Time Finally Hits Peoria

Our story begins in Peoria, 1975. From our black and white television screens, we learn of far away places: a jury convicts Nixon administration officials Haldeman, Erlichman, Mitchell and Mardian; Khmer Rouge insurgents capture Cambodia; the United States evacuates the final 1,000 troops from South Vietnam. We watch on our maize-colored, textured, faux-velour sofa. We smile approvingly at our cream and silver curtains, which so nicely augment the hospital-white walls: oh, yes, we like a house that looks clean in addition to being clean. We are proud of our plastic gold and fake crystal chandelier, which we thought seemed a little too new-money-showy at first, but now, we admit, adds a certain pizazz to the room. When we get up for an American cheese and mayonnaise sandwich, our socked feet patter on the pale salmon carpet. Also, we seem to have two dogs.


But we cannot stand still against time, for she will wash over us if we do not swim with her current. There comes danger: toxic chemicals contaminate Love Canal, NY; Jim Jones and his 900 followers perish; Three Mile Island leaks radioactive material; Ronald Reagan takes the helm. We are moderately happy that the human genome project is getting funded, and though we don't see any kids in Peoria tampering with those illegal substances, we figure if that's what the kids are doing elsewhere, for lack of heartland values, what could be wrong with Nancy Reagan's Just Say No campaign? Now that we have a color television we do, however, find her red outfits to be a little showy. But we purse our lips and remember we ought not to resist the hurrying winged chariot. We get the furniture upholstered a nice Nancy red, and then we spend several days sitting in the living room and feeling quite modern, basking in modernity. Under this influence, we allow our children to hang up some pictures, but we feel a little uncomfortable with all the strange symbols and designs -- they may be related to that satan worshipping, and though we stay tight-lipped on that topic, we do send an extra check to the Just Say No campaign. We even get a new light fixture, but we are not sure about the durability of a metal one.



We are not sure if the dining room ought to double as an exercise space (see treadmill and yoga mat), but eating and running seem to be emblematic of these modern times.

[I'm not sure that we've arrived yet at uber-hip Islamabad, 2007. But will you at least give me, say, Pittsburgh or Cleveland or Cincinnati? 1987? 1993? Or am I asking too much?]