Two Old Broads and No Estrogen: What came first, the past or the future?

The news broke a couple of days ago that aerial images show evidence that a 1400 year old Christian monastery has been destroyed in Iraq. As with earlier destruction of antiquities, I read it with sorrow and a personal sense of loss. I'm not a Christian, I'm not a scholar of the ancient world, nor am I an archaeologist. But when singular objects or sites are lost, it feels similar to a species going extinct. It will never be there again, and that troubles me.

There will probably be consternation and outrage in some quarters over this from people who take it as an affront to their religion or culture. As for me, it has made me pause and bring it home. It's representative of my growing sense of impermanence.

Andrew being a kid

Remember when you were a kid and summer vacation was a million miles away and the thought of being in high school was like some movie that you'd never star in? It was hard to project very far ahead, and even harder to imagine what the future would look like in 20 years. On this end of the spectrum, it's not hard at all to project ---- I probably do too much of it ---- but it's still hard to picture what the future will look like. One thing is certain, though. It won't be the same as today.

I like old stuff and always have. I did want to be an archaeologist when I was young, at least until I realized that it involved heat, dirt, and worst of all, bugs. But concrete articles from bygone eras fascinate me, whether it's clothing, implements, furniture, or buildings. I'm intrigued by how people lived and how we are connected to what came before.

I'm not as much interested in the future; it seems shadowy and confusing to think about. It makes my brain tired. That's not a value judgment. It's more like an orientation.

When I hear of destruction like that in Palmyra or Iraq, my first feeling is horror. But it has been happening forever and is part of the process of life. Destruction and creation go hand in hand. My idea of what should be preserved, and even venerated, doesn't necessarily fit with other people's. If every building from the 1850s in Manhattan still stood, New York would not be the city it is today. There is inherent tension between the old and the new and it is never resolved.

I have often mentioned that our house is filled with several generations worth of "stuff" --- photos, documents, paintings, books, furniture, all passed through the family for as many as five generations.

I know full well that I'm not the only 60-something person who has become the repository of the family heirlooms. What will beome of that collection?

When a building revered by one tribe or religion is destroyed by another, can we be surprised? What is valuable to one group represents idolatry to another. Similarly, what is valued in a family heirloom is the meaning brought to it by association. It is not to be expected that others, separated by time or distance, would hold that same veneration. They might view it as old junk to be removed to make way for something new. And maybe they would be right. But not while I'm around.

Old houses. Neglected churches. Deserted schools. Empty rocking chairs. All were filled with life once, alive with the voices of people long gone. Those are the whispers that haunt me.