I have spent this whole week battling my idiot brain, which appears to be convinced that it is not eventually deadly to attempt to make me survive on four hours of sleep a night. I'm not fishing for sympathy here; it's merely the window dressing you need so you can understand that I was willingly out of bed at moments before dawn on my single free day of the week. What I'm trying to say is that there are very, very few benefits to insomnia, from where I stand, but getting into the only pop-up French bakery in town right as they open is the best one I've run across thus far.

The opportunity to indulge in croissants stuffed with prosciutto or galettes adorned with oranged-scented frangipane and petals of pear is never to be waived, but when those delicacies are crafted by the hands of someone you know and care for? I thought of her with every buttery flake that tumbled onto my shirt. She is a marvel: she bakes, she cooks (grilled octopus, roasted capon, fresh pasta), she dances, she builds and wears elaborate, meticulous costumes...

And she is not alone in her gifts. All of my friends are like this - knitting baby sweaters overnight from Icelandic wool, painting landscapes on pieces of paper the size of two postage stamps, rescuing and restoring a 70 year old guitar, teaching 10 year olds to sing opera. My friends are talented. They are makers, builders, creators, players, teachers, writers, sharers, thinkers... My friends are doers, every last one of them, and they are good at the things they do.  I am fortunate to be counted amongst their ranks.

Go make stuff, and make it good. Throw it out there into the world. I'm going to start with this blog, and force myself to write a little bit again. I haven't done enough yet.

Have you?