The boys buried a time capsule last weekend. They spent about an hour digging up the drain field in the back yard. Knowing that Dad would clobber them if they continued on that course, they changed plans and began digging elsewhere.
Elsewhere being...in my garden.
They dug just about all the way to the Earth's crust. After all that strenuous work, they spent approximately 30 seconds considering exactly what they should stuff into the capsule that would best represent twelve-year-old boyhood in the year 2010. Deciding on a few quarters, (just in case the children of the future wonder what currency was like in the dark ages) an empty box of War Heads candy, a sheet of notebook paper listing their favorite tv shows, music, food and books, an orange plastic dragon, some little green army guys, an empty bottle of Vault, a Lego Star Wars instruction booklet and an old pair of shoes. (What's up with the shoes?? No clue. Perhaps they want to keep the coyotes away from their time capsule? Because the stink will certainly do the job.)
And the buried all of that junk. In a shoebox. In our GARDEN, which means that I'll be digging up a soggy, bug-infested cardboard box full of smelly, damp shoes some time next month so I can plant the tomatoes. Yuuuug!
I did advise them to bury it someplace that would be left undisturbed for a while. For instance...in the woods across the street? They did NOT think this was a good idea, because what if they desperately needed to dig up some of their priceless artifacts?? You never know when you'll be needing that orange dragon!