Each night, we head out on the deck, binoculars in hand, to watch the horrific magic of fire.
Within minutes of planting my feet and focusing the lenses, another burst of flame. The tiny spot on the shines in the surrounding darkness.
"Look there's another one," I say to my sister-in-law. She points to a third spot of fire. She worries of its close proximity to the her neighbors on the east side of the mountain.
The night before, she'd looked at the mountain right before going to bed and couldn't sleep that night. She complains that she had to take a sleep aid. It's almost 9:00, far too early for her bedtime, but she wonders why she is looking.
The fire has spread to a third mountain, and it has masterfully jumped the road and threatens another canyon. Tony joins us on the deck and reports the latest statistics--"Pole Creek fire is 23% contained, but Bald Mountain is...the numbers blur, for my imagination is running like wildfire. If it keeps spreading, when will it reach our mountain? That fear is on all our minds.
"If it burns everything by our house, then moves in this direction, we can all move to our place," my sister-in-law generously suggests. We nervously laugh because we know it's a preposterous possibility. An aching possibility.
I watch my in-laws close to see how they're holding up under displacement. The hardest imposition seems to be keeping track of the little things: car keys especially. In their usual environment, everything has a place, everything in its place. Here, their belongings are in suitcases, in boxes, in transition.
I watch them carry on. Sister-in-law doesn't miss volleyball practice; Grandma has her dog to care for. She takes him for his grooming, stops by the post office to see if there's mail. The three of them, son, daughter and mother, gather on the couch to watch football. Things look so normal, but underneath, the ever present fire-worry current flows.
Life is on pause.
But isn't it frequently on a pause of one kind or another? The flu, the flight delay, the month before the last child attends kindergarten, waiting for the doctor who had to rush out for an emergency.
"Always carry a good book," Mom frequently says. It is her antidote for life on pause; but I want to stretch her mantra a little further than she intended. Life is like a good book--chapters, scenes, climax, resolution--to carry a good book is like creating a good life. Life on pause is a chance to fill in the blanks, to caulk in the cracks, to think new thoughts. Life on pause is a characteristic of life, even a meaningful chance to take a vacation. Even if it's only a mind vacation. Life on pause is a chance to find gratitude, to look for all the reasons to be thankful when there's every reason not to be.
Within minutes of planting my feet and focusing the lenses, another burst of flame. The tiny spot on the shines in the surrounding darkness.
"Look there's another one," I say to my sister-in-law. She points to a third spot of fire. She worries of its close proximity to the her neighbors on the east side of the mountain.
The night before, she'd looked at the mountain right before going to bed and couldn't sleep that night. She complains that she had to take a sleep aid. It's almost 9:00, far too early for her bedtime, but she wonders why she is looking.
The fire has spread to a third mountain, and it has masterfully jumped the road and threatens another canyon. Tony joins us on the deck and reports the latest statistics--"Pole Creek fire is 23% contained, but Bald Mountain is...the numbers blur, for my imagination is running like wildfire. If it keeps spreading, when will it reach our mountain? That fear is on all our minds.
"If it burns everything by our house, then moves in this direction, we can all move to our place," my sister-in-law generously suggests. We nervously laugh because we know it's a preposterous possibility. An aching possibility.
I watch my in-laws close to see how they're holding up under displacement. The hardest imposition seems to be keeping track of the little things: car keys especially. In their usual environment, everything has a place, everything in its place. Here, their belongings are in suitcases, in boxes, in transition.
I watch them carry on. Sister-in-law doesn't miss volleyball practice; Grandma has her dog to care for. She takes him for his grooming, stops by the post office to see if there's mail. The three of them, son, daughter and mother, gather on the couch to watch football. Things look so normal, but underneath, the ever present fire-worry current flows.
Life is on pause.
But isn't it frequently on a pause of one kind or another? The flu, the flight delay, the month before the last child attends kindergarten, waiting for the doctor who had to rush out for an emergency.
"Always carry a good book," Mom frequently says. It is her antidote for life on pause; but I want to stretch her mantra a little further than she intended. Life is like a good book--chapters, scenes, climax, resolution--to carry a good book is like creating a good life. Life on pause is a chance to fill in the blanks, to caulk in the cracks, to think new thoughts. Life on pause is a characteristic of life, even a meaningful chance to take a vacation. Even if it's only a mind vacation. Life on pause is a chance to find gratitude, to look for all the reasons to be thankful when there's every reason not to be.
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