The Ceasefire

Where Iranian missiles are headed, not where they land necessarily

 I didn't even know about a ceasefire agreement when I woke up to an alarm, an ah-zah-kah, not an alarm that tells me to get up and seize the day. This one tells me a missile from Iran is on its way. At least one. Maybe a hundred.. 

 I slip on my terrycloth robe and crocs, knock on my mother-in-law's door, wave to FD who is staring into his phone, then head downstairs to the miklat. 

'The ceasefire doesn't start until 7, they are all saying.  

Oh! There is a ceasefire.

The Iranians are getting in their last licks. 

That makes sense. But then there are four more of these alarms, maybe more this morning, who can remember? It is a crazy morning. We have to wonder if we should simply set up shop down there until things cool off. What's the sense of running up and down the stairs? It is good exercise, yes, my muscles have never been stronger, thanks to this leader they have in Iran, whatever his name is. 

Between the sirens I go outside to get a little fresh air. A few of my neighbors are there, some vaping. One says to me, It will be okay. My neighbors see this new American with her pigeon Hebrew and assume that she must be afraid. There is some truth to this. I tell her: 

I heard that three people died this morning. 

I know, she says, patting my arm. We all grieve every time. It never gets better.

It's been an hour and forty minutes, however, so maybe this one will stick. Maybe there really is a ceasefire. Maybe the Iranians, when they shot off missiles at 7:05 for the last time today did not read their clocks correctly. Maybe this is really over.

Please the Old Mighty.

Hugs and kisses, 

therapydoc