It was Stan Musial Day on Sunday at Busch Stadium.

I watched most of the game on TV. It was neat. They showed some shots of Stan before the game, and he was looking pretty much like you would expect someone who was nicknamed “The Man” would look. Even now, Stan still managed to make old men feel young — if just for a minute or two. He even struck his famous batting pose in pretty much the same way he has done so many times over the past 60 years or so in St. Louis.

Stan has been such a part of St. Louis Cardinals history that it’s easy to take him for granted. You just expect to see him at the ballpark. You walk by the famous statue — which first sat outside Busch Stadium and now has a home in front of the new stadium — so many times that after a while, you don’t even notice it. You see his retired No. 6 in the outfield, his picture on banners or, if you’re lucky, you see him sitting in a luxury box somewhere near your own seats, and you don’t think much about it because Stan Musial is supposed to be at Busch Stadium.

It occurred to me on Sunday afternoon that we shouldn’t take Stan for granted. It occurred to me that we’d better learn to savor Stan every time we see him. The Stan Musial I saw on TV on Sunday, while still full of energy, was an old man. He’s 87. It dawned on me that Stan might not have too many more Stan Musial Days at the ballpark in him. It occurred to me that in a few years, my 10-year-old daughter may have to ask me who Stan Musial was.

The Cardinals won Sunday afternoon on a ninth-inning RBI by Skip Schumaker. It was a great way to cap off what was a great baseball day. The announcers talked about the game being a fitting tribute to Stan. After the game, Tony La Russa acknowledged that his players wanted to do something special for Stan. I got the feeling that Tony doesn’t take Stan for granted.

When the game ended, I turned off the TV and went outside. Emma and her friend Tess were making sidewalk chalk sketches on our driveway. It was a beautiful day — the first really great spring Sunday, weatherwise, of the year. Earlier in the day, the girls and my wife had gone on a bike ride. Emma’s and Tess’ bikes and helmets were parked on our front sidewalk.

Later, the girls drew a hopscotch board on the driveway. While they played I went inside, got our dog, Shilo, and brought her outside. She tried to play hopscotch with the girls but had a little trouble with the rules.

I went inside and got Shilo’s Frisbee. Emma, Tess and I played keep-away with Shilo. Again, Shilo had a little trouble with the rules.

But we had fun.

After a while, it was time for Tess to go home, so the girls got on their bikes, I put a leash on Shilo and we walked down the street to Tess’ house. Tess’ dad, Rob, came out, and we talked about the Cardinals game. Then we talked about food. We decided that chicken wings are proof there is a God.

Shilo and I headed back up the street to our house while Emma rode ahead of us. Shilo decided we should race Emma home. I didn’t think that was a good idea, but we did anyway. We lost.

After we got home, I gave Shilo some water and recovered from my minor heart attack. Then, I went out on the deck and fired up the charcoal grill. When the fire was ready, I put three ears of sweet corn on the grill, and a few minutes later added a piece of flank steak that had been setting in a teriyaki marinade. While the corn and the steak cooked, I sat on the deck and had a beer.

It dawned on me while I sat on that deck on that beautiful Sunday that just seven days earlier, hundreds of people had spent the day trying to deal with the aftermath of a deadly tornado. I thought about all those people and what they had been through. I thought about how lucky some of us were. I thought about what a gift a bright, clear, warm, peaceful spring Sunday is.

And how I will never take that gift for granted.