Perhaps it was the year-older thing, or the sad passing of the friend's stepfather, or the "speaking engagement" tomorrow, or the major life change that is about to occur, but last week provided plenty of reasons for musing.

Constant Readers have read before that I think of myself as a way below average correspondent. But I've found my supply of note cards now, so maybe I can begin anew.

I may have trouble finding stuff at home, but because of the brain in this square computer, I'm able to find stuff I wrote when Cookin' and Talkin' first began, even though it's not always easy.

And while some columns are nearly committed to memory, others fade with time.

I'm surprised now that I wrote with such anger after my car was hit by a drunk driver and ultimately totaled in April 2001.

"It may have been six years old, it may have had 115,000 miles on it, but damn it - I wasn't ready to replace it. That should be my decision and the drunk driver took that decision away from me."

Just about a month later, I wrote about Skinny Son's unfortunate encounter with a tipped-over golf cart.

"I said 'hello,' and he said, 'hello.' Quickly recovered from my panic, I said, 'Why are you calling me from the hospital?'

He said, 'Cuz I messed up my ankle pretty bad and they won't fix me until you get here.'"

Some stuff I wrote about is unforgettable, like the summer from hell when Fritz the Dad was sick.

"Now, the only celebrations are silent ones, recalling a 45-year perfect marriage and a courtship stretching back to high school before that; magnificent experiences and a family completely devoted to one another but very much anchored by someone slipping a little farther away, day by day.

"Do we pray constantly for a miracle? You bet. Are we giving up hope? No way. Are we realistic? Yep - and not even a steaming cup of soup can take the ache away."

And the one phone call that brought the friend back into my life.

"But way beyond all of that, he knows how to have a conversation. He spoils me rotten. And he makes me happy. And right now this minute, I am the luckiest woman in the world."

And then there are the goofy subjects, like cutting part of my finger off cleaning corn (couldn't type "e" for several days); going to the dump by myself; and being recognized with my leathers on in a dark bar in Hulett on a sunny afternoon.

Still, in the profound sadness, mixed with pure joy of the last week, the ragged scrap of paper taped to my computer has what I think is the best description of living:

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."

Community news editor Sally Ann Shurmur is a big proponent of telling people how you feel about them. Reach her at (307) 266-0520 or sallyann.shurmur@trib.com.