Happy Unbirthday, Barbara!

I guess I'm too late for a birthday greeting, but an unbirthday greeting on 9-9-9 seems like a good a day as any to catch up. I can't keep the days of the week straight lately, either, but I keep thinking today is Tuesday.

Jennifer, how is Shelby. I'm thinking of you, and though there's no pressure of course, I hope you feel like you can come tomorrow -- if not for the writing, then for the personal support that it seems like you could use right now.

I heard a tiny piece of an interview on NPR yesterday that really intrigued me. Here's what it sparked, and I do hope to keep going:

When the call came from Prague, it caught Ursula quite off guard. “We can't keep them anymore,” they'd said. “Locked in a freezer, and not a single visit; not even a ring on the phone.”

“I clearly didn't understand the nature of the contract,” Ursula remembered thinking, but she'd agreed to the delivery nonetheless. She wasn't one for a fuss. She didn't know what she'd expected – a plastic dish in one of those styrofoam coolers, maybe – but certainly not this. She arrived home and there they were all lined up on her porch, one to twelve in a row, all the children blue about the fingertips and lips, the littlest two sucking idly on popsicles. “Oh, my,” Ursula said.

“You've been a particularly bad mother,” the largest said, and the line looked at Ursula with reproach, “but they said in Prague that you'd make up for it now.”

“You'd better,” added a voice from somewhere in the middle.

“Oh, my,” Ursula said again before ushering the children inside.

See you tomorrow!
Jenny