Aug 16, 2016 |
The Bluecut Fire is a bad dream. This fire went from zero to over 18,000 acres in twelve hours. Twelve. Hours.
I’m not sure what I’m going to wake up to tomorrow. I’m not sure I want to go to bed tonight.
I’ve posted photos and updates on Facebook throughout the day. Here’s the collection.
The fire started around 10:30 am. I was at working, jamming out to Luke Bryant on the local country station and writing new policies for a client when my boss came into the main area. She was on her cell phone and changed the radio. Now, normally, I have few issues with this. Except, like I said, it was Luke Bryant. So I say, “What are you doing to my radio station?” As if I own Luke Bryant and his country swagger. She says, “(Hubby) is on the phone. Did you know there’s a fire in the Pass?”
So I sigh. Because the Pilot Fire was just contained like, yesterday. After seven days and 9,000+ acres. Some of the policies I wrote today had been waiting for the fire restriction to be lifted for the last week. So this morning I was a happy camper insurance agent. Notsomuch by this afternoon.
I finish with my client, say ciao, and decide to take a peek out the back door. MoJoGirlSayWhaaaat?! I expected a smoke cloud along the lines of what we had last week. Which I thought was bad. But it retrospect, I’d take that almost any day over what I saw. It was like freaken Armageddon.
And it just keeps growing. Like, crazy growing. Every news update has this thing exponentially growing like a bad science experiment.
So I took a few photos.
And at the end of the day, I head home. Which takes me toward the storm.
Have you ever been inside a disaster movie?
There’s a quality in the air, an electricity that pricks you from the inside of your nerves and travels throughout your body. You hold your breath and hyperventilate all at the same time. It’s a sensory overload, and you look at the traffic around you and everyone else is gawking at the strange orange-red sky.
Orange-Red Sky.
Now, we get wildfires out here, it’s part of the climate. The drought makes it worse, but we get through. Most smoke clouds are thick, grey, a little dark.
Today’s clouds – clouds – are orange-red. Like the ash clouds themselves are on fire. They’re not reflecting the fire, they are the fire.
And I’m holding my breath and trying not to see the beautiful colors because the devastation is only beginning.
My friends are evacuating. Historic sites are burnt down. The only freeway is closed in both directions. And the wind keeps blowing it closer in my direction.
So tonight, my go-bag is packed. My crate is packed. My food essentials are packed. And the cat crates are out and open.
I don’t think I’ll have to evacuate. I think there are too many buildings between there and here. But that knowledge doesn’t help when red ash is falling.
And I think this is something worth documenting.
BlueCut Fire Around 1pm, Hesperia.
Blue Cut Fire, Day 1. Hesperia, CA.
Blue Cut Fire, Day 1. Hesperia, CA.
Blue Cut Fire, Day 1. Around 5pm, Hesperia, CA.
Blue Cut Fire, Day 1. Around 5:15 pm, Main Street, Hesperia, CA.
Blue Cut Fire, Day 1. Around 5:20 pm, Main Street and Locust, Hesperia, CA.
Blue Cut Fire, Day 1. Around 5:20 pm, Main Street and Locust, Hesperia, CA.
Blue Cut Fire, Day 1. Around 5:25 pm, Backyard at Bedford Manor, Hesperia, CA.
Blue Cut Fire, Day 1. Around 6:50 pm, Backyard at Bedford Manor, Hesperia, CA.
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
May 11, 2013 |
This Mother’s Day Weekend, I took my family to a different sort of outing.
The Hesperia Station Activities Committee is a support group for our local Police Department. Consisting of officer’s spouses and significant others, this group takes on the burdens behind the scenes. They’re quick to support families of police officers and not just in difficult times. They gather together to show their common bonds when an officer retires or has a baby. They raise funds to help with family-based social events throughout the year. They draw attention to the lesser known side of being a cop’s family. They encourage each other. And they share themselves with the community. The monies they raise through this breakfast will help when an officer’s family member is sick or injured. Who hasn’t had a kid in the ER at least once in their life? What happens when an officer is involved in a major investigation and can’t make it home? The HSAC is there. There are so many ways that supporting an officer’s family is just as important as supporting the work he or she does.
This year, the Committee sponsored a public Mother’s Day Pancake Breakfast. At just $6 per ticket, it’s far cheaper than the larger school-based fundraiser breakfasts or even the Buy-One-Get-One-Free coupon books offered throughout the year.
So it was an obvious no-brainer for me to treat Dot and her two grandmothers. Full breakfast. Four people. $24.00. Yeah. That’s a good investment. When was the last time you ate such a hearty breakfast for so little? I mean the kind that didn’t come wrapped in waxy paper or served in a cardboard box?
Just look at this tasty abundance! And *BONUS* it was all you could eat. How fantastic is that? The Maple Syrup was exceptionally flavorful, as well. I’m nearly certain they brought it in from New England just for this. It was an event worth writing home to Mom about.
The entire experience welcomed us with a feeling of importance, of being deliciously pampered. Sure, it’s not the Ritz. There weren’t fancy tablecloths and fine china. But for $6, did you think it would be? The point is, it was still a great breakfast that not only fed us but will enable the Activities Committee to offer support throughout the year to officers and their families. However they need it.
There were no dishes to clean up. We didn’t have to watch the clock or the stove. We met new people. We spent the morning with great food and great company, for a great cause. Three of my favorite reasons to live combined to make this the perfect morning. We were given the opportunity to relax, be fed, be social, and support the ones who support the ones who protect our neighborhood.
