In October of 1991, we lived in the Oakland Hills…the area in which the tunnel fire, also known as the Oakland Firestorm, killed 25 people, injured 150 others, and devoured 2,843 single-family dwellings and 437 apartments. Thankfully, our home was unharmed but the same could not be said for many of our friends. Before the fire was controlled, we were briefly allowed into our home to salvage precious belongings. We took videotapes, photo albums, and journals – irreplacables. We thought about taking the bird but concurred that having our family and dog at my sister’s house was enough of an imposition. We loaded up Birdy’s food dishes and wished her the best. I thought of that day recently as the Palisades and Altadena fires raged in Los Angeles. What would I take today if we were evacuated? Most of our photos and videos reside in the cloud; most, though not all, of my writing is safe in Dropbox. I would still grab my oldest journals, the small books that recorded my eighth-grade thoughts on racism, the agonizing wait for my high school boyfriend to call, the fear of losing my identity during my first pregnancy (how, I couldn’t imagine, would I still be me and be a mother?), and the anticipatory grief as my mother and sister simultaneously moved closer to death. These are bits and pieces of me, glimpses into my unfiltered musings, that occasionally ground me and remind me that at my core, I’m still that adventurous, imaginative, outraged, loving, anxious, creative little girl. I wear the jewelry that carries meaning – my wedding ring, an identical twin to Fred’s, that was created from gold from our previous lives and shaped into interconnecting infinity signs; my mother’s engagement and wedding rings, soldered together to give them added strength having been worn by her, or me, for nearly 100 years. I would grab my earliest photo albums, with pictures of my parents on their honeymoon, of my siblings and cousins before I was born, of my 9th grade classmates, of my bunkmates in pajamas, of my dorm room at Northwestern. I would bring my dog, Moxie, of course, because the thought of life without her unconditional love and big brown eyes, her annoyingly endless licking of my face, would be impossibly challenging if we were in exile. I would grab enough pills to get me through a week, maybe some fruit and nuts, and as much water as I could manage, and a first aid kit. I’d wear low rise hiking boots to keep my feet dry and my body safer if falling on uneven terrain, plus layers of clothing and a waterproof outer layer. I understand that my clothing, as well as my new Vince sneakers and comfy navy boots, can all be replaced…..that books, while incredibly meaningful, don’t need to be owned….and that art, while unique and inspirational, can be made again. All of what I’ll bring will fit easily into either of our cars. But what will Fred bring and how in hell will I convince him to leave the bulk of his precious possessions behind? I console myself with the thought that each of us gets to choose what to bring, even if we can’t come up with a reason. And if I didn’t have even a moment to gather the items that cannot be replaced, I would assure myself that surviving a disaster with my family intact is really all that would truly matter. Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
