time capsule

Today while destroying some household records, I stumbled upon a shoebox filled with old checks. Do you remember writing checks? I mean, writing checks for something other than the rare, odd utility bill that doesn't currently have an e-pay option?

The small stacks of checks in this box, neatly bundled with purple rubberbands, sticky notes protruding with some arcane organizational system (what was the method for my madness?), covered about six months, overlapping 1996 and 1997. Back in those days, I wrote checks for everything. Everywhere. And in any amount. For example, there were checks written to Dunn Brothers, $2.97 for a cuppa and an almond croissant. I never carried cash, especially not after having been held up at gunpoint in the late 80s (you'd think I'd have gotten over it in fifteen years time, but, there you have it).

During this same time—1996—my then-manager was visiting from New York, where you’ve never been able to write a check, anywhere for anything. She was making a purchase and I challenged her to write a check. Needless to say, she was floored by how easy it was—and, she wasn't asked for ID on her out-of-state check/bank.

Those were the good 'ol days. Now you can’t write a check anywhere in the Twin Cities. So there was a special novelty to looking at these paper slips before they went through the shredder. Talk about time capsule: countless checks were written to the City of St. Paul for either $16 or $32 (pre-kid rounds of golf at the Highland 9), Green Mill (clam and garlic pizza and a delivery tip), Four Seasons (a wine shop and deli, no longer in business), Monte Carlo for $30 (two scotch and sodas for John, two vodka or gin tonics, season depending, for me), NSP (local gas and power, only $200 in February 1997), cable for $35 (no premium channels, digital service, or DVR), and Bober Drug. There were also a few checks written to people, the connection to whom I cannot remember.

One check caught my attention: $6,549.37 made out to Cash, on October 8, 1996. I scratched my head and mulled it for awhile, trying to figure out under what circumstance we would write a check so large for cash—and then it came to me. It was the down payment (minus earnest money) for the first home that John and I purchased.

The next chunk of checks backed up my theory—some were written to the guy who refinished our floors, another was to Best Buy for a TV (27") that would replace three (when stacked, each served as an antennae, allowing us to get a range of three channels per TV). Those were the days...

Don’t ever let me get away with saying that I’m not just a little sentimental.