She just wanted to know what day it was.

"It's Friday," I told her.

She said she was late.

"Late for what?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just late," she said.

She looked confused.

I asked if she had an appointment. No. Was she meeting a friend? No. She was just late. Maybe a day late. Maybe ten.

She couldn't remember what day she hung out at that corner -- Fourth and Yesler Way.

Maybe she was early, I said. It's always good to be early. Then you won't miss anything. She smiled.

"So, what day is it?" she asked.

"It's Friday. It's a beautiful Friday in Seattle," I said. She supposed it was. But she sure wished she could remember what day it was. I told her I never know what day it is, either. And that's bad because I'm a journalist; I have to know. She thought that was funny.

"So, what day is it?" she asked.

"It's Friday. Thank goodness," I answered. Yes, she agreed, thank goodness it's Friday. Fridays are good.

She figured she would sit there awhile. It was sunny and that felt good. No matter if that wasn't her usual corner for Fridays.

I thanked her for the conversation and bid her farewell. She nodded. I said I needed more of this great Seattle coffee and hoisted my cup. She started talking to herself, inquiring what day it was and where she should be.

"I think it's Friday," she mumbled as I walked away.

Yes, it's Friday, I thought. And I hope you stay warm -- on whatever corner is home on Fridays.   

* I recently spent a weekend in Seattle visiting a friend. While she worked Friday morning, I explored downtown Seattle. 

There were many moments I wanted to freeze frame: misty rain against my face, vibrantly green ivy against the red bricks of an old building, coffee aromas spilling from nearly every doorway. But, in an oddly unsettling way, it is this homeless lady who has consistently crept into my memories.

I really did enjoy the conversation, though it made me sad. I want to know her story but never will. Maybe that is what makes our chat  so memorable. She was there. I was there. And for a few minutes she let me into her world, even though her world didn't have much to offer in most people's eyes. It was confusing and embarrassing and frustrating. But it was hers. And she let me in.

The road up Casper Mountain was treacherous March 2. It was slick; people were tailgating me; I got stuck whenever I pulled over to let them pass. White knuckle driving suddenly had new meaning.

I wanted to turn around and go home. But my story was on top of the mountain.

I arrived at Casper Mountain Trails Center a bit frazzled. But, being a reporter, I pulled myself together, pulled out my notebook and played it cool.

The story was pretty basic. It was a health story about a group of women over 40 who recently formed the Get A Life Society (GALS) to gather with other women their age and have adventures together. Their first adventure was cross-country skiing. Some had done it before; others were newbies.

We talked about the importance of social interaction and adventure. Then I talked with a psychologist about Abraham Maslow's hierarchy of needs, and that was that. The story ran March 11.  

What didn't make it into the story was how much I admired these women. They were, pardon the cliche, giddy as school girls. Their laughter was infectious as they bundled up in the fresh snow. Some had only known each other a few days, but they seemed like good friends.

As these women pulled their hats lower over their ears, as they tested out their skis with a few glides, the adrenaline buzz that comes with a new adventure was obvious. I felt excited and young and determined, and I wasn't even going with them. It was a moment to freeze. They could have taken on the world right then.

So, thanks ladies. You inspired me to get a life, to get out and soak up the snow and the sun. I wish you all the best in whatever adventures you tackle.

* For more information on how to get involved with GALS, stop by the Casper Recreation Center at 1801 E. Fourth St. There is no cost to join. The ladies will be doing everything from arts and crafts to outdoor activities to social outings to classes on technology and cars.

A young woman stands in a crowded room. She tugs on the hem of her shirt, brushes it smooth and slips the ring from her wedding finger. She raises her wine glass to her lips with her left hand. She laughs a little louder, tosses her hair and glances around the room. But, moments later, she moves the glass to her right hand and slips her left into her pocket. She shakes her head and tugs at the hem of her shirt. A silver band catches the light.

What was she saying? And did anyone hear it?

 A man walks into a restaurant. It is lunchtime. It is busy. A woman, who seconds before had been staring at the door, smiles. She looks down briefly, then up again. She cocks her head. The man runs his hand from the top of his head to his bangs and steps next to the woman. She touches the zipper of his coat, says something, lingers a couple seconds longer and drops her hand. Both look at the floor then at the menu on the wall. They order, speaking loudly, intentionally, at the clerk. They fill their cups with soda, clicking the lever again and again until the bubbles fizz down and the level is just right. They sit. They eat. They talk. The woman plays with the straw in her soda. The man twists his cup slowly between thumb and forefinger.

What was left unsaid? And would it ever be spoken?

This week, readers, I saw moments of vulnerability. They were more profound than words. What have you left unspoken? What has someone not said to you?

Hi, this is Hannah, ah, Wiest. You know me. Anyway, it's about 2:17 p.m. on, um, what day is it? Let me look. It's December 24. Yeah, that's right, Christmas Eve. I hope you're having a good day. And I hope you have a really great holiday tomorrow with your family. You'll have to tell me about it. Anyway, I saw you at the grocery store, ah, yesterday, I think, but I didn't get over to say hello, and I just wanted to let you know that -- BEEP! I'M SORRY, YOU'VE REACHED YOUR LIMIT. IF YOU ARE SATISFIED WITH YOUR MESSAGE PRESS 1. IF YOU'D LIKE TO LISTEN TO YOUR MESSAGE PRESS 2. IF YOU'D LIKE TO ERASE AND RE-RECORD YOUR MESSAGE PRESS 3.

I always press 3. Of course I'm not satisfied with my message. I didn't get to finish it. Goodness. 

So, anyway, I got cut off on that last one. I just wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed seeing you last week and was wondering if you'd, uh, like to maybe go get some coffee some time this week. If you have time of course. I think it'd be fun. So, ah, go ahead and give me a call when you have a moment. I think you have my number. Anyway, if you don't it's XXX-XXXX. Okay then, have a good day. I better go before I get cut off again. Bye.  

I tend to leave ridiculously long voicemails for my friends and family. They find this amusing. I find it annoying, and I'm not even the one who must listen to it -- unless I play it over and over in my head and wish I hadn't said this or stumbled over that.

I tend to envy anyone who can leave blissfully simple voicemails. I tend to wish I could be like them.

For example, I recently received a voicemail from a friend. All it said was, "Hello beautiful! I love you and can't wait to talk to you!" It was to the point yet passionate, much like Hemingway. It made me so happy, made me want to freeze that sudden realization that someone thinks I'm pretty cool. Even today, I still feel loved because that is exactly what my friend intended.

So, world, my resolution for 2008 (one of them, anyway) is to leave short, simple voicemails and pass along that "you're so cool" feeling. It may take a while. But, with practice and some grace from my poor, ear-sore friends and family, I think I'll make it.

So, anyway, it snowed yesterday, and I was really thinking it would be fun to maybe go snowboarding or something...

First Street Bakery is on my way to work. I drive by it every day. Well, that's not quite the truth. I drive by when I can resist the urge to stop.

The place is usually packed, and the people behind the counter are always kind and smiling even when the line of people drooling for bagels looks more like a mosh pit.

You can't really be in a hurry when you stop at First Street.  Maybe that's why I like it so much. The first moment of what will surely be a busy day is warm and smells good and has the sole wonderful purpose of filling a cup of coffee and feeling connected with complete strangers who are also hungry for the same muffin you are.

The other day, I was at the back of the line, trying to decide what I wanted before I got to the counter. Then I noticed that the four ladies in front of me were in a perfect line, the dots of their beautifully coiffed heads forming an arrow straight to the word "Bagel." It was stunning. I forgot all about the muffin I'd decided on and ordered a cinnamon roll instead.

It tasted great.