Ah, the good ole days!

If you are like me, you likely often find yourself asking, "Where does the time go?" In my study of history, my romantic notions of days gone by create yearning in my soul to venture back in time. A time before blackberries, PDA's, online calendars, and scribbled notes lost in the recesses of my untidy car. Ah to relive those "simpler" days of yore.

But wait, my day starts at about 7am and ends around 10pm. I drift off to sleep on a warm, padded mattress and wake to the smell of already brewed coffee. I saunter into a relaxing, hot shower and have my pick of any number of comfortable cotton fasions hanging in my air conditioned closet. There is no hurry to bustle out onto the crowded city streets and I simply take my time.

My workday is spent sitting in a padded chair, staring into a glaring white screen. From time to time, when the need arises, I pop up a little window that tells me what is going on, not just outside my window, but upon almost any street corner around the globe. My time up, and work accomplished, my steel chariot carries me home to a hot, cooked meal.

Yes, there are the parent-teacher meetings, Scout gatherings, Church events and family get togethers to contend with, but there is fresh milk and eggs in the refrigerator. Except for the stray invisible germ, my hands rarely get dirty.

I sit down in the evening in my favorite cushy chair and read about the simpler times. The times when my great-grandfather, and many like him, rose before the sun tossed off the veil of night. The trips to the exterior outhouse in the dead chill of winter and then to the barn for the morning supply of newly laid eggs and warm milk. For bacon, well, he had to slaughter the pig, with his bare hands! The fields needed plowed, maintained and harvested. In the heat of summer, there was no solace from the shimmering waves of sunshine, except for the shade of the solar-heated porch. Time to go to town? Its off to the barn to hitch up the horses that needed to be watered and fed, then up to the hard wooden seat and a bumpy ride on steel-girded wheels.

Enough of this! I put the books down, turn of the electric light and head for my private sanctuary. The denim is traded off for cool cotton jamies, then it is under the covers while the fan blows 70 degree air down upon me. Oh, such a stressful time to live in!