My brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped package.  "This," he said, "is not a slip.  This is lingerie."  He discarded the tissue and handed me the slip.  It was exquisite; silk, handmade and trimmed with a cobweb of lace.  The price tag with an astronomical figure on it was still attached.  "Joan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 8 or 9 years ago.  She never wore it.  She was saving it for a special occasion.  Well, I guess this is the occasion."   He took the slip from me and put it on the bed with the other clothes we were taking to the mortician.  His hands lingered on the soft material for a moment, then he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me.  "Don't ever save anything for a special occasion.  Every day you're alive is a special occasion."

         I'm reading more and dusting less.  I'm sitting on the deck and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden.  I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time in committee meetings.  Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experience to savor, not endure.  I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.  I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event - such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, the first camellia blossom.

         "Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary.  If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now.

         It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew that my hours were limited.  Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was going to get in touch with - someday.  Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write - one of these days.  Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my husband and daughters often enough how much I truly love them.