It's 9:50 and I gave myself until 10.

So 10 is when I'm going to close up shop and head to bed, but **for once** I have my emails caught up on and I even indulged and did some facebook surfing.

With these few more minutes, I mindlessly typed in my blog address to give it a glance. How pathetic that I've not given it two thoughts in the past several months! I think my poor audience has given up on me. I'm still gonna enter randomly from time to time, though. It has been too dear of a therapy for me to put it to rest entirely...

Wanted to report in that last weekend I found myself flying to Dallas, TX for my 1st grade friend, Rachel Jacob's, father's funeral. Rachel and I began our friendship at age 6. She is one of the most head-strong and driven people I know. We like each other because we are so opposite from one another in so many ways and yet connect on this deep, reflective level.

Anyway, when I learned Rachel's father had passed away (ironically, of pancreatic cancer, which is how I lost Dad too), all of these memories of my childhood flashed before me... we spent a TON of time at each other's houses for extended periods in our elementary years. And I've never had a friend quite as loyal as she.

I treasured my time in TX for those few days. I was Rachel's little puppy dog, following her around and doing my best to offer some love during a tough time. Funerals are just so incredible. I know this sounds weird - especially with some rather difficult ones in my personal experience to weather - but I love funerals. It brings out the absolute best in people. For a glimpse of time, you catch a feeling of the sacredness of life and of relationship with others. When folks are clinging on to each other a second longer than normal and are temporarily forgetting every other mindless (but necessary) detail of life in order to bring the BIG STUFF of life to the forefront, it's a wonderful thing. I want it to last longer than an hour. But then we go on ticking and everyone around us goes on ticking... until someone else stops ticking and we remember again.

Thanks, Rachel, for being my friend for 26 years. Thanks, Mitchell Jacobs, for all those drives back and forth to and fro our homes! You will be missed.

Oops! It's 10:04. I'm really living on the edge tonight.