk it — was the last time we were allowed to dine in for a l-o-n-g time.

– A clear protective mask that looks like you’re preparing to weld something.

– My letter that says I’m allowed to go out and work because I’m essential;

– Invitations to drive-by, drive-thru baby showers;

– A social distancing (stay away from everybody) sign;

– Our list of TV binge-watching during the spring, summer and beyond; and

– A letter acknowledging we got a stimulus check.

I’m sure all of this will find a good home someday… if only at the local landfill.

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