The Skirball Fire

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Last night I, and hundreds of thousand other Angelinos, received an unsettling Emergency Alert that stated: “Strong winds over night creating extreme fire danger. Stay alert. Listen to authorities.”  To add to the drama of it all, I was on the phone with my sister and the alert disconnected us.  It freaked me out.

While I am 5 miles south of the Skirball fire, I took the alert seriously. I tend to go to the worst-case scenario quickly, but felt only a 5% chance of any fire damage.  This is real progress (if you know me).  I was, and still am, less concerned about the fire spreading our way than about air quality.  I’m fighting a bit of an upper respiratory and thought I might want to be prepared to get out quickly for that reason.

Like thousands of others in a more dangerous situation than me I decided to pack a bag.  Again, not for the fire concern so much as for the air quality.

I grabbed my favorite carry-on and two roomy over the shoulder bags and commenced packing.  The first thing I grabbed was my mother’s 1953 scrapbook that detailed her trip to LA, followed by my passport.  Next, the book my siblings made me for my birthday and the dress I bought in NYC made by a local artist.  The coat my mother-in-law gave me that gets compliments every time I wear it came next.  Then contacts and orthotics and a handful of naturopathic medicines (because I’ve spent so damn much money on them and my husband would plotz.)  Next, my iPad mini and hard drive.  I’d have to make room for the platform sandals with the black and white spotted heels because they were one of kind.  The other 20 pairs of shoes would have to be left behind.  There just wasn’t enough room.  As I packed, I considered that I could get a larger bag but there was something about having to make real choices that, in the moment, felt like a very important exercise.

Because I had time to do this, I thoughtfully considered each decision.  I like this sweater, but it’s served me well.  It needn’t be packed.  What about purses? Just the mustard one… because mustard.  And the embroidered one… because antique.  I grabbed a pair of jeans and a pair of pants and the dress that the husband bought me…because husband buying a dress for me! And a few sweaters, tees, shirts, underwear, socks and a bra.

I looked about the room and in drawers to see what else I needed to grab. I still had room in my bag and I was saving jewelry for last. My mom’s glasses, circa 1960, that I had my prescription put in to.  The Winnie the Pooh wallet that my friend Patrick got me.  I’d leave behind the note cards I’d bought recently and the hats I’ve bought along the way and all the paperwork on my desk.  I left the Route 66 salt and pepper shakers I hadn’t open yet and the stacks of books on my bedside.  But I snapped a picture, so I could remember them.  However, I did throw my Autobiography of a Yogi and my Sibley Bird book in the shoulder bag. 

I stared for some time at the “altar” I keep on top of my dresser.  My mom’s nurse’s cap.  My dad’s bowtie.  The teddy bear from Tom Balke.  My owl from Oaxaca.  My Pope Francis bobblehead gifted by my sister, Anne.  I decided to leave them all.  I thought if there was a fire, or total destruction, they needed to go too.  There was something so magnificently cleansing in having detachment from these objects; knowing they served a purpose for me but that one-day I would and could let them go.

I spent a good deal of time straightening out my jewelry and sorting in “to keeps” and “not keeps” piles.  The keeps could be organized by “Gifts from Nana and Sue Ziegler.  Gifts from Jene Stella.  Handmade and purchased gifts from friends and family. A few items picked up on travels. And the earrings I bought from my friend Pascale last year that are just fabulous.”  All of the jewelry I wanted fit in to a small bag. 

The entire process from alert to packed took me less than an hour. 

Looking around the room I tried to understand the decisions I made.  Everything I could see was a decision of something not to take.  And there was a lot of “stuff.”  I was happy that I could winnow it down to so few items considering I’ve spent a lifetime accumulating (and some three years – for that’s how long I’ve been in LA).  Surely I have more sentimental items at my home in Grand Rapids – but that’s “more” as in content not “more” as in value.  If I had to do this exercise there, I think the result would be the same. 

After I was done, I took the dog, for a walk.  The Santa Ana winds were starting to blow again.  The air was cold, but the wind was warm.  I’ve never felt such a thing. Or at the least, never noticed it.  The winds that were making it so much worse for the fire fighters were wrapping me with a comfort that is indescribable. 

I have been incredibly sad of late.  Each day the political news disheartens me and each new disaster makes me feel like we are closing in on some apocalyptic times.  But those winds… those winds that were making me feel safe and comforted while 5 miles away were bringing terror and destruction showed me the duality of this life and the importance of detachment that I could never have understood otherwise.