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hear and smell things from a loooong time ago.” He beamed with the confidence of a child who knows he’s got the right answer.
    “That’s right. But we’ve been able to make recordings of those things, which we call ‘visual,’ ‘audio,’ and ‘olfactory’ recordings, for many years. Does anyone know what is different about chronographic recordings?”
    A little girl from the other side of the semi-circle waved her hand. “Because way back then they couldn’t make reco-decordings like that?” She stumbled a little on the word “recordings,” but Dani mentally gave her big points for trying.
    “Yes, that’s a big part of it. Now we can see and hear things from hundreds of years ago, before they even had movies. What would you want to watch from way back then?”
    Two of the boys shouted out without raising their hands first. “Big trucks!” “Airplanes! The old kind!” The latter suggestion was accompanied with arms spread out like plane wings, and she half expected him to stand up and make motor noises. She was always glad when nobody mentioned wars and bombs during these presentations. She knew, from studying history, that earlier generations had had a preoccupation with warfare and violence, and she was encouraged that the intervening years had refocused some of those energies.
    A hesitant hand went up from an older girl near the back. “Forests and beaches? I’d like to see what those looked like, before all the buildings went up and the pollution made everything all yucky.” Many of the other kids nodded their agreement. Even their parents hadn’t seen forests and beaches, although here in the Pacific Northwest, some private homes still had clusters of trees.
    “Those are all really good ideas,” Dani said, “and we often record those kinds of things. Would you like to see and hear and smell a forest?”
    A chorus of agreement greeted her offer.
    “Okay. You’ll have to be very quiet to hear the birds and crickets. Ready?” The room fell silent.
    She turned on the projector, and trees sprang up in the middle of the room. The scent of Douglas fir trees and decomposing needles and mosses filled the room. Along with the crickets and birds, they could hear a stream in the distance. The kids were awestruck. Suddenly, a little squirrel popped its head around a tree and chirped at something just outside the range of the recorder. Then the projection ended with a voice over: “It’s not just seen. It’s heard. It’s smelled. It’s PastPerfect.”
    The kids applauded.
    Dani continued. “Sometimes we look at things that weren’t so long ago. Does anyone know why we might want to see things from your grandparents’ lifetimes, or your parents’, or even your own?”
    An older boy raised his hand. “To find out things that people might not have wanted to record?”
    “That’s very good! Can you give us an example?”
    “Like if you wanted to find out who took your bike, or who left the milk out on the counter. Or find out who really started an argument.” Some of the older kids laughed at that one, and Dani did too.
    “Yes, we use chronographs to solve crimes, too. Even bigger crimes than those, like kidnappings.” She paused to gauge her audience’s attention, then asked, “Do you know that ninety-eight percent of kidnappings are solved now—that’s almost all of them—because we can see and hear the bad people right when they are committing the crime? We hardly ever have to find and arrest kidnappers any more, because they know they will be caught, and that makes all of you a little safer.”
    She turned to get the source samples. “I’m going to pass around these four objects, and I want you to get into small groups of about ten kids each and come up with guesses about which ones make the best recordings.”
    Three kids in the back rows were already raising their hands. “And if you already know,” she added, “don’t spoil it for the rest. Let them think about it.”
    She