Fire’s Farce
When even the fire station burns down
Wildfires are random, especially the ones exacerbated by Santa Ana winds. Unpredictable gust patterns and airborne embers mean next door neighbors might experience two very different trajectories. But the Eaton Fire is shaping up to be an absurdist comedy.
During the blaze, prized local restaurants were leveled, yet the Jack in the Box on Lake Avenue shows nary a scorch. The new-construction McMansion on our block now stands mockingly over the ashes of historical landmarks once filled with priceless art, literature, and furniture. Even the goddamn fire department burned down.
In the face of so much arbitrary destruction, sometimes you just have to laugh. Or maybe it’s because we’ve been crying for days. Surely my brain is using humor as a defense mechanism?
On January 8th, while the fire was still smoldering through town after a night of terror on the hills, our friend GL Askew was assigned to photograph Altadena on behalf of The Washington Post. He bravely captured photos of our home so we could have some understanding of the situation from afar. As you can see, there’s not much to see.
When we first received the photos, my stomach churned with nausea. It took hours to work up the nerve to actually study them. After spending time with my grief I now find the scene surreal and ridiculous; somehow funny. Until we can visit in person, we can’t stop zooming in to try and discern what each twisted heap used to represent in our former lives, and laughing at the absurdity of it all.
At left, the dumpster we used for debris during our in-progress renovation. The fire burned through the plastic lid and incinerated everything inside, leaving just the container behind. I joked to Jake: “hey, at least now we can say our life is a literal dumpster fire.”
To the right: the clean burn around our 70-year-old fireplace is so disturbing it borders on impressive. The tumble of the bricks as the heat compromised the mortar between - poetic.
Of course, most of the surviving items are made of metal, so it was a shock to see the shell of our shower still standing. Subway tile will outlive us all.
Our crumpled air conditioning compressor, leaking freon heavenward.
Our brand new white (now black) enamel sink, and Wolf range, which were being stored for the kitchen remodel. Diagonally behind the oven are the remnants of our clothes dryer, now resembling an old-timey cast iron furnace.
In front, our brand new, still-smoldering Bosch dishwasher. I haven’t owned a dishwasher in 15 years, and was so excited to finally have one in my life. I’m starting to think it’s just not meant to be.
My beloved Peloton bike and weight rack where I spent many toddler naps working on my mental and physical health. Behind, a crispy accordion of hundreds of vinyl records fused together, still in their sleeves.
The magnolia tree I always chided Jake about trimming. Guess I got my wish.
Outdoor fire pit standing a little too upright, too cheery. Behind, our favorite elm tree that grew little pink flowers in the spring. I hope it can be revived, but it’s not looking very vibrant.
Our former patio set warped and lurching into the cement slab, barely visible under piles of gravel and particleboard shards (all from the brand new roof and gutters that were installed a week prior).
It’s unlikely that anything substantial survived, but we plan to dig through the rubble once we’re allowed in the area. For now, I’ll keep looking at these photos and laughing until I cry.
Another laugh: the renovation did end earlier than expected.