We live in northern coastal San Diego, and the fires are close. The sky is a peculiar yellow, brown color. There is ash falling from the sky, just like the snow flakes we never have. My husband and son spent two hours hosing down our wood shingle roof on Sunday.
Schools are closed. Many roads are closed. There is no mail delivery. Over 300,000 acres have burned in San Diego county. Hundreds have lost their homes, a dozen their lives. We took grocery-store fried chicken down to the shelter, and I took the opportunity to rid my closet of a huge bag full of clothes for the newly homeless.
The TV has been on all day, tuned to the all-fire-all-the-time local news channel. When I took a break from the compulsive disaster watching to write a column, I noticed I felt better.
We are safe, but I have made a list of what we’d take if we needed to evacuate. I was surprised by how short the list was. We are safe, but overwhelmed by sadness for all those that are suffering. It is exhausting to be so sad.