Awkward conversation

Last night at band rehearsal, as we prepared for our next week's gig at a local nursing home, one of the other trombones said, "Do you realize, one of the patients there is famous -- she's 113 years old, the third oldest person in the world. And she's still got her smarts."

That started a conversation between the two other trombones.
"One hundred thirteen. I can't imagine being that old."
"If I thought I was going to live that long, I'd sure change my lifestyle now."
"...Or twenty years ago," added the younger one. "Sometimes I think I won't even make it to 70."

I just kept quiet and smiled encouragingly. What could I say? "Hey, I'm really excited these days because it looks like I'll actually see 66."

One hundred thirteen would have been a stretch before. No one ever put a guarantee in writing that I would live a long life, but I always assumed that I'd last into my nineties, and of course keep my smarts and physical health. My parents came close to that age; Jerry's died very young (41 and 50), so I think we both assumed that I would outlive him.

I always loved the Greek myth in which the elderly couple so impressed a god with the beauty of their relationship that he turned them instantly and together into trees so that their relationship and lives could continue. I hate to think of either of us without the other.

Not being able to look very far into the future is something you never get used to. How far do I dare to look? In fantasies, maybe a couple of years more. More realistically? Can I believe that I'll still be alive at the end of this summer? We make firm plans through our trip to Utah at the end of July (but buy trip insurance). I certainly expect to play the nursing home gig next week.

Meanwhile, I keep working on living in the eternal now. I could get good at it, I think. If I just had enough time.