To paraphrase Alexander, it was a terrible, no good, rotten week.
On Monday, I lifted a 40-pound, water-laden plant. I wanted to move it from the guest room to the family room with more sunlight. I barely made it halfway there when I felt a muscle in my arm ping, pinch and pull. I thought I tore a ligament; such was the pain. I held on long enough to guide the behemoth plant to the ground.
Happily, it was just severe muscle strain. Ice, massage, Tylenol and a heaping dose of self-pity eased the pain.
Tuesday evening, still aching, I went to bed early, only to have my husband burst into the bedroom, agitated. “The basement sump pump flooded again. It’s oozing goo and gunk out into the hall and family room, all over the carpet.” It was a vile, unsanitary mess.
So, on Wednesday morning, the hunt for an emergency plumber and restoration crew began. Meanwhile, husband Jon left town for a previously scheduled business trip. Lucky him.
Wednesday afternoon the plumber came. The sump pump was repaired.
Thursday morning the insurance company authorized repairs.
Thursday afternoon the restoration estimator arrived, calculator and tape measure in hand.
Friday the restoration workmen came and ripped up filthy, sopping carpet padding and baseboards. They sanitized the concrete floor and steam-cleaned the hall carpeting. They set up three fans to dry the wet areas.
The fans sounded like Boeing 747s landing and taking off. The noise reverberated downstairs and upstairs as well, rattling and shaking the entire house and my nerves.
Fans set to full throttle, the workmen left with a cheery, “See you Monday.”
But wait. There was more fun! I also underwent allergy testing that week. Eight, large adhesive rectangular patches were slapped on my back with 10 different chemicals contained on each of them.
To add to the sticky fun, I couldn’t shower for the two days I wore the patches, plus the additional day until I met with the doctor to have her eyeball my back to gauge possible allergic reactions.
On Thursday, I rivaled a contortionist twisting and turning to yank the annoying, itchy patches off. Contorting a second time, I peered back at my back and opined that my back didn’t look “too bad.” I am a bad diagnostician because . . .
On Friday, the doctor let out five loud “Oh, my’s.” Then, she added, “I’ve never seen so many positive reactions. No wonder you have hives so often.”
There was that! Not great medical news, but at least I got to rush home and shower for the first time in three days!
So, a week for the domestic drama books.
Yet, ironically, I am grateful for my trivial travails. They were a distraction from the consequential issues and profound tragedies occurring in our nation’s Capital and across the globe.
I rarely write about politics in this column, but I cannot sit silently as I witness every value I hold dear being destroyed.
I find my tiny inconsequential, most trivial problems are a stand-in, a comic metaphor, for everything wrong that’s happening right now.
For me, a muscle snapped. I felt personal pain. For our president, a snap of a finger and lives are being destroyed. Rights are being trampled. Identities are being denied. Lives uprooted. Values undermined. The pain of those violations of dignity and human rights simply cannot be measured.
Our sump pump failed and spewed out raw sewage. We called a plumber and put a stop to it immediately. It’s a gross, graphic metaphor. Yet hate speech goes unchecked today. It is, in fact, encouraged. We no longer honor our country’s core values of welcoming the stranger, respecting differences between people and protecting the weak.
If you believe in America First, how can you possibly support the ending of foreign humanitarian and development aid?
Africa is where future economic growth will lie along with vast resources. All that’s happening now is that our retreat is creating openings for China. Helping to fight famine, providing medical aid, and assisting in mine eradication efforts in Southeast Asia for the mines we placed were concrete good actions — morally and politically.
What’s happening now is not America First. It is America Last. Last in the race to have democracy and humanitarian values prevail over authoritarianism and cruelty.
I had a terrible, no good, horrible week. So did our country. If we all don’t stand up and speak up, I fear we are on a perilous course to a terrible, no-good, morally bankrupt, perilously weakened 21st century.
© IJN 2025
