One of the many life-affirming lessons I learned from my "big" sister,
Florence Elizabeth Myers, fashion designer turned architect, artist and friend, was to notice beauty.

On a recent trek together to New York City, a place I have been fortunate enough to have visited many times, we passed the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue. This is a building I had noticed a number of times on prior trips. I realized strangely enough that I had never entered into the place. As we paused out front Betty pointed out the many magnificent details in the architecture - the relief in the frieze of the pediment, the angle of the roof line, the number of stairs leading to the entrance.

She insisted that we take time to go inside as a number of the reading rooms had recently been restored. I was in awe as I toured the rooms - from the exquisite wood paneling of the many bookshelves and the highly polished brass accents everywhere to the newly cleansed ornate plaster ceiling of the Rose Main Reading room depicting clouds and rich blue skies. Such a sight of incredible beauty indeed. I could have spent hours just feeding my soul there but unfortunately in a place like New York a small towner like me can't spend hours in any one place as there is so much to see and do.

Later that same day we wandered by Rockefeller Center and the NBC Building - yes the sight of "Today" and Katie and Matt - but oh so much more. Once again Betty suggested that we walk inside and once again I was given a running commentary on the Art Deco period the building was built in and the features of the molding and flooring that reflected this style. How many times had I sauntered by this stunning landmark only to notice the ice skaters and the crowds gathered solely to catch a glimpse of an NBC star?

I remember one Christmas afternoon in New Orleans many years ago when with the family dinner ended and everyone stuffed as geese, Betty in her usual spirited way, leaped up and decided she would go to the French Quarter. She would visit dear grandmother, Lala, but she was mostly interested in checking out the barges and freighters on the Mississippi River. Did I want to join her? You bet I did for I knew as always that this would be an odyssey. After darting in to kiss Lala and present her with her Christmas gifts we headed to Jackson Square, parked the car and walked in our heels no less to the walkway along the river. Sitting on the ground in our Christmas finery we fantasized about the traffic on the river. A misty fog had formed and the lights on the various vessels twinkled through the haze as if relaying some secret code. We wondered where these ships had come from and were going to, and how sad it was for the crews to have to be away from family and friends on such a joyous holiday. But the beauty of the scene assuaged our pity. The river has a life and purpose all its own.

How many times whether at home or on a trip have you failed to notice the real things that make life worth living? And not just "living" but with passion and joy? Gems of beauty as the luscious pink of a late summer sunset or the magnificent full moon of the last millennium ( on December 22, 1999 if you happened to miss it). Are we always too busy shopping in a new city to take notice of the landscape or the grace of a structure? Are we too intent on mastering a ski slope or conquering a hill on a bike to see the loveliness of a snow-covered mountain or a crystal clear lake? As Anna Quindlen, novelist and author of "One True Thing" admonishes graduates in her commencement address at Villanova University:

Notice beauty. Feed your soul not just your mind. Wander gently. Take time. I am reminded of a spring five years ago when in attempting to persuade my dear, rather non-athletic husband to accompany me on a bike trip through southern France, his prophetic reply was. "Ok, but only if I can drink the local wine and stop and smell the flowers." We both won. We biked, we drank, we ate, we smelled the roses, we laughed.

On a sunny fall afternoon this year, about to embark on one of her last trips from the Gulf Coast into New Orleans for chemo during the final days of her illness, dear Betty pleaded with her son, Townsend, to please, one more time, take the "scenic" route. Old Highway 90, as it is called, is a longer though prettier way than the traffic-congested interstate. And though they were late for the appointment, Townsend granted Betty's request. What a legacy and challenge she left behind. Take the scenic route. Notice beauty.

As if in a secret message from some outer world, a fortune cookie I opened during the holidays after a Chinese take-out meal revealed a similar affirmation. It read: "You find beauty in ordinary things; do not lose this ability."

I got the message "Bets". Thanks for the inspiration.