I say in my mind that "I will get to that next year" and then realize with a blunt insight that I do not have that many "next years" left. Each year may be a "last time" to set something right or correct a wrong or indulge a dream or attempt a hard-to-reach goal. Each year is always more precious than the last one. Each year is just a row of stitches in a large tapestry on which the distant prior edges are becoming more and more frayed and more faded in color. Age and passage of time does have a way of bringing us up short, does it not?