That Lovely Time of Year

Almost the first question They ask us old folks when judging whether we're compos mentis is "What year is this?" and frankly, sometimes it's hard to remember.  There was, after all, a time when 1984 stood for the far future, and it still feels weird to write 2016 on a check.  As for what day of the month is it -- I've taken to marking the calendar -- only catch of course is that one has to remember to mark off the corner each morning. 
Which I didn't. 
So it was a total surprise to reach for the morning paper today and find a May Basket on the front door.  It must have been the spirit of my sister, like me a transplanted New Englander -- but she died twenty years ago...