Time Capsules

A time capsule is a historic cache of goods or information, usually intended as a method of communication with future people.

I remember the first time I learned about “time capsules”. I was in the sixth grade at P.S. #11 in Yonkers, NY. It would be my last year in that school before my family moved upstate to our first real home (not a rented apartment). Our class assignment was to collect current events that were meaningful to each of us to be placed in the capsule in 1970. The capsule was to be buried by the new cornerstone to an addition on the main building.

I distinctly remember a boy I met named Stan. He was from Czechoslovakia. His family came to America to escape Communism. He told us the story of their exodus, and how one of his Uncles did not make it because he was caught before he got to the boarder. I was one of the volunteers who helped Stan learn how to speak English. He came to our home sometimes after school for a snack and I would let him ride my bicycle, and I would ride my sisters bike to show him around the neighborhood. He enjoyed talking to my Father as he could relate to him through the commonality of making the trek to America from the other shore. I was amazed how quickly he learned to speak English. His Czech accent was obvious, but he communicated quite well.

When it was time for us who contributed to the Time Capsule to bury it, Stan was chosen to be the first one to put a shovel full of dirt into the hole. I was standing next to him when a photographer snapped the picture, and we appeared in the next issue of the Herald Statesman Newspaper. After my family left the area, I never saw or heard from Stan again. In my mind, though, those memories are as clear as yesterday.

The title for this story came to me quite some time ago. It has been sitting in my drafts folder waiting for me. It wasn’t until my family came together to go through the earthly belongings of our Parents where we began to find the “Time Capsules” of our past communicate with the present.

My parents seemed to have saved everything that was meaningful in their lives. Their love for each other and our family was demonstrated all through our lives physically and emotionally, and we have been rediscovering everything in great detail in these many boxes that spanned not only their lives, but those of past generations as well as our children and grandchildren, including great and great, great! All the dreams that we sought after had their flames fanned by an excited and supportive extended family. They dreamed along with us.

Among those time capsules were things like the tiny white dress and shoes I wore when I was baptized at St. Joseph’s Church in the Bronx. I’m sure both my sisters wore it too. Papers from school of accomplishments, art, pottery, Girl Scouts, musical endeavors and the individual things that we did apart from each other.

Of course, my path centered around horses. No one really knows where that came from. Especially living in a suburban area! It was just inside of me. I remember when it really started to come out. My Dad had bought a series of Encyclopedias- Encyclopedia International (I have one left in my bookcase). We always looked forward to the new one each month. My middle sister and I would lay on the floor and slowly turn the pages. Sometimes we sat on each side of Dad in his chair as he too slowly turned the pages in our captive wonder. The one for the letter “H” was mine! I started to draw horses from the pictures I found in that book. My Grandfather, being an artist himself, bought me sketch pads, pencils, chalk and a “how to” drawing book. He helped me learn perspective and anatomy. I drew life like ones as well as cartoons and everything in between. In High School, every yearbook I signed had my signature “Joe Cool” horse bust. He wore a hat sideways over an ear, sun glasses and sometimes had a cigarette in between his lips with a curl of smoke just above! I certainly made it easy for my family for gift giving ideas.

This one above was always one of my favorites 2/16/1975

The one below is kind of prophetic! No date but was in the same sketch pad from 1975

When we moved upstate, the opportunity to truly BE with horses unfolded. I still drew them, but being with them has no adequate words to describe. I’m sure those of you reading this understand what I mean. Dad took us to a riding stable in Jefferson Valley. After that first experience there, I began to save my money ($4 for an hour ride). I made my appointments and Dad, Grandpa or Nana would bring me there. I was given the opportunity to work there as a trail guide. It was the most exciting experience in my young life.

My husband found a micro drive on my Dad’s desk, while we were gathering things at the house, and put it on his pocket. He came home to tend to the farm while I remained at my parents house with my family sorting. He put it in his computer to see what was on it. When I came back home he told me I had to see what was on it.

Top is me on Blue Boy. Beautifully dappled with ice blue eyes. A favorite of everyone. Middle- I remember my Grandfather taking this picture. Yankee was my lead horse in 1975. And the one above is me on Sybil. My lead horse in 1976.

The above picture was taken during my last year at Templed Hills. From left to right is Ronnie W., Mrs. B and me.

There will certainly be more time capsules to find and open in all that my parents saved for us. Our family story that grew into individual stories in photographs and memories carried now to our children and grandchildren and for generations to come.

PS- There will be a sequel at some point in the future on “Templed Hills” that took place 20 years later…