So how did this all start?

A calendar is unforgivably presumptuous.  We like to pretend that it will tell us how our day will go.

Today my calendar said I had a meeting with one school district at 10:00 a.m. that would go until about 11.  I would then proceed to another district office for a pre-meeting for another pretty important meeting that could last all afternoon.  Not so.  I stepped out of the 10 o'clock to have the receptionist tell me my office was on the line.  "That's odd," I thought.  So I called.  Brenda said Dad was trying to get ahold of me, and that I should call him.  Something to do with Ginger.  "I don't mean to scare you, but it's medical."  Yikes.  I called Dad.  Dad said Ginger had tried calling my cell phone and texting me, but I hadn't responded.  Nothing on my phone, I said.  Dad said she was at Peninsula for the non-stress test we'd all expected, but was having multiple contractions while on the monitors.  He said they were going to transport her to CPMC in San Francisco, and I'd better get there before the ambulance left.  I bolted for the car and began driving toward Peninsula.

I crested the hill to 280 and my phone got two backed up text messages from Ginger:  "Sorry to interrupt.  Monitoring going terribly.  8 contractions in half hour.  Dr. Shapiro coming.  Dont know whats next."  And then:  "Up to 3cm dilated.  Going to cpmc via ambulance."  There was also a voicemail, but I didn't bother to check it.  I already knew what it said, and I didn't want to hear it.