Diary of a Geriatric Scarlet: November 19, 2050

photo credit: James Jowers in 1967

We sat in our velvet barcelona chairs. I snuggled beneath a fur throw and Tom rested his book on his lap.

We gazed out over the corner of 8th Avenue and Greenwich. I felt pleased with the life I'd earned, one with no need to venture out into the dreary, overcast and rain spattered day. The people scurrying to work and the tourists in their damp plastic ponchos drooped in such a forlorn fashion.

Maybe because my time is limited, I have begun to appreciate moments. Especially comfortable moments filled with nothing. In their naked glory, such moments can be savored full strength for exactly the gift they are.

I said as much to Tom. For a historical angle, I asked him if his grandmother had savored her moments. I intended to run down his family tree, but his grandmother was as far as the conversation went.  Because Tom said that his grandmother never left her home. She was "Agriphobic."

Oh yes, I replied. Many people are afraid of farming.