Let Me Tell You a Story...
Yesterday morning, I was happily working away in my studio, making tremendous progress. Things were flowing effortlessly, and it was a nearly perfect morning... until I glanced out the window. Immediately, I knew the color of the sky wasn't right. The light was too red... and too dark... It was nauseating.
I raced down the stairs and outside to see a fire burning on the mountain behind our house. Two years ago our neighborhood was forced to undergo mandatory evacuations as we watched the fire burn right up to the edges of our yards. It was a horrible experience. And this was too similar in nature for my comfort.
Steve came home from work at noon and we began to pack... again. How do you decide which items from a lifetime of collecting make the cut? It is a surreal process with a cruel time limit. It is nauseating and nearly paralyzing. The animals don't understand the high stress, and this breaks my heartl. I feel powerless to comfort them. I wouldn't wish this type of day on anyone.
By evening they had announced a 70 percent containment. Thank God. But with nightfall comes the eerie quiet of a sky devoid of aircraft. The hours stretch on unbearably. The knowledge that there are no water-dropping helicopters and no fixed-winged aircraft bringing fire retardant is scary. I picture those brave firefighters on foot in the rocky terrain. They've been fighting with a hundred pounds of gear all day in one-hundred-degree weather. I'm sure they're exhausted... and now they have lost their visibility. The sky turns into an inky black, which makes it difficult to determine if it's actually getting better or worse...
This morning the air is heavy with ash and smoke. No open windows for me today. It's still too dark for me to get a feel for what has transpired over the course of this long and sleepless night. I do see stars, however, so that is an answer to a prayer. I'm tuned into the radio, waiting for an update. They are promising the aircraft will be back up shortly after 6 am. That jumble of mechanical noise never sounded so sweet...
I raced down the stairs and outside to see a fire burning on the mountain behind our house. Two years ago our neighborhood was forced to undergo mandatory evacuations as we watched the fire burn right up to the edges of our yards. It was a horrible experience. And this was too similar in nature for my comfort.
Steve came home from work at noon and we began to pack... again. How do you decide which items from a lifetime of collecting make the cut? It is a surreal process with a cruel time limit. It is nauseating and nearly paralyzing. The animals don't understand the high stress, and this breaks my heartl. I feel powerless to comfort them. I wouldn't wish this type of day on anyone.
By evening they had announced a 70 percent containment. Thank God. But with nightfall comes the eerie quiet of a sky devoid of aircraft. The hours stretch on unbearably. The knowledge that there are no water-dropping helicopters and no fixed-winged aircraft bringing fire retardant is scary. I picture those brave firefighters on foot in the rocky terrain. They've been fighting with a hundred pounds of gear all day in one-hundred-degree weather. I'm sure they're exhausted... and now they have lost their visibility. The sky turns into an inky black, which makes it difficult to determine if it's actually getting better or worse...
This morning the air is heavy with ash and smoke. No open windows for me today. It's still too dark for me to get a feel for what has transpired over the course of this long and sleepless night. I do see stars, however, so that is an answer to a prayer. I'm tuned into the radio, waiting for an update. They are promising the aircraft will be back up shortly after 6 am. That jumble of mechanical noise never sounded so sweet...
9 Comments:
Oh my gosh Shari, I cannot even imagine. Hugs and prayers coming to you from the Midwest. Feel free to call if you need to talk.....
Holy cow! I hope they get it put out and fast! You sure have alot of fires in California!
A couple years ago, there's an area of the interior that I drove through that had just gotten their fires out. THe entire beautiful landscape was charred. By the time I got to my inlaw's I was crying. My father-in-law, who by his nature reminds me alot of John Wayne said, in an effort to comfort me (!!) "It's okay, it will be beautiful when it all grows back." Which only made me cry harder because it was so sweet and unexpected for him to do something like that.
I hope your landscape will recover quickly and be even more beautiful than before and that you can go to bed tonight knowing all is well.
Oh my gosh, Shari! I can only imagine what you are going through. My thoughts are with you and my fingers are crossed that everything will turn out alright.
Shari
Our thoughts and prayers are with you!
Be safe!!!
That is scary! Hope you and your family and your home are fine!
Debbie L
Hi Shari! I hope all is well for you; I can't imagine how scary it must be. I found your blog via your website via the article in Art & Life. I wanted to comment that I applaud your ability to plow through Dreamweaver and make a personal site. That is exactly what I did this summer, too. Your website looks great and I'll be back to take a closer look at your amazing work. ~sharon
OH GOSH SHARI!!!!!
HOW INCREDIBLY FRIGHTENING.... I will keep you and your whole neighborhood in my thoughts and prayers.
xo
Tracie
Shari, are you okay? I just wanted to check in and make sure!!
Shari,
I was shocked to read this today! I'm so sorry that you've had to deal with this! If you need to escape down to the beach, you are welcome to come to my house in Manhattan Beach...
Hang in there!
artandplay.blogspot.com
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