If I were making a time capsule to be opened by my great grandchildren, I would include:
A book (who won last year’s Pulitzer?)
A movie poster (something recent from Hallmark classics)
Heirloom vegetable seeds (even if they won’t grow anymore)
Pictures of my children at their most adorable
Picture of my dogs, all freshly bathed and looking darling
Paint chips that I keep saying I’ll use to decorate my house someday
Transcript of Thomas Monson lecture
Recent issue of Time and/or National Geographic
If my best friend were making the capsule, and she wanted my great grandchildren to know what I’m really like (not what I pretend I’m like), she would include:
A formulaic fantasy novel (which is what I actually read)
Movie poster from “The Avengers” or some other comic book movie (my favorite movies)
Chocolate wrappers (I don’t even eat heirloom vegetables, let alone grow them)
Pictures of my kitchen sink filled with dirty dishes
Pictures of my dogs all lounging on the couch with muddy feet
Clorox wipes, because wiping grape soda off the kitchen chairs is as close as I get to decorating
Transcript of the K-Bull morning show (makes me laugh every morning)
Recent issue of InStyle and/or People StyleWatch
My high heeled hiking boots (yep, I really own such a thing)
Ticket stubs from “Menopause, the Musical” (all women of a certain age must see this show)
I need a more intelligent life, or friends who are better liars.
This is exactly why journals are good--you can pass along your semi-filtered but uncensored life to your posterity.
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