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2002-04-04 | 9:26 a.m.

I stayed up late last night finishing my column. That makes four now. It was too long but who can tell a story all the way through in less than a thousand words? Not me, not in any kind of a storyteller way. I can do it, but everything gets chop-chop-choppy. Journalese.

My friend Juliet gave me an assignment when she was an editor at Parent 'Hood magazine. I had to write about this incredibly complicated subject in 400 words, and not a penny more. (You wouldn't think there would be all that many incredible complicated subjects in the realm of parenting, or at least I wouldn't, but this was a clear exception to the rule). It was SO HARD. I did an unprofessional thing and sent her something like 750 words. I just couldn't decide whether to cut this major component of the piece or that one. I always wondered if Juliet was irritated by that. If she was, she never showed it. She's such a sweetie. After my piece came out, the magazine moved its offices to New York and Juliet was out of a job. I never wrote for Parent 'Hood again.

I should call Juliet. I'm afraid her mother may have died. I've been a chicken shit and I should just call and find out what's going on. The reason I suspect this is because when I got their Christmas card this year, it was signed by Juliet's husband, not her. I can't recall him ever doing them before. Maybe it was just him helping out, or maybe, as I suspect, she wasn't actually home to do the cards, but was in Texas with her family. Her mother has been sick with breast cancer the past couple of years.

I love Juliet. I know it seems strange that I wouldn't just call but it's normal for us to be out of touch for many months at a time.

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