Time

Every once in a while, I look back on my grandmother's time with some envy. This happened more often in my twenties, when I was trying to decide what career to pursue, what to do with my life, and was so completely frozen with choice stress that I thought that living in a time when my choices were limited to two or three (wife / mother or teacher or nurse) might have been kind of nice. 

Life in other times seems like it would be more straightforward. Of course I would quit my job as a mother. Of course my husband would just work full time, and of course for a single corporation for much of the rest of his life. One that he would like, of course. And of course I would live close to my mother and sister and my in-laws so that we could help raise children and do things around the house.

Never mind that neither of my grandmothers ended up living even remotely close to their families. Never mind even more that my one grandmother would have given her damn eyeteeth to have the opportunities that I have right now -- she was a very bright woman, who earned a degree in the 1920s and taught school until she got married. And then I think while she was happy, she was a little envious of my grandfather who went on to have an illustrious career while she stayed home and raised their children. I don't think she minded, per se, but I do think that she could have had as great as, or even greater, a career than he did. 

But we recently found a show imported from England -- BBC -- called Victorian Farm, in which three modern people go to an abandoned Victorian Farm and attempt to live on it -- with only Victorian technology and Victorian breeds of animal and plants and Victorian clothing -- for a whole year. 

Now I realize that neither of my grandmothers grew up in Victorian times, but this show? Has cured me of my envy. Oh, dear God, the work they do! The laundry that takes four days! The fencing that has to start with cutting down the damn tree! The cooking on a wood stove! And let's face it: while my grandmothers didn't grow up in this time, neither did they likely have a dishwasher, nor electric iron with steam, nor microwave (although neither do I), nor even perhaps a clothes dryer. Or frozen foods, ready meals, pizzas. Or the variety of foodstuffs that we have. So many things that we take for granted.

In any case, I haven't spent much time recently wishing I lived in past times. Despite the chaos of life today, and the need to slow the heck down to feel like you can catch your breath, and despite the agony of choice ... I still would never trade my dishwasher for love nor money.