by Patricia Paris
posted March 4, 2005
 Patricia Paris |
Over the past few days, historical site and archeological discoveries have headlined the news. Always fascinated by this kind of information, I pore over every word, eager to learn more about ancient ruins and artifacts and especially the customs and lifestyles of the people who lived there.
A story from the Associated Press reported three coffins and a well-preserved, bead-covered, mummy were discovered entirely by accident in Egypt.
A Chicago Sun-Times article reported the discovery of three slave cabins at Ossabaw Island, Ga., built from a mixture of oyster shells, lime, and sand, and reputed to be among the best-preserved slave quarters in the South.
Yahoo News reported that a French archaeologist has unraveled the mysteries surrounding an ancient Mesopotamian city, purposely built in the desert for the manufacture of copper arms and tools. It's true. Look it up.
It occurs to me that our dwellings, yours and mine, could possibly be the focus of an archaeological unearthing thousands of years in the future and I wonder if our 'digs' would be considered newsworthy? How could they possibly unearth all the secrets and memories hidden deep within our walls?
With the discovery of my humble abode, they couldn't possibly know that the tiny dent in the dryer and the two-inch scrape on one side of the clothes washer provided the only incentive for their purchase, a little sale trick known only to bargain shoppers as a Ding & Dent Sale and that those two small blemishes saved me almost a hundred and fifty dollars? Or would they report that two cubical metal boxes of identical width and proportion, with assorted dials and controls and believed to have been used for the cleansing of clothing, had been found virtually undamaged by the sands of time?
Would they know that the brightly colored Fiesta TM is a collection of various pieces produced from as early as 1936 to as recent as 2004 by The Homer Laughlin China Company, with the newer pieces carefully chosen and purchased at retail while the older ones were acquired at yard sales or by a raised finger at an auction house? Or would they write in their report about pieces and shards of a multi-colored pottery, with some appearing much older than the others and covered with lead-laced paint?
Every time I search through the storage closet, something on a high shelf catches my eye. . . a small, dark brown, beanie cap. Would they know the blue and yellow Cub Scout uniform, drab Brownie uniform, and plaid Weebelos scarf, still decorated with their respective buttons and badges and pushed to the far reaches of a closet, were seldom thought of by the young wearers who had discarded them, yet the red-haired woman who occupied the dwelling kept them for years, unable to part with them?
Would they know how many times the kitchen walls had been painted, papered, re-papered, and then 'mudded' in the year 2005 with Venetian Plaster? Or would they report that traces of dried paste, paper, unleaded paint, and a ancient substance called 'joint and chink sealer' had been found on the walls of a room filled with more cubic metal boxes of various sizes, each with a cord to connect to a power source. Would they, based on their discovery of at least fifty tightly-sealed bottles of exotic spices, deduce that it was a room where food was prepared and called 'kitchen' by the people of that civilization?
How could they possibly know the sadness behind the attempted smiles in the restored family photograph? Or that the photograph had been taken only hours after the burial of a beloved family member? Or that the deceased's final resting place was at the foot of a Tennessee mountain in a place called Oddfellows Cemetery? Would they know he had proudly served as a member of the Oddfellows Society and that its members were not odd at all?
Would they even believe that the rows and rows of women's shoes had belonged to only one woman, but that she wore only her favorite, comfortable ones day after day?
I seriously doubt they would know that the tiny thimbles carefully nestled in the felt-lined box were really tiny treasures that had spanned three generations become coming into my possession. How could they?
They would never know how my little granddaughter's eyes lit up the first time she, still a baby, heard the music boxes. Wouldn't it be something if at least one of them would still play its tinkling tune? And if such a thing was possible, would their eyes light up when they heard the music?
No future archeologist could possibly understand the concept that when a little girl is the only grandchild, photographs are taken frequently and displayed prominently in every type of frame imaginable? Or would they conclude from the sheer numbers that the child must have been a princess? If so, then at least they will get that one right.
I know it shouldn't be important in the overall scheme of things, but as they search among all that dust and debris, they would never believe how many times I ran that vacuum cleaner. And that bothers me!
(Copyright 2005 Patricia Paris. Contact Patricia at patriciaparis@gmail.com. Member: Tennessee Writers Alliance, Int'l Women's Writing Guild, Tennessee Mountain Writers, Chattanooga Writers Guild.)
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