During The War

So, I was just wondering, after another extended absence, what do people want to read when they read a blog? Is it a platform to make money? (Ha!) A way to create a community? What is it? Well, after a quick google search that started with "What blogs," an ending of "make the most money" was quickly filled in for me. Spoiler, as of 10/26/17 it's The Huffington Post. So than I googled "What blogs are the best?" and got a bunch of mumbo jumbo because what does that question even mean? Anyways, it seems that as human beings we want to spend our time learning about things that can enhance out lives. We want useful knowledge, or wisdom to make us deeper, more understanding creatures. With that in mind it is a little oblivious of me to use my blog to make public journal entries and assume any one else has an inkling of interest, but dang it, that's what keeps happening. I guess I don't have the stamina to commit to a theme, and let's be honest, at the rate of one post every two years, I don't need one.

So todays topic is . . . . .Time Travel! Not the sci-fi time travel that sends a nude Arnold Schwarzenegger hurdling through the universe, but a more figurative time travel.
I was recently talking with a WW2 vet, and during a pause in conversation he told me I was beautiful. *blush. How sweet. He went on to say that at his age you don't hold back if you feel like saying something. After our conversation ended and I was driving away I got this strange feeling that if someone who was old enough to by my grandfather, well actually my great grandfather, could see me as a beautiful woman and not an offspring of a distant generation, than it's almost like a bridge had been made where I could exist back in the forties and fifties. That was so long ago, my parents had barely been born. What would life be like? With no feminist revolution to liberate us yet, I guess I would be someone's wife, someone's mother, or maybe a nun. But maybe I would be like that woman who drive a motorcycle across the country:

I mean, let's get real, I would never have been that hot. But let's talk about her for a minute. Her name was Bessie Stringfield and she drove her Harley across the US god knows how many times. During WW2 she worked for the Army as a courier. A black woman, traveling alone in the thirties and forties. She wasn't waiting for the revolution to liberate her. She just lived as if it had already happened, like she too was a time traveller. And according to Wikipedia she was married and divorced 6 times. I image it was taboo to get divorced once back than, let alone six times. Not that I admire that so much, but I can appreciate a woman who isn't thwarted by some one else's standards. 

So while she was cruising, and my old friend was taking out Nazis, I probably would have been some  soldiers wife who in his absence wore his overalls and drove his tractor, brought the cows in on a sorrel mare, weeded and watered a huge garden, steeled my body for the long absence of a man, played a harmonica for the pack of dogs I fed table scraps to, pushed from my mind the possibility my partner might never return, and the fantasy that he would. 

I guess it seems obvious, that no matter the circumstances, the time, the era, I would still be myself, even 70 million years ago as a whimsical, foraging, dinosaur riding cave woman. I guess that's the thing we forget as we measure time on so many different rulers, we are all really timeless.