Our public adjuster shared many photos of our burned home - review at your own risk. I was the only one that liked the metal “LOVE” sign that looks like it sort of survived. Catherine wants to make sure I see it.
Today, I was buying a towel rack for Blaze at a funky store where over the years, I’d bought strange but meaningful and artful stuff: a life-size witch-doll that would sit in our window for Halloween; a snowman that was almost life-size and very, very cool; a box of a thousand wise quotes printed on card stock; inspirational stuff like that. I told the woman working there what I was doing and why I was there. No, I couldn’t put holes in the wall but yes, I needed my kid to hang her towels, and oh, yes, I’d lost everything in the fire and if you have any receipts?
“You just never know what someone is going through,” She said. “You looked like a normal person walking in here. You just never know.”
“Isn’t that weird? I don’t FEEL like a normal person. I feel like a zombie,” I admitted.
And then she told me that her husband had recently died and sometimes it felt like she should wear a black armband so people would know. And I was like - yes! Even though I am wearing this bright orange sweatshirt and look normal, I need a black armband, too. So we can find each other. So we can know.
Then she asked if I was writing. I said, “Funny you should ask. Yes, I am. What about you?” She said it was too soon. Her husband had done it himself. Had taken his own life. Oh. Wow. I’m sorry. She nodded. It took something for her to tell me.
I think to myself: Tracy…you have found a fire friend. Don’t hug her now - but maybe - you can go back in a few days. Or maybe she will reach out to you. She did get your email and ask your shoe size, so maybe she will call? And maybe she likes wine and dogs? I really felt a lightness, driving the two blocks home. Yes! I have been seen and seen. A connection even if it goes no further.
When I left, I said you are my new fire friend. Even though you haven’t literally been in a fire, you know. She smiled, knowingly because, yes, she knew. Anything can happen. And does. Often on an ordinary day like this one. We can look normal even if we are sad and grieving and feel like a zombie. You just never know someone’s story.
I may start to like it in THIS house that is not mine. This neighborhood. I may start to make friends. I might even come to like it better than my house / home that burned. The one that is still mine - currently toxic and hazardous in a pile on a hillside. All the noise and red-tags and masks needed.
Sure, I am considering trying to figure out how to get one of those hazmat suits and go back. Because I am (once was?) a filmmaker, I have some thoughts that maybe I should film in some way. I do not have a camera. And then I have to ask someone. And then I have to “produce” it and “direct” it - and I need to think about it all. I’ve made a personal film before. I know the mental mindfuckery of it all. I think I can do it. Just like I’m doing this. Oversharing. Being a bit - shall we say - emotionally naked.
I’m also spending more time on Next Door. Reading the chatter in the neighborhood text threads. Understanding more fully that something happened with this fire - beyond the wind. There was perhaps some honest to goodness “maleficence” (thank you, spellcheck). Not with our firefighters but with the people who controlled the firefighting budget and who let the reservoir stay dry for over a year. The people who didn’t let the water run in those hoses, who created the circumstances for “no water” to fight the worst, most destructive fire in U.S. history.
My neighbors are asking questions: was it really such a good idea to divert all that funding and all that water when officials were warned again and again, when we knew it was going to be windy and there’d be record winds on January 7? Did so many people really have to lose their lives, their homes, their everything?
Today, I did a virtual Q & A for a screening of my documentary PLAN C. It was good to talk about something other than “Fire Content,” although soul-crushing to talk about the lack of access to reproductive care. What do we do now? How can we help each other? We just do. We look for the helpers and we don’t ask for permission. We help each other and ourselves.
Blaze confirms from her basement room that she likes the towel rack. Blaze’s boyfriend was dropped off tonight - and she came out of her basement room and is actually sleeping on the main floor. I loaded the fridge with comfort snacks, chips and ice cream.
Catherine likes her room here, too. She likes the whole house.
My Magic Mouse - has been retired - replaced by an awesome corded Logitech. (Peace out, Apple.)
My mother, who I’ll pick up from the airport tomorrow morning, asked me to add a song I already had on the Palisades playlist - but I guess Joni Mitchel performed it last night at the benefit concert for LA -
I listened to it again this morning. There are some songs that just hit differently now - like this one. I tried to read the lyrics out loud to George - but I couldn’t get through it without breaking down. It’s just so spot on.