For all they do for us, it’s the least we could do for them.
And celebrating the family Matriarchs as part of the deal? Well, that’s just icing on the cake!
[Support your local officers and their families. Contact your local police, sheriff, and fire departments to find out information on supporting their community events and how you can volunteer to help behind the scenes. It’s what they do that make it possible for you to safely do what you do. So let them know. And tell their Mommies “thanks!” for raising such fine men and women!]
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
This post is my contribution to NerdWallet’s ‘Mother’s Day Your Way Contest’. Click on the graphic to visit their website and see contributions from other bloggers celebrating Moms in their own way!
Dec 6, 2012 |
Tonight I saw something I’d never hoped to see. On the street behind mine, behind my neighbor, a house caught fire.
We were watching TV when I heard the sirens. Not terribly unusual since we live just a mile or so from the aptly named Main Street, which as you can guess is the main thoroughfare from one end of town to the other. The weather is teasing us with a prelude to the expected weekend storm, and the clouds have been hanging low all day. The traffic sounds echoed throughout the night. We were even treated to the train’s whistling from miles away; a sound unheard on a clear day.
But tonight, the sound of sirens grew. They seemed not only louder, but more intense. A deeper desperation resonated with their closeness. I peered out my window, expecting to see nothing. Hoping to see nothing that would greet my prayers for others’ safety.
Instead I was accosted with the evil orange of two tall horns of flames licking their way into the dark sky. Dot and I stepped into our front yard and tried to listen to the chaos that was now less than a football field away. The fire gave a horrific color to the night; all shades of orange and yellow as they stretched wider and higher.
House Fire
By the sound of it, it was at least a three-alarm fire. Squealing sirens and heavy engines bounced off the low clouds and now, low smoke, giving unwanted life to my typically quiet neighborhood.
Less than five minutes after we were aware of its existence, the fire took the roof. In a crackling, creaking sound, with the hiss of fire hoses, the roof gave. And then we heard more cracking. Was it the windows popping? Or firefighters chopping their way in? We don’t know.
Traffic was being rerouted and many unfamiliar vehicles drove past our house, stopping often to catch the same view we had of the disaster. For nearly an hour we watched as the smoke blew thicker and darker, reflecting an unwanted rainbow of orange flames and red sirens and white searchlights.
For a moment, I thought I saw another house in peril. It was brief, and in the dark of night, I can’t be sure. But it’s possible this demon fire tried to take another victim.
It’s an hour later now. The smoke is gone, and I more clearly see the Ladder Company and Utility Company on their Cherry-Picker trucks, getting a bird’s eye view of what must surely be a sight better left unseen.
It’s the same Utility truck that cruised my street several times, making sure the boundaries of the fire were defensed. And now I hear a helicopter making its way to illuminate the ghostlike frame of what was just two hours ago, a home.
I’ll drive by the house tomorrow on my way to work. I’ll say prayers throughout my sleep.
But mostly, I’ll give thanks. I am so very thankful indeed for the men and women who put their lives on the line without thinking. Who respond because it’s their job. Who went into and around the fire so that Dot and I, and all the neighbors on my quiet little street can rest easy.
Dot’s Uncle Marc. My friend Tony. Firefighters. Paramedics. Officer Patrick O’Rourke. Policemen. All of you who put your life on the line one way or another. Every. Single. Day. Because this is the job you choose to do. And do it well.
Thank you.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
Dear Amy, I’m Just Sorry For Your Loss.
Sep 13, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Another Writer’s Digest Community short-short story from last year.
Time to Say Goodbye . . . A New Beginning.
She closed the door, closed her eyes. She heard only the clicking of the lock falling into place as the only thought was her repetitive mantra, “Never again…”; racing, disorganized, scrambling any other sense of composure she may have had earlier.
Keeping her eyes as closed as possible, she stumbled down the hall toward the Living Room, and laughed a cynical laugh as the traces of death still surrounded her. Photos of an old love, letters from once-known strangers. Boxes and piles of chaos, the remnants of a past life.
She reached for her wine and after two thoughtful sips and a primal scream, tossed the remainder out onto the debris, leaving a poetic stain of red, dripping as though her lifeblood itself was pouring out of her.
She turned to the balcony door and stood just inside, her long shadow tracing awkwardly over the mess. The City roared beneath her, away from her; giving a false animation and electronic life to everything outside. There was no distinct sound she could clarify. Just… noise.
She returned then to the interior, listening only to the pounding inside her as it grew louder, stronger. Chilled by a life of unfeeling, she reached for the matches over the fireplace and watched as she struck them, one by one, over and over. Finally, one took flame and she gazed at its beauty, ever-changing yet always present, and knew what she had to do.
She watched in eternal slow motion as the small flame fell to the floor, opening a roar of wonders as it grew and ate and devoured all she had left. And she stood there. Watching with great intent until it pushed her back to the window, back to indistinction. There would be nothing left to save, even if she’d wanted to.
The heat pressed against her, and she relished its warmth. It had been too long since she felt… warm. She stood as her body purged itself of impurities. And longed to save herself.
In a flash, overtaken by bright, hot, licking tongues of flames, she opened the window into a collision of fire and air as both roared for her affections. Scrambling over the edge, she closed her eyes once again and allowed herself to slip into a familiar sense of the unknown. She knew only she could always start again.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
