Firestorm 2007 San Diego County

I feel like I am living in a bubble. There are wildfires north, south and east of where we live, but not in our neighborhood. At night I can see a couple of stars and during the day there is blueish sky. A gritty layer of ash covers everything and everyone's eyes sting a little, but that is really very little to deal with when I think about the over 500,000 people who have been evacuated, and the 1,000 families that are known as of tonight to have lost their homes. I was telling Ben this feeling of living in a bubble and he said it was like when he lived in Tel Aviv during the Lebanon-Israel war. The city was more crowded with evacuees, the news was full of reports, speculations and sensational photos, but he lived life in a business-as-usual way. That is what I am doing. Except we have a good friend who had to leave her home staying with us. And Andy and I took a van load of supplies to a shelter for evacuees. Other than that, the fires are not affecting me directly. I am concerned for friends and coworkers who have had to evacuate. I watch the news addictively, trying to consume every detail. Since there are 11 or more fires burning at once in our county, it is hard to keep track of which one is affecting which area. There is so much to read about: what roads are closed, which neighborhoods have voluntary or mandatory evacuation orders, which neighborhood is burning, where the fires are blowing, and on and on. You can see why I turn on the TV as soon as I get home from work.

The Cedar Fire burned through the county exactly four years ago this week, taking out hundreds of homes. During those fires, 50,000 people had to be evacuated. This time six times that many had to pack up their most precious belongings, grab their pets and leave their homes, not knowing if they will be able to ever return. I am sure some of these people are the same people who have just finished rebuilding from the Cedar Fire. It is so devastating.

When I feel the ashes on the car, or handrail on the steps leading up to my house, or bench outside of my work, it is not just the grittiness that gets to me. It is knowing that these ashes represent something that is no longer. They may be someone's house or belongings that has now turned to ash and is floating rebelliously through the air. They may be a cremated tree that was planted to shade a yard.

When I smell the smoke, it is a scary smell, a wrong smell. It does not smell good like a campfire or bonfire. It is alarming.

When I go to bed at night, I know that when I wake up things could be worse.

I appreciate everyone who has called or emailed with concern. I pray that the worst is over.