House-sitting is wonderful. It's so quiet here - so removed from things I know and am used to. I hadn't realized how restorative absolute quiet can be. Only the dogs' snoring beside me infringes, and that, even, is more organic than 12-year-olds screaming or rock music blaring from bad speakers or muted Arabic accents through the walls, and therefore more palatable.

After putting 300 miles on my car yesterday (for very good reasons, I might add), I was relaxing in front of a movie when Maddie called. Because her parents were leaving for a Halloween costume party, she told me she was calling to find "some entertainment on the phone." We talked about pre-school and the Halloween party they are throwing on Monday - complete with live ponies for riding and candy give-aways and costumes.

As clothes are her current life's passion, she began describing in extreme detail the ensembles of her "Around-the-World" doll collection. But by the time she got to Doll #5, she wondered aloud if I wouldn't be more interested in talking about something else. "There are so many dolls left," she said. Her second passion is reading and storytelling, of course, and I was grateful that Kelly had some kids' books behind the couch that I could read to Maddie over the phone. Kinda lame, but when a 4-year-old asks for stories over and over, rehashing the childhood memories you've told her a million times is boring. And on-the-spot creativity has never been my forte.

But tonight I'm distraught. The mother of one of Maddie's friends died today. She had a premie about a month ago--the baby is at home; stable, but watched closely--and they thought everything was fine. She was home with the kids when she had a heart attack, somehow related to her pregnancy. And she's gone. 3 kids. One barely even alive itself.

I met her in August at our princess tea party. Lovely woman. So sweet, so kind.

It's incomprehensible. And there's nothing I can do.