Rosebuds. Gather them.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
  by Robert Herrick

John William Waterhouse, 1909 - Gather Ye Rosebuds

I woke up on this fine spring morning, thinking about a friend who's been gone for a while.  But I'd forgotten that in the moment, and was thinking about our days as roommates (often among many in a big house), and how on such a morning we'd find a way out of working and come up some other way to spend our day.
We'd hike in the woods, or decide to drive to Philadelphia and take in museums for the day.  We'd grab a bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill, and dare each other to go skinny dipping down at Suzie's Hole.  Maybe we'd round up the boys we were dating at the time and include them in the shenanigans, but either way, we'd have fun.
As I lay there, not quite ready to leave those memories behind for the day, I realized that although I do miss my friend, more specifically, I miss the things that only she knew about me.  I miss the person I was then, and I miss us.
Yesterday I got a brief lecture from my daughter on my health because she thinks I need to ____, ____, and ____ more.  It's hard to explain to 25 that 60 sometimes feels like your car stalled on the tracks and the train was on time.
That's probably why I woke up thinking about my friend, and all of our days together.
I offer this advice to anyone willing to listen:

 As spring fever hits this year, get a good case of it.  Drink it in, bath in it, and give yourself to that wild abandon.  It doesn't happen very often, and it sure as hell doesn't last forever.