Theresa Williams wears a great many hats, most of her own devising. The one that sent me this is the curator of the International Museum of Small Things, a post she has held since April when Mr. Fenwick passed away and gave her, with his dying last grasp, the small key to the small museum. It exists, like many rare and exotic things, in Bradner, Ohio. In fact, on the way in to Bradner there’s a big billboard that says, “Welcome to Bradner, Home of the Giant Pickle.” Many people have lobbied to include the Museum of Small Things but the City Council is dead set against it so we are all patiently waiting for them to reach their expiration dates so the wheel can once again begin to turn. This small thing speaks for itself. It is at once comical and poignant. (I mean, somebody’s hand got smooshed no matter how you slice it. If, in fact, this really happened. If it didn’t then we have to judge it on the basis of creative writing and in this Emily has neatly stopped short of fabulism in her attempt to persuade Theresa of the legitimacy of her absence. My own tendency with excuses tends to run to magical realism which never gets you off the hook but may up your dosage). Thank you, Theresa.