How the Southern Cal wildfires forced me to “go deep” — again.
(Pic #2) Safe! Classic blades from the 1960s.
One of the things artists do, is draw attention to what’s important, or at least to what they think is important. They do this with shape, color, texture, light, and shadow. That part is easy. The hard part is knowing what’s important. It’s true in art, it’s true in life.
On January 17th, 1994, I was in Lake Tahoe on assignment when the Northridge earthquake struck. Within hours I had learned that my personal sanctuary, my house-on-stilts in Coldwater canyon was a total loss, and had been red tagged. It was deemed uninhabitable, and more than that, just stepping foot in the house would be not only foolhardy, but illegal. However, my things were in there, and I wanted them. No, I needed them. When I got to the house, the driveway was literally torn away from the street. I could look down and see the canyon. But I hopped over the crevice and went in anyway.
I needed my mementos, my artwork, my clothes, my important papers. Understandable right? Those things are important. But — apparently I also absolutely had to have my ice skates, which I hadn’t worn since I was 16, and my cookware, which got less use than my ice skates. In that moment I had lost all sense of what was important. When I got back on solid ground, physically and emotionally, I swore that would never happen again.
(Pic #3) The view from our house, as we heard calls for mandatory evacuation.
Then a couple weeks ago my neighborhood caught fire. Josh was at work when the word came to evacuate. He told me to get together the things I absolutely couldn’t live without, and he would pick them up in a couple hours. In the meantime, I would grab the cats, and go. I won’t go into detail about the huge pile of curious things assembled for him to retrieve, I will only say I’d forgotten my pledge.
I am not sure exactly what the lesson is here. Except to say this: The firestorm has passed, hundreds of homes were burned, ours was spared. The people I love are safe. My cats are happy and healthy. I still have my ice skates. I also have, once again, a commitment to focus on what’s important. My hope is that I will remember to give those things shape, and color, and texture and light, and leave the inconsequential things in the shadows.
Wish me luck.
I’ve evacuated once, and it was a harrowing experience. In 2005 I packed what I could in the car and escaped to Dallas with my two children as Hurricane Rita was fast approaching. I took photos, art work, my grandmother’s quilts, toys for the kids as well as enough clothes for us for a month. Numerous photo albums took up most of the room as I only had a couple of years of digital photos at the time. It was quite sobering to think of my life crammed within the confines of a car. Thankfully Rita veered east and spared Houston from the brunt of the storm. I’ve kept a list of the things I packed in case I face such an ordeal again, but I’ve never forgotten the feeling of driving away and looking back at the house not knowing if I’d ever see it again.
So sorry, Marilyn….that must have been frightening and paralyzing. I know the feeling. So glad you had a happy ending, and learned something from it all…. Xxoo L
good heavens: twice in a life time!