Burning Down The House

1057 Chautauqua Blvd.
(After)

Our house burned down in the Palisades fire.  There.  I said it.  It’s real now.  I guess.  Not 100% sure why I am writing this. Probably some type of therapy.  I’ve never been to therapy.  My home was my therapy.  Wendy and I moved into 1057 Chautauqua in 1998 when our daughter Julia was born.  We were just starting our 27th year there, when Wendy called me on Tuesday and said, “I’m driving down Sunset and there are a lot of fire trucks heading into the Palisades. Can you check what's going on?"

My first thought was, “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

 “Ah, watch out.  You might get what you're after. Cool babies. Strange but not a stranger. I'm an ordinary guy.” 

After her 2nd call, I walked outside and saw flames on the hillside in the distance.  Didn’t seem that close.  My buddy Bill said the wind was blowing in the other direction and we shouldn’t worry.  He was the "Hindsight Understatement" award winner that day!  It was about Noon.  I checked in front, and my neighbor was packing up her car.  She confirmed evacuation orders were in place for our street.  Fuck.  We had to evacuate  about 5 years ago.  A total inconvenience for my convenient lifestyle.  I told Wendy not to come home because traffic looked bad. “I’ll pack up Sparky and some underwear, and let’s meet 

at your sister’s house.” I said.    

“Hold tight. Wait 'til the party's over. Hold tight. We're in for nasty weather. There has got to be a way” 

We spent Tuesday answering texts from people asking how we were doing.  We were fine.  

My sister in law’s house is like a hotel.  I'm treating this like a staycation.  Wendy gave me shit about packing her a strapless bra by mistake.  Shouldn't everyone have a strapless bra for a weekend getaway to Calabasas?  “Should be heading home after the smoke settles. Thanks for thinking of us.” I texted back to everyone that day.

Thank You Pearls. 

Palisades was all over the news, and it wasn’t because Arnold Schwarzenegger banged his maid. Mother Nature decided to flex.  Winds increased.  Water decreased.  We watched our schools, churches, restaurants and Starbucks burn on TV.  What the fuck?   Our city was on fire.  Texts and calls spiked.   But we were safe.  That night, we went to bed thinking there was no way the fire was going to get that far into the Alphabet Streets (our neighborhood).  Major denial night was progressing nicely.

“Ah, all wet. Hey, you might need a raincoat. Shakedown. Dreams walking in broad daylight. 365 degrees”

On Wednesday, I woke up with this uncontrollable need to go drive by our house and make sure it was ok.  To get through any blockades, I planned to tell them my Mom was going to die if I didn’t get her medications out of the house.  She’s already dead, so I didn’t think she’d care.  Sorry Mom.  Wendy and I got in the car and headed home.  5 minutes into the drive, she told me she just received a video text from our “street chat.”  I always thought the street chat was for neighbors who like to share pictures of animals caught on their Ring cameras. 

My Ring's better than your Ring.  My Ring's better than yours...

This chat was different though.  It was a recent video of our street.  We pulled over and watched it.  It went home by home.  Lot by lot.  Driveway by driveway.  Loss by loss.  Where’s Waldo?  Where’s 1057?  Where’d 27 years go?  What did we just see?

Today is Day 3.  It finally hit me why I am writing this.  Pretty obvious.  It’s how lucky I am.  No. Really. Yes.  We lost our house and so did many others.  I can’t stop thinking about it... The Holbrows. The Frankels. The Goldbergers. The Neuwirths. The Greenbergs. The Senators. The Howards. The Jecks.  The Aronsons. The Collins. The Entins. The Chudgars. The Kaplans. Rabbi Amy. The Freedlands. The Tatlemans. Brooke Convington. The Crystals. The DeSantis’. The Robinsons. The McGinleys. The Jaffes. The Edells’. The Elkins’. The Speisers’ The Wades. The Postman.  The Vendors. The Community. The Palisades. Our Palisades.

Our Town.  Our Community

I’m lucky because, in the big picture this does not compare to Julia’s sorority sister losing her brother.  My cousin, losing his son.  Our best friend, losing her dad. “Whaaaaaaa Jeff you lost your house. Whaaaaaa.”  Ok, probably a little extreme.  But here’s the thing, the outpouring of love and support from friends, family and people I don’t even know has been a 100% confirmation of what's important in life.  When life events happen, our orbit goes in motion.  Our peeps, peep.  Our circles' unite.  

I was talking to my cousin Bethie the other night and was telling her about my fraternity brother Mark Tannenbaum (aka Bomber).  Bomber died from ALS.  I remember being with him a couple years before he died.  Shoney hosted a bro weekend and Bomber was the main attraction.  I was amazed.  It was like ALS didn’t exist.  I mean it existed physically in him, but not mentally or emotionally.  He just would not let ALS impact his weekend, his mindset, his way.  The "Bomber Way" is what I coined it.  Bethie, after hearing about The Bomber Way, 

shared a quote with me: 

“Between stimulus and response there is a space.  

In that space is our power to choose our response.  

In our response lies our growth and our freedom.

-Viktor Frankl

So cool.  We get to choose our response to Mother Nature.  Fuck you.  Nope.  Thank you:

Thank you for pushing us out of our comfort zones;

Thank you for helping us start a new adventure;

Thank you for reinforcing what’s most important;

Thank you for everyone who has reached out and has offered their homes, their connections, their time, their everything;

Thank you for my kids who are so strong and supportive.  As they have also lost their childhood home; and

Thank you for my Sunshine.  Who is my life partner and has been a rock through all of this.  

We shall endure my love.

I get to choose my response. Words cannot express my gratitude. I am the lucky one. “My house. Is out of the ordinary. That's right. Don't wannna hurt nobody. Some things sure can sweep me off my feet.”

BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE!

R.I.P. 1057
(Before)