500 yards from me, a 93 year old man lives. He's a great uncle. Another visiting great uncle from Canada is about 80, and just had the batteries replaced in his pacemaker.

My mother is visiting her mother, who must be at least 80 by now (but looking 16, of course). And my mother is visiting my sister, and my sister's daughters are having children. The last set, twins.

And I'm in between all these generations. On one hand, I spend the most time with the 93 year old man because he's near, and also because he has always been close to me in proximity and presence. I haven't met my great-nephews and great-nieces yet. I might get confused if I do, because they will remind me of their mothers when they were the same age. And twins? I haven't a child to my name, which is probably to their benefit. The child would probably need a special fund just for therapy, though I would explain socks. People would say I am a bad father because my child would not wear socks. I am told that an arch of my eyebrow would send children scurrying, and in the future that might be considered child abuse.

Between. How did all of this happen? Its like being stuck in the middle of the Tibetan Book of the Dead with different cultures, ages, and whatever else that could possibly be different.

Existing on the periphery as much as I do, I am not certain that I fit anywhere anymore. I do not really exist anymore, do I? I'm just somewhere in between, and no longer strive for either direction though the march of time guarantees one.

I will likely die in my 60s. I don't have it scheduled. But if I do that, then my great nephews and great nieces will be in their 30s. If I live to 90, they will be in their 60s and have a herd of children themselves. And all those before me will be gone by then. And then, perhaps, I will not be in between.

For now, I will be here. Wherever here is. I have the anchor, but no chain. But it is most definitely weird in this vacuum.