D. Barbara McWhite grew up in York County, S.C., and lives in Orange Park, Fla., with her husband and cat. Her column is published here each Tuesday. Opinions expressed are solely her own.

I received a birthday present by mail today from my baby sister, Karen. The problem is … there are still 20 days left till my birthday.

Karen called me a few days ago telling me to expect the gift and warning me not to open it until my birthday arrives. And even as I agreed to wait, I knew that curiosity and impatience would likely get the best of me. How was she to know? I know how to feign surprise. Besides, who waits for anything anymore?

Parents-in-waiting certainly don't wait. They discover the gender of their child months before it is born. Sonograms are so clear these days that you can tell if Junior has grandpa's nose long before he makes his actual debut.

I remember when we took pictures of children or snapshots at family events and waited expectantly to see how they would look when they were finally developed. It was normal to see someone’s ponytail askew or the odd expression on the face of another. Now we are able to see the picture before it prints and most pictures are perfectly perfect.

There is instant tea and the 10-minute oil change. Food is microwaved or else it comes from those nice little Birdseye 2-minute bags that taste so good but leave you hungry again after a couple of hours.

We even speed through our intimacies without intentional notice of texture, contour or expression. Much of the time we pressure-cook when we need to Crock-Pot. We heat-and-serve … too often forgetting to marinade. The late crooner Barry White knew the right tempo for love. That is why he wasn't a disco singer.

So many of life's pleasures are enhanced by waiting.

The best popcorn I've eaten came, not from a 2.5-minute bag of Orville Redd, but from a hot, black, greased skillet over a wood stove left to pop till the lid blew off.

And call us old-fashioned but my husband and I prefer our wood burning fireplace to electric or gas. There is something about starting a fire with a few twigs then watching the fire catch. There's a satisfaction in adding the wood and feeling the spread of the fire’s warmth as it slowly blankets the room chasing out the winter chill.

I have a slow cooker that I occasionally pull out to cook a roast or maybe a pot of beans. I start the pot early in the morning turned on medium heat with a little seasoning. After a couple of hours as the dish begins to simmer I start to notice its aroma. And as I go about my day, I lift the lid a time or two to check on its progress ... to stir ... to add additional seasonings ... bay leaves, onions, potatoes. Waiting. Anticipating. Imagining the coming delight.

When I was a child, in our large family, I remember many years when our mother would receive a package sent from relatives "up North" with the handwritten admonition, "Do not open until Christmas." Mother always waited. The days waiting to open the box seemed magical — as we tried to guess what was inside!

So, Karen, like our mother did years ago, I have decided to wait. The unopened gift lies on my desk where, each day, I can see it and anticipate its coming joy. I shook it a couple of times today to see if I could get any idea of what it contains. You wrapped it well, sister. I couldn't tell anything.

The box is small enough that it might be a good book — but it’s awfully light. Maybe it’s a piece of jewelry … but no, it doesn't move around inside. Maybe it’s a sweet little nightgown or a restaurant gift card or … thank you for whatever it is.

Most of all thank you for sending it early and allowing me to savor the excitement of waiting.

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