Misty moisty marvel

Well, this was the glorious sight when we got up this morning: the promised marine layer had rolled in and everything was drenched and soothed in its dense, white moisture. Such a change from Monday at the same time (a few posts below this).

Let's hope this really helps to slow things down on the fire front. And cools us all down.

:: The TV news broadcasts have started showing interviews with some of the hundreds of poor souls who have lost everything in the fires. They've talked about what they lost, but also about the things they'd managed to save, and on Wednesday there was an interesting short article in the LA Times discussing exactly that: when told to get out of harm's way, what do you grab to take with you? Of course, I can't find the article now I want to quote from it, but one woman said the first thing she packed was a $1000 pair of shoes she'd just bought, which she put in her Porsche with her dog. And a man had to be forcibly restrained when he tried to push his piano outside. The stress of the moment, and the overwhelming sense of urgency, do play their part in these decisions.

For us, things were greatly simplified by the knowledge that all our real, significant family treasures are safely in storage in Shenton Park (oooh - must pay that bill today!), in Australia. All our boxes of photos and kids' art and kids' first shoes and s-t-u-f-f we'll keep forever. So here, we could quickly think of the few bits and pieces we wanted to save. We had also taken the precaution, earlier on the Monday, of packing a small bag each, with clothes and toiletries for a couple of days. So when we had to get out quick, we just had to pick and pack the important stuff.
For me, that was my mum's pearls, which I wore on my wedding day and which she eventually gave to me; the goldminer's brooch that she gave to me, and other bits of jewellery from Mum and Dave. I briefly toyed with the idea of saving my reference books — Macquarie dictionary, Aust. Government style guide, Oxford book of quotations, etc — several hundred dollars' worth in half-a-dozen books. But they stayed, and instead I took all the paintings off the living room wall, wrapped them in sheets and stashed them in my car. Then I filled a grocery bag (photographed just before I unpacked it on Wednesday) ... ... with the big plastic wallet in which we keep our passports, birth certificates, marriage certificate, Dave's Social Security card, my Australian citizenship certificate; two smaller Australian paintings; our cheque book; a Bach CD; the new registration sticker for Lily's car; four paid bills; some referral forms from my doctor for some routine hospital tests; and a bottle of perfume.

Meanwhile, Dave had rushed upstairs to grab ... ... Lily's battered and much-loved, coverless and almost spineless copy of The Lord of the Rings, and the teddy, also a bit battered, now, that he gave her the morning after she was born. These two precious items got hurled into the laundry basket with five framed photos of the kids, the dogs' leads, their bowls, and a bag of dog biscuits.

By this time, we had managed to get Will out of bed, and he came thumping down the stairs with one of our enormous long-haul suitcases, absolutely crammed with stuff and weighing a ton. Inside was all his camera gear, a few clothes and his X-box. He also filled his art portfolio with his drawings and threw in all his drawing gear. We packed the dogs' beds, our pillows, our assorted bags and the laundry basket and we were off.

:: Here's how our swimming pool looked on our first day back:

There's a layer of ash, leaves and twigs — and bougainvillaea petals, oddly enough — on the surface, and also on the bottom. I started scooping it out, and even though it's been wet a few days, it still stinks of burning. Very spooky.

:: The air quality is pretty bad, with fine ash everywhere that gets in your throat and even your eyes. Everyone has been warned to stay indoors and wear masks outside if they need to be outdoors for any length of time.

Home again, home again

We got the all-clear on Tuesday night, so very happily drove home at 11pm. Dave was following me as we drove through Carmel Valley, and he said my tyres threw up clouds of ash all over the road, illuminated in his headlights.
We are very, very happy to be back at the house, with nothing more to worry us than a fine coating of ash over everything. We are so very lucky to have been on the edge of things.
I couldn't bear to have our bags still packed and the paintings wrapped in sheets and stacked against the wall, so - hoping I wasn't tempting providence - I've unpacked it all and restored home-iness, and that feels better. I've kept the TV on, to keep up with it all.
Fortunately the Santa Ana winds that were expected to howl in from the east for two more terrifying days have weakened, so everybody gets a bit of a breather and the fire crews a window of opportunity.

:: In keeping with getting back to normal, how about a bit of

Booking through Thursday

This week's question:

I would enjoy reading a meme about people’s abandoned books. The books that you start but don’t finish say as much about you as the ones you actually read, sometimes because of the books themselves or because of the circumstances that prevent you from finishing. So . . . what books have you abandoned and why?

Well, the title that immediately springs to mind (and I might have dissed this one already to some of you), is Perfume, by Patrick Susskind, which I attempted maybe five or more years ago.
I stuck it out until about three quarters of the way through, so I gave it plenty of opportunity to redeem itself. But eventually I decided it was so loathsome, so cumulatively dire, that I actually flung it across my bedroom into the wall.

But people rave about this book. And there's a movie coming out. Should I try again? Hmm.

My theory is that there are bad books, to be sure; but more often than not, there are pretty good books that you read at the wrong time, or for the wrong reasons (like school). Hence the giving up on Ulysses, Kerouac, and other worthy stuff.
And I haven't been a re-reader, though my friends chide me on this for the very reason I elaborate on above.

Update
Thanks for all your emails and messages. We had to evacuate yesterday morning, but have been quite safe, staying Monday night with one of the managers at the Bondi, at Ocean Beach, where the sun is almost shining and the air is almost fresh!
The scale of this disaster is astonishing. 513,000 people have been evacuated.
The Witch Creek Fire is the one that has been threatening our neighbourhood. It has devastated 230,000 acres and razed over 500 homes. And it is just one of the fires the county is dealing with.
So impressed by all the organisation. Refuges have been et up everywhere, and there are volunteers doing wonderful work, proviing beds and drinking water and meals. There are 10,000 staying at the Qualcomm football stadium, for example.
The Santa Ana winds seemed to have let up today, so tanker planes and helicopters have been able to fly in and drop waterbombs. There's even a bit of a sea breeze, so the humidity will increase slightly, and that may help.
It remains very scary, though.

Scary...
We first smelled smoke yesterday arvo, about 2pm, and from then on the skies have been filled with ash and smoke. There are five eight big fires north and east of the whole county, with incredibly high Santa Ana winds blowing everything into a frenzy.
Pics are from the windows upstairs, looking north and north-west. The sky is like chocolate milk.
I can't imagine what the firefighters are going through - it's scary enough sitting indoors with the doors and windows tight. It's like sitting in a cyclone, except the wind is hot and dry, in powerful gusts that bend trees make the house wheeze and groan.
Tens of thousands of people have been evacuated from areas east of here, and there's a big fire out near the San Diego Zoo's Wild Animal Park.