An odd day. I spent most of it in Philadelphia holding the hand of my 95-year-old grandmother. There in the hospital she didn't know I was there. My sister and I removed her restraints (she'd cussed everyone out when she was conscious and had pulled out her IV) and now she was much less agitated but still mumbling and then howling in a childish, high-pitched voice that I'd never once before heard from her. Her hand was as soft as silk and I put my palm on her forehead to try to calm her. She was born in 1901. Think about all that she has lived through. I also think about what I've seen in just these forty-four years. Though I was too young to remember Vietnam and the Civil Rights Movement I was there for them both. Born in Washington, D.C. my dad left my mom with the new baby (me) to check out the march on Washington. He got bored and returned home before King's "I Have a Dream" speech.

I'd always wanted to build a time machine to see the future but a few years ago I realized that the best
way to see the future is to live a long life. The only problem is, when you're actually living it the future sneaks up on you. You rarely get that gleeful wonder that time travellers get in films.

I want to live a good long life, despite the way my grandmother's ending hers and despite my cantakerous kidneys. I have to live until both my kids are out of college. I want to live until I'm a horny, eccentric 100-year-old great-grandfather, living on Martinique with my books and my new wife, a sixty-year-old beauty.

Happy New Year