I get a bang out of advertisements for “Special Occasions.” Restaurants, wedding venues, florists, greeting cards – each market their goods to help us celebrate. We all have birthdays, anniversaries, reunions, and other special days in our lives tugging at our heartstrings. But at my age? Every day is a special occasion.

My BFF in New York City and I have been friends since 1963. Every year, we celebrate our special occasion: our graduation date from the American Airlines Stewardess College on April 10th. Most years it’s just a phone call, but we don’t forget. That day is special to both of us. Serendipitously, we both married in April, three and four years later. Although both of our wonderful men have died, we remember each other’s wedding anniversary days as well. We stood at the altar for each other and our hearts and minds are permanently imprinted with those special dates.

I think most of us carry around special dates. We don’t talk about them, but they call us – to think, to smile, to remember. My mother’s birthday, Mother’s Day, and the date she passed from this world are all deep in my bones with memories from those dates.

Seven years ago, I had an extra special reason to celebrate Mom’s birthday. I was the Executive Director of Struthers Library Theatre in Warren at the time. Through a lot of peoples’ hard work, we had managed to win the national theatre of the year award from the League of Historic American Theatres. For our small town it was a big coup, and an exciting night for us in Austin, Texas.

The night of the awards banquet, I delivered an acceptance speech dedicating our win to “the diligent, stubborn, and caring citizens of Warren County, who enabled us to be here tonight.” After more words of thanks, I concluded, “One last thing – there was another white-haired lady who also loved the theatre – my Mom. She was a party animal. Her friends kiddingly said, ‘She’d go to the opening of an envelope.’ This very night, July 15th – would have been her 100th birthday. Mom passed a little over a year ago, and she would have loved this celebration. I know you’re here, Mom. Happy Birthday.”

And so, July 15 became a double day of memories for me – forever.

Our memories of what comprises Special Occasions are almost always joyful. Of course, there is no forgetting the day my late husband died. But I try to focus on our good times together, remembering new babies and grandchildren, important anniversaries, and big birthdays. Those special days are filled with much-loved faces around the table, the food, the latest stories and the laughter, laughter, laughter. For example, my grandson, the family carnivore, ate a 26-ounce steak at his 16th birthday dinner last May. I’ll never forget how easily he inhaled that chunk o’ beef, or the family ribbing he took when he ordered dessert.

And I think we all own Special Occasion things we do not use. Erma Bombeck regretfully wrote “I would have burnt the pink candle that was sculptured like a rose before it melted in storage.” I completely understand, Erma. A lot of us do that.

My late mother-in-law was a practical woman. Raised as a farmgirl, there were no frills, nothing “special” in Dorothy’s life. I wanted to change that – to spoil her a bit. She always wore the same housecoat so I brought her a new one from my clothing business at the time. She thanked me, but I never saw it again. Maybe she didn’t like the color or the print? So, I gave her another one very different but just as nice. I was slow catching on to Dorothy’s hesitation. When she moved out of her house to assisted living, she gave me a tall stack of gift boxes. Each containing a robe or cozy nightgown in its original wrapping. “Dorothy, you didn’t use these? You didn’t like them?”

“Oh, I liked all of them, but they were much too good for me. Give them to someone who could enjoy them. I’d be too scared to wear them – something might happen to them.” She told me she had owned her housecoat for over 30 years, and it still had some wear left in it. That’s when I learned that one person’s special occasion, special anything – is not another person’s happiness.

It got me thinking about the number of things we own or buy for “something special.” I’ve bought fancy crackers to have on hand with cheese for unexpected company. When I open them three years later, they are beyond stale. That’s when I ask myself, weren’t we good enough to eat these special crackers? Then I beat myself up for being wasteful. From now on, we’re going to occasionally eat dinner on the beautiful dishes that live in the china cabinet. And we’ll add some kind of flowers even if it’s just a rainy Tuesday. Everyday life now is a Special Occasion. I wish I had a rose shaped candle.

Marcy O’Brien writes from her home in Warren.