Life repeats itself in strange and unexpected ways.

As Tom and I traveled throughout Ireland in August of 2017, some of our tour mates followed the US weather forecast with growing interest and anxiety.

Hurricane Harvey–a category 4 storm–was about to make landfall along the Texas coast.

Houston was in its path. Houston was their home.

Harvey unleashed its wrath. We never learned what impact it ultimately had on their lives.

Seven years and one month later, we were back in the United Kingdom on a tour of England and Scotland with twenty-two other tourists (plus Phil, our guide, and coach driver, John).

Two of our entourage, John and Jill of Tampa, told us they were watching the swirl of Helene–another category 4 storm–approach the Gulf coast of Florida and the vicinity of their home.

Though Tom and I knew we would return home to the Phoenix area and prolonged 110-plus temperatures, we felt lucky about our weather plight. Yes, more heat. But not John and Jill’s uncertainty.

There were no giant storm swirls for Tom and me to contend with in Phoenix.

Still–far away from pending devastation of Helene–John, Jill, Tom and I bonded in the United Kingdom.

I remember telling them when we first met in London that we were excited to see a play independently in the West End at the St. Martin’s Theatre on Saturday, September 21.

Not just any play. The longest running play in the world. It’s called The Mousetrap.

Based on an Agatha Christie story, The Mousetrap, has been performed for seventy-two years in London.

(There were no performances during the height of the pandemic from March 2020 to May 2021.)

Tom and I were in the audience for performance #29,771.

It’s a classic whodunit with a twist ending.

A young couple owns Monkswell Manor guesthouse in England in the early 1950s.

Four guests arrive, while the snow (not a hurricane) swirls outside.

There is a radio report of a woman’s murder. A suspect is loose in the area.

A police sergeant arrives on skis to warn them that a notebook was found at the crime scene.

It contains the address of Monkswell Manor and the words “three blind mice.”

Pinned to the victim’s body is a note that says, “this is the first”.

Everyone at the inn is in danger. Everyone is a suspect.

At the end of the performance, the seven actors took their curtain call.

They asked us in the audience to keep their seventy-two-year-old secret.

You’ll get no spoilers here.

***

Anyway, along our journey through England and Scotland, we shared with John and Jill from Tampa how much we enjoyed this theatrical experience.

The night before we departed Edinburgh, Scotland–to return to our respective sunbelt homes via London–John and Jill suspected their flight from London to Tampa the following morning would be cancelled due to Helene.

When it was, they had a free day in London. They texted to say they bought two tickets to see The Mousetrap as we wound our way through Heathrow Airport security.

Later, during intermission on September 26, 2024, while Tom and I were making our way home, Jill texted: “We are in intermission, and I am stumped!” Then, a few hours later, “Great show!! So glad you both recommended it.”

The next day, we were relieved to learn from Jill that their home was safe, even though there were flooding waters all around them.

What does it all mean? This story is no mystery. But, nonetheless, still meaningful I think.

You can fly seven or eight thousand miles to a place you’ve never been and make a connection with fellow travelers you didn’t know … someone who has shared a coach, watched the scenery go by … someone who chooses a similar theatrical experience … someone who dodges the mousetrap of a catastrophic storm … someone you hope to see again someday in another London or Edinburgh or in the sunbelt of your everyday lives.