Home (fire)

WE'RE BACK, just like the goats down on Modjeska Canyon Road. Those two goats, by the way, used to live on San Clemente Island and were rescued before they could be shot. The plan was that they'd join the local landscaping crew but they proved too wild for that and so now they just live on the side of the road. We often stop on the way home from school and feed them the leftovers from our lunches.

It's nice to see them again.

It's nice to see everyone again.

We've been home since Halloween, which featured an evening shindig at the Modjeska Fire Station #16, down the hill. They put on an open house every year but this year's circumstances transformed it into a fundraiser and potluck. It was still too dangerous for the kids to trick-or-treat—so all the treats were provided on site and a few tricks as well.

Everyone was there, including FEMA and Supervisor Bill "No Extra $$ for the Fire Authority" Campbell, but the stars of the evening were the local fire crew, the majority volunteer crew who fought to defend our homes—and their own.

Earlier in the week, when we were still the guests of our good pals in Lake Forest, we went to LA for the big Springsteen show. Other than deep exhaustion and anxiety and smoke-irritated lungs, I couldn't think of a reason not to go, so go we went, the guests of another good pal. It turned into a date, the kind of afternoon-evening escapade that we hadn't had in years.

Time and traffic were on our side, so we dropped by the Julius Shulman show at the downtown LA Central Library (still inexplicably named for Richard Riordan). You know Shulman's work even if you think you don't. Then a light dinner at Ciudad—then Bruce and the E-Street Band at the Sports Arena.

Along the way, we bumped into California State Librarian and historian Kevin Starr in downtown LA and then, as we entered the Arena, we spied the doctor who delivered our son some five years ago descending the stairs in front of us. The good doctor, still looking like a teenager, was taking his father to see the Boss. Some of you remember the good doctor's wife who once was student at IVC.

Later in the evening after a 2 and half hour set, so hot and sweaty that two women fainted in the audience, we met up with our benefactor friend, a fine fellow with whom we have shared many concerts and campaigns during the last twenty years. Another friend wasn't in attendance that night, recovering from his third brain sugery in twelve months. But my pal reminded me that Bruce had sung his favorite song:

Now on the street tonight the lights grow dim
the walls of my room are closing in
There's a war outside still raging
You say it ain't ours anymore to win
I want to sleep beneath peaceful skies in my lover's bed
with a wide open country in my eyes
and these romantic dreams in my head

We made a promise we swore we'd always remember
No retreat, believe me, no surrender

It helped, the rock 'n roll, the city of people.

We ended the week feeling pretty damn sick and tired but awfully awfully grateful for what we got. We got a lot.

Thanks!