I was working in a local archive the other day, looking for some information about the original owner of a historic property. My search for information led me to the census records, which I accessed via an internet database. I had some extra time, so I thought I would see if I could find some information about my grandfather’s family, which none of the relatives seems to know much about.

With a few clicks of the mouse, I had accessed the 1920 U. S. Census records and found my grandfather’s name. His entire family was listed: father, mother, older brother and sister, and then my grandfather, age seven. The census told me where they had been born, their occupations, and where they lived.  Finding this information was pretty exciting, and I look forward to delving deeper when I have time.

What struck me most as I read, however, was the way this document seemed to freeze time. Here, captured in this census record, my grandfather wasn’t the old man who had come to my birthday parties or taken me to visit veterans at the local V. A. hospital. Here, for all time, my grandfather is a seven-year-old boy, whose world consists of his mother, father, brother, sister and the street where he grew up. All the hopes and dreams, ups and downs, and mistakes and successes of his life are yet to be. At this moment in time, his life path remains to be decided. Here, Grandpa is not yet grandpa; he is a little boy playing with his toys, running through the warm rain on a summer day, going to school, and wondering what his future holds.

My grandfather passed away over twenty years ago, having lived a long, full life. In this document, though, he is seven forever.

First of all, should we comforted or frightened by this idea? What does it mean to bury? What does it mean to uncover? What happens if/when things resurface in some distance future? What will our problems mean to people who are not us? How are we (mis)interpreting what we uncover from the past?

Food for thought after a great meal.

To learn more and find ways to help, visit the National Trust’s website http://www.preservationnation.org/issues/11-most-endangered/.

At a time when “green” building is in, adaptive reuse is seen by many as the greenest way to go. Existing buildings have embodied value in their materials and the energy, both physical and human, that was used to construct them. They also have historical and cultural value to the communities in which they stand.

From an environmentally conscious point of view, finding new purposes for buildings that are already here instead of tearing them down, bulldozing everything into a landfill, and building an (often) inferior structure on the site, adaptive reuse makes good sense.

From a cultural point of view, reusing existing buildings brings a number of issues to the fore. What about buildings that are markers of hegemonic power in communities? What about reuses that may seem distasteful to some, like a nightclub in a deconsecrated church, complete with dancing on the former altar? I recently read about controversy over the National Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Hotel, the site of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination, being reused as a museum. Some feel that the site should be reused in other ways. These are important considerations that are part of any decision to adapt buildings and ones that communities must face.

In many cases, adaptive reuse is a great thing to do. So, bibliophiles rejoice! The Selexyz Dominicanen promises to be an uplifting book buying experience.

Memorial spaces have a dual function. This structure is a physical manifestation of emotion, as the public nature of the memorial brings the private into the public eye. Conversely, public experiences of the memorial may become private depending on people’s history or how they react to the memorial.

“An era so dark and backward that one might wonder how people could sleep in their beds at night for thinking about their sad state….They never even suspected that they were not quite modern and quite awake. They thought that the intellectual, the industrial, and the social movements had gone about as far as these movements could go, and they were amazed at their own progress….Having too little faith and too much conceit, they were content to look behind and make comparisons with the past. They did not foresee the miraculous generation which is us.”

How often do we look to the past and compare ourselves or make judgment about historical others? How often do we forget that future others likely will judge us in the same ways! Our present reality too quickly will become a past. How do we think people in the future will imagine us and interpret our beliefs and intentions? Reflections on Bennett’s (albeit tongue in cheek) words may help us to be aware of and evaluate our own tendencies toward presentism.