When my in-laws built their home, they added a fire protection package which included indoor sprinklers and a fire retardant system that oozed an oily substance meant to minimize a fire's damage.
Five days after being evacuated from their home perched on the side of a mountain from a fire that has been described as erratic and "More destructive than any fire ever seen before," having learned their home was on the verge of being destroyed last Thursday night, my mother and sister-in-law are enduring a continuing cycle of stress. A lot of what ifs and we should haves, and gratitude have been expressed.
The one apparent lesson to Tony and me is that confusion reigns when people are given a half hour to pack up and leave their home. In their panic, our family left irreplaceable documents, photos, and
investment valuables. Instead, a big box of jigsaw puzzles was hastily grabbed amidst all the grabbing. That first night, they regretfully recalled the panic that led to silly decisions.
From their example, we've decided to make a list of must-saves. No one is immune from the stretched out hand of mother nature's turmoil. In a globally exposed world, we are continually confronted with people leaving and escaping their homes. Before we moved to our current neighborhood, it too was once almost evacuated because of a threatening fire caused by two young boys with fireworks on a parched hillside.
Our family also realized that fire may not be the biggest threat. The oily residue from the fire protection package emits when the house reaches a certain temperature. When they left, the house was closed tight, and fear of the smoke and the surrounding increased fire-heat has my sister in law worried about one treasure in particular--a baby grand piano.
When her mother scoffs at her worry, because, "It can be replaced," my sister-in-law insists it can't. She calls it a special piano, and recalls the piano tuner who sat down to play it and started to cry. She joined in his tears when he verified what she had suspected.
When they purchased the piano, they didn't know how lucky they were. It was at an eleven month piano sale when Vegas hotels renew their piano leases. Some stipulation requires that each lounge show or grand ballroom piano be sold before it's a year old. It was deeply discounted and purchased for a child who'd shown his potential for becoming a pianist.
I would have agreed with my mother-in-law, had I not been recently influenced by three students' writing that very week. They'd all written about their encounters with different instruments: a violin, a viola, and a piano.
Joseph listened as the salesman played almost every violin in the shop, but when he picked up almost the last violin, Joseph knew that one was his. When Sasha sat down to play the pianos on the showroom floor, she wondered from one to the next, until she found the one. The resonance brought tears to her eyes. Knowing she could never afford the special piano, the shop's manager invited her to come in and play it anytime she wanted. Andrew followed in the footsteps of his sister who played the violin, but in spite of his three hour daily practices, he never felt the connection that infuses the musician with light--but then he picked up a viola, and his dedication thereafter was solid. When I asked him why the viola and not the violin, his answer became one of emotion and not logic. He tried to explain the deeper strings that moved his soul.
And so my sister-in-law laments the possible loss of her grand piano that can never be replaced. The greatest threat to it is the oily substance in the firewall package that is supposed to save it and not ruin it. In the chaos of the evacuation, knowing she couldn't take it from the house, she failed to realize that saving it may have been as simple as covering it with a tarp.
The evacuation list Tony and I intend on writing also needs to include the care and protection of the things that must be left behind--the things that don't live but may still have a soul.
Five days after being evacuated from their home perched on the side of a mountain from a fire that has been described as erratic and "More destructive than any fire ever seen before," having learned their home was on the verge of being destroyed last Thursday night, my mother and sister-in-law are enduring a continuing cycle of stress. A lot of what ifs and we should haves, and gratitude have been expressed.
The one apparent lesson to Tony and me is that confusion reigns when people are given a half hour to pack up and leave their home. In their panic, our family left irreplaceable documents, photos, and
investment valuables. Instead, a big box of jigsaw puzzles was hastily grabbed amidst all the grabbing. That first night, they regretfully recalled the panic that led to silly decisions.
From their example, we've decided to make a list of must-saves. No one is immune from the stretched out hand of mother nature's turmoil. In a globally exposed world, we are continually confronted with people leaving and escaping their homes. Before we moved to our current neighborhood, it too was once almost evacuated because of a threatening fire caused by two young boys with fireworks on a parched hillside.
Our family also realized that fire may not be the biggest threat. The oily residue from the fire protection package emits when the house reaches a certain temperature. When they left, the house was closed tight, and fear of the smoke and the surrounding increased fire-heat has my sister in law worried about one treasure in particular--a baby grand piano.
When her mother scoffs at her worry, because, "It can be replaced," my sister-in-law insists it can't. She calls it a special piano, and recalls the piano tuner who sat down to play it and started to cry. She joined in his tears when he verified what she had suspected.
When they purchased the piano, they didn't know how lucky they were. It was at an eleven month piano sale when Vegas hotels renew their piano leases. Some stipulation requires that each lounge show or grand ballroom piano be sold before it's a year old. It was deeply discounted and purchased for a child who'd shown his potential for becoming a pianist.
I would have agreed with my mother-in-law, had I not been recently influenced by three students' writing that very week. They'd all written about their encounters with different instruments: a violin, a viola, and a piano.
Joseph listened as the salesman played almost every violin in the shop, but when he picked up almost the last violin, Joseph knew that one was his. When Sasha sat down to play the pianos on the showroom floor, she wondered from one to the next, until she found the one. The resonance brought tears to her eyes. Knowing she could never afford the special piano, the shop's manager invited her to come in and play it anytime she wanted. Andrew followed in the footsteps of his sister who played the violin, but in spite of his three hour daily practices, he never felt the connection that infuses the musician with light--but then he picked up a viola, and his dedication thereafter was solid. When I asked him why the viola and not the violin, his answer became one of emotion and not logic. He tried to explain the deeper strings that moved his soul.
And so my sister-in-law laments the possible loss of her grand piano that can never be replaced. The greatest threat to it is the oily substance in the firewall package that is supposed to save it and not ruin it. In the chaos of the evacuation, knowing she couldn't take it from the house, she failed to realize that saving it may have been as simple as covering it with a tarp.
The evacuation list Tony and I intend on writing also needs to include the care and protection of the things that must be left behind--the things that don't live but may still have a soul.
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