the heat of los angeles

The the three red lines that I could see from the window combined to form one long red line of fire overnight. I ended up turning the news on around 3am. The fires had indeed met up and were hoping to come full circle. I drifted off and awoke to news that the city of the day was Diamond Bar.

The house was still out of harms way, and as long as the winds cooperate, should be fine. The real issue was keeping the fire from jumping the freeway, which was shut down.

The helicopters and planes really make a big difference, but can only operate in the daylight because of safety concerns. Thankfully the winds died down too, allowing the firefighters to make great progress. They evacuated part of the city, including Snoop Dog, but the house was technically about a quarter mile from mandatory evacuation.

There is no way I would stay at home without a car, so will go into the office with B tomorrow. Hopefully there will be no surprises when we return to the house sometime tomorrow evening.

on the night stand :: Lady of the Snakes

fire escape

I know you are not supposed to yell "fire" in a crowded room, but that is what it feels like everyone is doing right now. Currently I am in lobby of a hotel in Rancho Cucamonga. There is a bar, and it is probably a good thing that I don't drink.

The fire that started around 10pm last night in Sylmar turned into quite a force. Almost 24 hours later, it is under 50% contained and over 500 people are now homeless.

Meanwhile A fire that started in Corona this morning, became the Yorba Linda fire when it crossed into the city limits. Across the freeway a brush fire started in Brea. It jumped the 57 freeway and joined the Yorba Linda party. They closed the 57 an exit up from us, and we decided it was time to leave town.

Actually we had already made plans to leave town. We just decided to leave town earlier and with a lot more stuff than one would take on an overnight stay.

I am still not sure how I didn't have a full on panic attack trying to figure out what to put in the car. You can answer the question all you want in theory, but when it comes down to it, you never really know what you would take if you thought there was even a possibility of coming back and finding your house had burned down.

I have my passport, and my social security card. I brought my Teddy Bear who is over 30 years old and has survived fire and even decapitation. My favorite clothes are all in the laundry basket - I left them. I am however, wearing my $80 bra.

Choices like these bring me back to that night in Chico. The night we left our father. The night we popped the screen from the second story window and tossed down our stuffed animals and clothes. In our haste we left our school shoes.

My mantra is, "we are safe, and that is all that matters." Things are just things, and can be replaced (for the most part).

From what we have seen on the news, the house should be safe. But where this fire heads is uncertain because of the winds. Even 15 miles away, we can see the red flames in the hills. It looks like an unhappy dragon, slithering around the hillside. Let's hope it is not too hungry. Homeless sucks.



on the night stand :: A Way Home

nobody walks in l.a.

For whatever reason, this popped into my head today. Maybe it was because I was thinking it might be a good idea to make plastic grocery bags out of a material that was soluble in water (then again maybe not). Or maybe it was because I was feeling a bit caged up and remembering a time when I made do.

During my first two years of college, I lived in a planned community several miles from campus. Not having a car, was clearly not part of the plan. Still, somehow I managed.

The walk to the bus stop was just shy of half a mile. It really wasn't that far, but unless I wanted to hop a fence, I had to go the long way around - short cuts were also not in the plan.

I waited for the bus in a strawberry field. It is no longer a strawberry field. There are now rows of identical homes. There was no bench, just a bus stop sign. After a rain, which was thankfully rare, I had to deal with mud.

The bus schedule sucked. At peek hours the bus came by twice an hour. Otherwise it ran hourly. The last bus home left campus at 9:03pm. Needless to say, I was not a party girl.

Grocery shopping was quite a chore. Plastic bags were just becoming popular, and made it possible for me to carry more than I would have if I had to carry a paper sack by the bottom. By the time I got to the front door my fingers were numb.

One day I remember returning home from the grocery store and one of my bags breaking along the way. Inside was a glass jar of pasta sauce. It shattered all over the sidewalk, making a big red mess. I felt terrible, but I had a hard enough time getting everything else home. By the time I did, I was exhausted.

When I went back later, someone had cleaned it up. I was so embarrassed, but not enough to knock on the door and apologize. I was also afraid that I had broken some rule of the community and figured I would be cited and fined.


on the night stand :: Girls in Trucks

pt 2 :: i miss my bed

I keep looking back on the last two years to see what I can take away from this. What have I/can I learn?

In some ways (okay many ways), I feel like one of the biggest losers on the planet. If you simply sized me up, I am not someone you would want to take home to meet your parents. Aside from the living out of a suitcase and not supporting myself, I have done a pretty good job isolating myself. If you had been daring enough to invite me over to family night, chances are good I would have made sure to be out of town.

I am disappointed in myself that it has been two years since I hosted a party or had friends over for dinner. I am sorry that I didn't call my friends more or even just send them an email. I know though that part of it is that I sound like a broken record. I am also disheartened that things between me and B's family aren't much better. I am disappointed that I haven't stood up for myself more. I am sad about the many projects that sit unfinished or worse, not even started.

Of course there is more to this story and another light I could go stand in. These last two years have been a roller coaster ride, and I have managed to survive and keep my wits about me even. I have tried to make the best of this, although I berate myself for not having done more to have stretched myself and reached out more.

