I was thinking about this little lilac pup that my mom dug up for me the last time I went to my hometown in 2021, before my mom moved to Altadena, after my dad left her. Lilacs were my favorite flower as a kid. I tried to keep this little plant alive in the hot LA summers and it always looked pretty sad, never growing much, never flowering. I’m sure it’s not meant for this zone. I figured it had been torched in the fire, finally taken out by the elements. I decided to try to find it today, and here it is. It was nestled under some dead weeds we pulled last week. I don’t want to say this is a sign. But all I know is this is my hometown now and forever.
Awhile back, I saw this home posted on @beforethe101 . It was slated to be demolished along with 2 others. And I wanted to move it to Altadena. I wanted all the old homes to be saved and moved to Altadena. And I’m happy to report that with the help of the folks at @smconservancy , especially the architects Morgan Jaybush and Richard Kassab @omgivning_ , @laconservancy , Kim and Richard at @esotouric and the most prolific house mover in LA —Brad Chambers, we are moving forward with a plan to bring it to Altadena! We have approval from the developer so we just have to figure out the rest. @evanchambersobjects has been doing a ton of work to bring together resources to make this possible. We still don’t know if it’s going to work, but we’re trying! Hopefully, at the end of this, if all goes well, we will create a pathway for others to follow. I know this rebuilding method isn’t for everyone, but it could be something to consider, especially for those of us who are underinsured and don’t have the cash for a new build. Thanks to everyone that has helped us so far.
John was upset today. We visited our friend Tara at her new apartment, which is blocks away from where we live now. She used to live across the street from my mom—next to the house pictured in the background of this photo. Our other friend Leigh lived in the purple house. He was sad to not see Tara in her old house. We’re all sad about that.
I understand why some people would choose to not stay in Altadena. It’s a daunting task to rebuild. We’re all traumatized. But I can’t imagine leaving all of the people who know exactly how this experience has fucked with our brains. How could I live away from the only people who understand? I guess that’s why it feels good to dream with all of the others who want to run toward the danger, who are not afraid of the pain and desolation. Who have the vision, even when they are all so distraught. We could leave this place, but then we would have to suffer all of the platitudes, all of the “maybe this was for the best” the “universe had different plans for you” the “at least you’re alive.” Or you can stay, and be in community with people who can just glance at you and know exactly what it is to be alive in this place where outsiders only see rubble and toxic waste, and you can see the nasturtiums sprouting and creeping toward the sun.
I’ve been thinking a lot about anger lately. The utility of it. Why I default to it. Why I’ve harbored it since I was a child. The fury protects me from deep sadness and pain, of course. It feels more productive, more powerful. But it is also rooted in a sense of injustice in what I observe around me. In recent weeks, my husband Evan (which most of you have already observed) has been railing against first responders. I also share that anger. And people don’t like it. Which is fine. Because it’s uncomfortable. But here’s the thing: on the west side of Altadena, we saw NO FIRST RESPONDERS. We evacuated at 4:30am. No one was coming through the neighborhood tootin horns or pulling disabled or elderly folks out of their homes. Neighbors had to do this work. This should be the primary narrative of the community—not how brave firefighters are. People have been sticking to this tidy, familiar story in the face of our immense suffering. On the flip side, there was no way to fight this fire. But first responders absolutely could have mobilized to get people out earlier. And that didn’t happen. If we ignore the whole story, we cannot make meaningful policy and systemic change. Discomfort is key to change. So Evan’s angry. And I’m angry. Because we, and many on the west side, almost died. And many on the west side DID die. And there is so much suffering and lack of resources. So let us have our pain and anger. Because, let me tell you, this fire has cracked us open beyond comprehension. And we are the kind of people committed to using all that pain and anger to make something beautiful for the community and ourselves.
Well, I want to vomit looking at these photos. It’s beyond painful. But I also wanted to puke seeing the generosity of everyone coming out to support us and Altadena. Gratitude nausea? Abject horror nausea? I’m oscillating between the two constantly. Evan I have been waking up everyone morning at the same time -between 4:30 and 5:30 and just talking. We discovered a new thing—our bodies not able to regulate temperature well from all of the fear and sadness. The shakes. This house is an extension of our selves, our marriage, our family. One of the happiest days of our lives was getting this place. It was filled with all of our friends’ art. And so many books. Evan worked tirelessly, bringing in salvaged materials to restore this home. I spent so much time planting and replanting and getting more plants (compulsively). Evan saved countless trees from our neighbor property that was set to be developed. We loved sharing our home with so many of you. I’m glad you saw the magic.
