And now for something completely different.

My daughter Tess buried a “time capsule” in our backyard. It contained the following items: a plastic cockroach, a plastic starfish, a Nintendo DS game, a quarter, a dime, a penny, a photo of Tess in her soccer uniform and a crucifix necklace given to her by her loving parents on the joyous occasion of her baptism.

It was that last keepsake that led directly to the premature unearthing of this curious buried capsule. And by capsule, I mean a small cardboard box. And by buried, I mean placed in a shallow hole scratched haphazardly into our backyard, likely with a sandbox shovel or stick. Incidentally, shallow holes and cardboard are not a good strategy for long-term historic preservation.

But I was fascinated by the potential significance of these items offered as a sacrifice to posterity. And the more I considered it, the more I was struck by the brilliance.

I mean, a plastic cockroach? What better tribute to our future, post-apocalyptic cockroach overlords? Tess’ small gesture might have even prompted them to compassionately spare the last humans waging guerrilla war from the sewers.

The starfish, symbolizing our strong bond to the seas. A video game, perhaps clearing up exactly why humans stopped all verbal communications with one another in 2513. The necklace, a testament to our enduring faith.

The 36 cents? Ya got me. And yet another photo of an ancient human in garish togs cradling an inflated orb. What was it about these orbs that was so important to them? Perhaps they allowed the bearer entry to the Bowl of Superness.

Then I made the mistake of actually asking Tess. “I just put stuff in there I wouldn’t miss,” she says. Oh. Well. Sure.

But what about the necklace? Well, it turns out that although just-baptized Tess was fully briefed on its importance at the moment of gifting, 10-year-old Tess knows only that it was not something she picked out at Justice in the mall. It can’t even change color based on your mood, so why keep it?

She now has a renewed understanding of its place among items that should never be buried in the yard. So sayeth the parents.

And how can I preach? You may recall I buried poor St. Joseph upside down in the backyard of our home in Ames in some desperate attempt to sell the place. Perhaps that’s where Tess got the idea.

But Tess, what do you think future cultures would learn from your capsule? “They’d think we bought a bunch of junk,” she said.

Profound indeed. If you want to be impressed by our culture, visit monuments. If you want to know how we lived, dig in my backyard.