a hundred years

Rich says he's not sure if he can go alone to a couple of his New York medical appointments while I meet a friend at my favorite pastry shop.  It's two weeks in the future.

"That's a hundred years from now," I say.

Or, he says, what about tomorrow, will I have the energy to take a shower ---

"A hundred years from now."

Okay, what about doing the laundry after breakfast --

"Fifty years."

There's a terrific feeling of relief in all of this.  Everything is a hundred years away. Who knows what can happen between now and the next moment?  Another crack of the neck, another rash, another bout of exhaustion -- or, a reversal of it all.  Or, at least, relief from imaging what could happen next, and when, or even why.

Candace