I may not have won any awards or honors these past 24 months, but I have come out of my comfort zone on multiple occasions. I am writing my morning pages again. I haven't been abandoned by my friends. And of course B and I still can't imagine life without the other.

I have woken up in many different beds, but always grateful to still be here. I get that I am lucky. I know what it means to be a survivor. I guess what I want is the next step - to thrive.




on the night stand :: Emily Brown and the Thing

it has been two years since i slept in my bed

It is hard to imagine that much time has passed since B and I loaded up the Civic and headed west out of Chicago. I honestly figured the contract position he managed to get would work out and we would be in our own place in 2 months - 3 tops.

And while I knew in the back of my head that if things didn't work out there was always the house in LA County, I secretly hoped we would only stay there when we wanted to get away from the chilly summer of the Bay Area. Maybe we would go to Disneyland?

I never wanted to make this home base, although I truly am grateful to have a roof over my head even if it felt like it was going to come crashing down on my head earlier this week. I joke that this place is like a lake cabin that is neither a cabin nor by a lake. My legs and arms look like I have been hanging out on the lake - I am all bitten up.

These last two years have been hard. There isn't any book or web site that offers how-to advice for this type of situation. It has taught me to trust and have faith in ways that I cannot even begin to describe.

I was alone on Tuesday when the earthquake hit, centered only a few miles away. It took me a few seconds to realize what was going on, because it has been a while since I have been in a moderate quake. I have been fortunate to have missed the last really big ones that have hit California. Still, I was surprised that I didn't freak out more than I did.

I was definitely shaken. I had been lying in bed, using my iPhone to check email and such (my laptop was still restoring itself downstairs). I didn't feel safe upstairs, so on my way down, I managed to call B who was at work. He was also on his way down the stairs. He works on the top floor of a brick building. I had the radio on, but didn't hear where the epicenter was or how big it was for several minutes. Truly that is the scary thing about earthquakes - you have no idea how the rest of the world is doing. Were you near the epicenter, or miles away?

The cell phone systems were overloaded and we were cut off. But I felt okay knowing that that was probably the worst of it, and B was also okay and now on his way home. Of course I was nervous about his heading home. There were no reports of serious damage, but you never know how the roads are going to fair. He managed to get home without incident and even picked up some dim sum.

(to be continued)




on the night stand :: Sleep is for the Weak

writers on strike and what it means to la

Recently I was explaining to someone the difference between the Bay Area and LA. I have lived in both places, so speak from experience.

The way I see it, the big difference is that just about everyone who comes to LA wants to be (or finds themselves) connected to Hollywood. They want to be in the biz. In fact, at most large gatherings of people, you should not be surprised for people to come up to you to either brag about how they are connected, or to ask you how you are (and if you are not, don't be surprised if they walk away).

That is why this writer's strike is so scary. Let me step back and say that I totally support what the writer's guild is fighting for, I am just concerned about the little people who can get hurt and lost in the shuffle.

While most people have dreams of being (famous) actors or directors or producers or writers, most realize that you have to start somewhere, and so try and get support roles, aka support jobs at the big studios. If that doesn't work out, a wait job at a restaurant where studio execs are known to lunch isn't bad either. The other people who don't have these dreams (or won't openly admit to them), may still end up on Hollywood's payroll indirectly, providing goods and service to the stars. And of course, tourism is tied in big ways to Hollywood, just think Disney. You may not realize this, but there are few large corporations with headquarters in Los Angeles. It is Hollywood that keeps LA's economy ticking.

So as these shows start to close, it isn't just the writers and actors that aren't collecting paychecks. It is all the support people, and not just the ones you see at the end credits. Putting out a television series or a movie takes many people: lighting, sound, casting, publicity, catering, set directors, costume design, special effects, people to answer the phone, people to answer the mail, people to maintain the websites, cleaning crew, and so on. Outside the studio lot are the additional support people: from those businesses providing lunch and props to individuals providing child care and maid service. When you start to think about you see where all this is leading.

Meanwhile gas is over $3 a gallon and housing prices are starting to fall. It will take a lot before the big guys at the studios to feel this. For the little people it isn't going to take much at all. Life in LA is not for the weak or the faint of heart.

If you want a first hand account of a writer on the front lines, I highly recommend pamie.com. This is the blog of Pamela Ribon, who worked her way up and just landed a writing gig on the hit series, Samantha Who? (I'd link to the site, but she isn't getting paid). She is also the award-winning author of Why Girls are Weird and Why Moms are Weird. (Those links will take you to Amazon where you can buy her books and she will get paid.)

I will never forget when I attended her book signing. B and I arrived early and were in the cafe at Border's hanging out. When he sat down, about $40 fell out of his pocket. Pamie was sitting at a nearby table, and was kind enough to pick it up and hand it back to B, explaining what had happened. That is just what a class act she is. I am heartbroken to even think that my signed copy of Why Moms are Weird may have been stolen when our storage space was broken into. I so can't go there right now. But for her sake and those of everyone else that can be impacted in this, I hope it is over quickly, and that the writers are victorious.

p.s. If you are in LA, and want to go out and support the writers, here are the details.

on the night stand :: The Great Man