Traveling to the Past and Back to Tell the Story

The ultimate adventure.

How wonderful would it be to hop around to a different point in time from our past? I always wanted to visit the 6th C BCE, have a chance to meet the Buddha in person or....Rumi, later on.

Visit the French Revolution to watch Danton going at it with Robespierre. 

Or to watch my parents meet for the first time and see my father enchanting Mom with his ever-present, irresistible charm. He must have been a fascinating young man if the letters I found in the attic revealed the true sentiment of these women whom he enthralled.

Mom as a young girl growing up with my grandma and what she was allowed and not allowed to do, according to the strict ethics of a barely post-Victorian era. 

Or going back to witness the Crusaders traveling to the Holy Land and see in person how they behaved, what they did and didn't do, and who they did it to.

To find out what the truth is by the simple fact of being there. 

Going back to Roman times and the Crucifixion would just blow my mind. Having a conversation with Seneca about it; next discussing the reasons behind his decisions with the man responsible at the time, Governor Pontius Pilate. 

There are so many instances in the History of The World that we are curious about. The only real connection we have to the past, the historical events, is what we've been told. Once, somebody wise said: "History is written by the victors". Sounds about right.

Books, teachers, college professors, and editorials written by people who were never there.

Finding out for ourselves by traveling through time without interfering would be nothing short of the ultimate experience. 

Could we do it soon? Would Quantum science take us there?

Food for thought indeed, as I let my imagination run wild.

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There, I see my mom with her soft-as-silk hands holding my dad's face forcing a good luck kiss before taking off for the office. 

"See you later, handsome" --she'd tell him. Every morning. 

Then, when everything was quiet, she'd open another window to check her magnolias growing in the garden. If she saw something growing where it shouldn't be, she'd call her partner, her friend for the help needed.

Maria Concepción, the maid. A housekeeper turned gardener; a woman with a hundred years of knowledge in her genes and a heart packed with compassion for anything alive or growing. The garden and her were one sole entity. Mom learned a lot from her and it was wonderful to witness them laughing at times like little girls.

And now, all hands on deck, they both rushed out with all the weapons needed to fight the bush invaders.

It was a sight to behold. These two women on a mission.

Mom had sensitive skin, so when the sun hit her face, she would accommodate her gardener's straw hat to prevent sunburn. Only a sliver of sunlight would pass and if you looked carefully, you'd notice her green eyes had a streak of gold in them barely noticeable, but in the shade, that feature became even more pronounced. It would have made a perfect portrait.

The weather was hot, so they both wiped the sweat from their foreheads with their arms. A sigh or two and the work was done. 

Maria and Mom had struck a deep friendship, especially when Maria almost died of a bout of pneumonia and had to stay in the hospital for weeks. 

They were both one of a kind, compassionate people that were lucky enough to meet each other by chance. Or fate.

Dad loved the fact that Mom enjoyed watching soccer with him. It was always the spectacle. They were so funny arguing about the littlest things; whether a foul was committed but not called by the referee. Same thing with the penalties. Mom was literally a soccer fanatic. Just like Dad. Or maybe she just pretended to be to give him a hard time. I never figured it out. Or maybe she was and that was one of the reasons why they were married.

She was an avid reader and a quick learner. Never bored, she always managed to find fascination in the most ridiculous things. Dad wasted no time picking on her and made some pranks he thought for sure would work, only to incite her curiosity further. 

One time, he did succeed. He persuaded one of his friends to pretend he was a representative for a publishing company that made encyclopedias. All she had to do was answer ten questions correctly to win the latest edition of Encyclopedia Britannica. On the phone.

She did her part, but was tricked with one fake question about the capital of a fictitious country that of course, she had never heard of. For that reason, the "agent" said she didn't win. "Sorry", he said. And hung up.

Perplexed, she asked a librarian neighbor if he ever heard of such a country and of course, he hadn't because that country didn't exist. 

So, she brought her complaint to Dad, who was hiding behind his newspaper, pretending to read but was betrayed by a muffled chuckle that she heard. 

Oh boy. "Did you have anything to do with that?" she said after she caught one of the muffled laughs he couldn't hold any longer. 

"Oh, you! You…you're in big trouble now", as she started chasing him all over the house with a frying pan. 

They were having a good time. Those were good, healthy, wholesome days. 

I remember those good times like they happened yesterday.

I also remember she made him buy her a full collection of the Encyclopedia Britannica, express delivery, with a: "I'm sorry, honeypie" note on the front. 

That's what you get for playing pranks on the wrong person. 

Days of heaven, you could say. 

While they lasted…

Sadly, in Argentina, very dark days were ahead that no one could have ever envisioned or anticipated. 

Political upheaval and military curfews. Days of founded and unfounded terror. Days of absolute madness. Days where everything went wrong and nights when we were afraid to go to sleep. 

Argentina's military juntas throughout the 70s had seized control of the government and everybody was a suspect.

The good times were over and replaced with insecurity and paranoia.

Suddenly… everyone was a communist, a subversive or a sympathizer. 

It felt like it took forever for the situation to normalize. It took an impossible war for the Falkland Islands that was lost before it started.

All caused by the same military trying to distract and hold on to power.

It didn't work and they're spending the rest of their lives in jail.

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Back into the here and now, I still reflect on those moments with a bittersweet nostalgia.

But I can't think of a better way to spend ten minutes before crashing into reality.

In my own special way, I did time travel.

But now, the dishes still have to be done.

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