Moving Day
Yesterday was moving day. I pitched in, doing what I could to assist my daughter and her partner in their move from Wheaton to Deerfield. Moving is a many day’s long process, culminating with moving day. Boxes packed with household items moved to the center of each room. On moving day, the movers arrive with the big truck. They are the professionals, the guys who do the heavy lifting of furniture, adept at placing items as if jenga blocks, to pack the big truck. Not just a professional practice either, but an art-form as far as I am concerned, — strength and creativity combined.
I worked, Ukraine was still on my mind.
It is a human right to feel secure, in a suitable habitation, a home, is it not? Today those who live in Ukraine are deprived of a place to live by the Russian invasion. If you happen to live in a Ukrainian city, if you are a citizen of that country, there is no moving day. You must run for your life. You must endure the deprivation of exile to somewhere that you do not know. You own a few clothes in a small backpack, that you can carry. If you are female, as are the majority fleeing the devastation, it is likely that you are responsible for the well being of one or more children.
For Ukrainians there’s no moving day.
Remain and fight, or run for your life.
