I held my breath and pushed the button.

“Five,” said an automated voice that sounded remarkably like Clint Eastwood in the movie “Dirty Harry.”

The countdown had begun! My heart was racing; and while my brain certainly was not without some degree of uncertainty and dread, it was also a jumble of pride and anticipation.

“Four.”

My normally cautious demeanor wasn’t necessarily wired for being a pioneer, but at the same time I enjoyed challenges and going up against impossible odds.

“Three.”

I wasn’t sure what the implications of time travel were – in fact, I don’t think anybody really understood it – and there were no guarantees that I would be coming back in one piece.

“Two.”

At that moment, I realized I had messed up on the date calculations. I had forgotten to take Daylight Savings Time into account. With a sigh, I reached for the “Cancel Operations” button. Back to square one.

“One.”

But then I also realized I had forgotten to finish installing the “Cancel Operations” button.

“I want my mommy!” I shouted.

“Zero!”

I was waiting for blindingly bright lights to flash and for deafening sounds as the turbos roared … but I saw and heard nothing.  The thrust back into time had messed up.

This experiment was intended as the first official trial run of my do-it-yourself project, and I tried what I thought was something simple.  I had programmed my homemade Time Machine to transport me to upstate New York in 1969 so that I could attend the Woodstock concert.

I sighed, popped open the lid, and stepped out onto the cobblestone street, right next to the sign reading, “Welcome to Florence. Have a nice day.”

The time machine looked none the worse for the wear. With a grunt, I picked it up and started carrying it back to the …

Florence? Cobblestone streets?

“Out-ta, out-ta, you get out-ta here and don’t come back-ah,” shouted a man in a poofy white hat across the street, his fist raised as he yelled at a white-bearded man in a white suit. “I don’t want to sell fried-ah chicken. Mama mia,” the man with the poofy white hat sighed, shaking his head, as he turned to go back inside what was apparently his restaurant.