A kind new associate of Mike's invited our children to come and watch them haul hay with no machines, just the plain old-fashioned way: with a horse and wagon.
As I stood clicking pictures wearing flip-flops and totally non-hay-baling-attire, I daydreamed of being in a farm house cooking bread and fried chicken for the menfolk to come in soon and eat. I thought about how much I would have loved wearing a long dress and an apron and spending my days baking, cleaning and sewing in a time period more than a century ago.
Pretty abruptly I returned to 2011. The cell phone in my pocket rang through a text message, and a glance at the time told me I was minutes away from a meeting I had to get to. My daydreams of slower time periods with horses, wagons, home-made breads and jams were over.
Oh well. Minutes later when we climbed into the car, my feet were dirty. My black shorts were covered in dust and straw and my kids' clothes and bodies were even filthier. I was relieved and cooled as I blasted the car's air-conditioning on us.
Maybe I wouldn't have survived living in an earlier century after all.