Letters From The Time Traveler: What We Take For Granted

Dearest Edith,

As you wake up and open the windows, a whiff of smoke blows in. You light the candles and get the children up for school, the sun starts to rise. You can hear the neighbor’s rooster loudly waking everyone.

The house itself is quiet except for the sounds of the children waking up. There is no buzz of electricity zipping through the veins of the home. The ice box sits quietly in the corner. The fireplace is dark. The children wash up at the washstand which consists of a bowl and pitcher.

There is no indoor plumbing. Your father has one of the newest forms of plumbing but the average man does not have this luxury.

The children are dressed and gather their satchels. Thomas Jr. leads the group up the hill to the schoolhouse.

You begin your day with the myriad of chores that surround you. Cleaning. Baking. Organizing. Feeding the animals. The chores and the day never seem to end.

There is no iPad to distract you. No tv playing soap operas or talk shows. No endless chatter. Mrs. Billingsley arrives later to visit and gossip. The widowed Mrs. Billingsley is our only neighbor. She owns 100 acres and we own 50. A very old stone wall separates our properties.