I bumped another post I had planned for today to say a few words about the L.A. fires. I know this is off-topic for this blog, which focuses on writing, books, and reading, but I felt compelled to add my two cents about the armageddon world-on-fire that has been consuming the place I consider home.

I can’t call myself a Los Angeles native since we moved from New York to Arizona when I was seven, and then when I was eight we moved to the Southern California area. I lived in Southern California for about 30 years, and when I talk about home I mean the Los Angeles area, or the San Fernando Valley specifically. We bumped all over the place when I was growing up due to my father’s inability to hold a job, so we started out in Anaheim, then moved to Van Nuys, then various places in Reseda, then various places in Canoga Park, then to the Chatsworth area–Woolsey Canyon, to be specific, and I lived in Northridge near my alma mater CSU Northridge. 

As someone who lived in Southern California, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by what has happened. Southern California has been a fire hazard for decades. I once had to evacuate with the school where I worked as a teacher’s assistant in the Malibu hills because of a nearby fire. We lived in Woolsey Canyon when I was at CSU Northridge, and not only did we live through one of the worst earthquakes in Southern California history, but we also nearly evacuated our home due to a fire spreading in nearby Box Canyon. 

It’s a surreal experience when firefighters show up at your door to tell you that you have 20 minutes to evacuate your home. That’s if you’re lucky. For many people struggling with the current fires, they didn’t even have that long. To this day, I’m fascinated by what each of us chose to take, thinking that our home would be burned down and we’d lose everything inside. First and foremost, always, grab your people and pets. I know there have been deaths as a result of the fire, human and animal, and it breaks my heart to think about them. If you can, if you’re able, you grab the two-legged, and the four-legged, or perhaps the winged or the reptilian beings and get out. If you have some time, which we did, then you must choose what is most important. We leashed our black cocker spaniel Casey and held onto him so we’d know where he was and we put our cats into carriers so they’d be ready to go. 

My father and brother climbed onto the roof to hose it down the best they could. We tossed some basic clothing into bags, and what each of us chose to take said more about who we were than any Rorschach test. My mother grabbed our family photos since those are irreplaceable. My brother, an artist, grabbed his art supplies. I was a writer even then, so I grabbed my computer with my writing and my university work. My father grabbed his TV. Interpret that as you will. Just as we were getting into our car to drive away, the fire department said that the fire had been diverted and we could stay. The sky looked like hellfire, and our lungs burned like coals from breathing the scalding air, but at least our own home was safe. 

As always, sincere thanks go to the first responders, to neighbors helping neighbors, to strangers helping strangers. I can never quite understand why it takes tragedy for people to recognize their fellow human beings. Imagine what a world we’d live in if we helped each other all the time. When it comes down to it, in times of need, people do help each other. Maybe that’s the best we can hope for, imperfect beings that we are. 

If you’re interested in helping animals affected by the wildfires as I am, you can check out these resources from KTLA in Los Angeles.