Fran, Years ago, I lost a journal. Each weekday at lunchtime, rather than enter a room crowded with colleagues and conversation, I'd take a walk, sit somewhere -- anywhere peaceful -- and record my thoughts. One afternoon, as I filled the passenger's seat of my vehicle with a heavy load of homework, I placed the journal on the car's roof. I slid my body inside, behind the driver's wheel and sped away. A few miles down the highway, I glanced at the pile of books and paper lying there to my right, and I realized what had happened. I circled back, through a sunless evening atmosphere, and searched by way of flashlight. But my journal was gone for good. Lesson learned: Never since that evening have I written my name inside one of my journals. I sometimes still wonder who knows some of my secrets.