It's been five days since I've had time to work on my WIP. Let me rephrase. It's been five days since I've made time to work on my WIP. I have great intentions for the rest of the night, though. As soon as I finish this, that is.

I was sorting through several piles of books the other day when I found a cloth-covered journal that even though I hadn't touched it in years, I knew exactly what it was the moment I saw it.

When I was in high school God blessed me with a friend. I wasn't particulary gifted in the making friends arena. Because I was dealing with difficult stuff at home, I didn't have the confidence, or the energy, to develop close friends. The fact that I was completely oblivious to the nuances of basic socializing didn't help. But that never mattered to Ruthie.

Just a year older, Ruthie was wise beyond her youthful age. Even at sixteen, she was an intellectual. Whereas I existed in a hazy fog, she had extraordinary vision that even I could see. Her views on life were beyond anything I had ever known, but even more amazing was her ability to share those views without ever talking down or expecting me to give up my opinions or beliefs. Even then she had the gift, the love of imparting knowledge.

I don't recall how much I shared with her about my family, or how much she saw for herself, but she was there for me. She'd pick me up in her navy Mustang equipped with a trickly clutch and wisk me off to a youth event or a coffee house. I can still see her long limbs struggling with the gears.

She presented me with the journal on a birthday, the sheets empty except for a letter she'd written on the first page encouraging me to write. That was years before my love of books transformed into a desire to write them.

We corresponded by mail for several years after I moved to Oklahoma, getting together when I was in town, but in my early thirties I let down my end and after a while, she stopped as well. But even though I seemed to have lost my ability to write letters, the mere thought of her would put a smile on my face, and I experienced more than a little guilt.

I haven't seen her in over a decade but I left a message on her answering machine when I was home at Thanksgiving and received her Christmas Update 2005 in the mail. 'Not much has changed since the fall update,' she wrote. In the time since I last heard from her she has starting teaching English and is currently pursuing her MA and PhD.

I haven't written her yet. It's almost as if I need to work up to it. I have so much graditude to express and a decade of life to share. I'll have to find a time where I have several hours with no one in the house to ask me what I'm doing (oops, need a tissue) or why I'm crying. Silly girl.

Tomorrow I'll be taking Ryan, my ten year-old, to get a haircut. He'd decided about a month ago that he wanted to let his hair grow long. His best bud Max has longish hair. Beautiful silky, glossy, to die for hair. Ryan's hair isn't like that and after a month of that in-between stage he's changed his mind about letting it grow long.

A week before Christmas my oldest son, Evan, age fifteen (sixteen on February 28) came home from his friends house with his head shaved. This was after I told him no. Okay ... it was really more like "NO!!! EVAN ... DON"T YOU DARE!!!" It took me about a week (I might have been pouting) before I realized what a handsome devil he has become. The last time he had really short hair he was in that awkward stage between boy and man. Now I see these incredible glimpses of the man he will be. Exiting. (Oops, need a kleenex...)

If I might paraphrase the famous words from 'Little Bunny Foo Foo' ... "hair today, tomorrow." Better yet, HERE today, gone tomorrow.

I guess it's all about trying to figure out what's right for you. No one else can figure it out for you. It's nice to have guidance. It's good to have opinions from others you love and trust, even if they don't agree with you. But in the end, each of us have to find our own path. Even if venturing out on our own is a little scary.

This is a wedding cake I made for a friend of ours last year. I should have made a wooden spoon handle coming out of the bowl. She's a big fan of all things Mary Englebreit.

Hope all is well with you.

Funny how my brain works. Funny? Okay. Strange. An hour ago, I was sure I could think of the perfect thing to write about ... now, all I know is I should have left the house to run errands an hour ago. If I leave in ten minutes, I can still get it all done. If not, I'll have to skip my walk for the day. Ah, gee, let me think. Work on my blog. Walk.

Maybe my walk will bring some clarity. Probably not, but stranger things have been known to happen.