by Ann Wells (Los Angeles Times)
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.
“Jan 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