Just a Hiccup

Orange and grey storm clouds at dawn

I answered the phone on my way home from work.

My daughter’s landlord said there had been plumbing problems in the unit beneath her so the water was now shut off to that part of the building. Rebecca wasn’t home and he left a note on her door.

No worries, I would pick her up and she could stay at my house tonight. Minor hiccup.

She and I arrived at her apartment about the same time and made a plan. We settled the cats, threw an overnight bag together and headed to my place.

It would be easy. She could go home tomorrow and the cats probably wouldn’t even notice.

The next morning the landlord called with the repair update: tree roots had ruptured the main drainage pipe and it would have to be dug up and replaced. The electricity would also be shut off during excavation. Of course it was almost the weekend so nothing definitive would begin until Monday.

Turns out it would be close to a week before Rebecca could return.

Back we went to grab more stuff with this new timetable in mind and we traded out the overnight bag for a big suitcase.

We were only packing for a hiccup in our schedule.

Not under fire.

Not in fear for our lives.

We didn’t have to worry about how to take two cats with us (because of course we would).

Nor were we going to live with people we didn’t know, in bitter cold and with Covid still a player.

For the umpteenth time I thanked the Universe and All The Powers That Be that this was not our trauma and I sent up prayers for those who are living this nightmare.

For this is indeed trauma on a vast scale, unbelievable in 2022, begun by the delusional, inhumane head of the Russian government.

Vladimir Putin is a war criminal.

His cronies, supporters and apologists (shamefully even in the US Congress) also deserve this label. Never forget this.