Summer reflections

It was the best of months, it was the worst of months, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us . . .

July is always a fun month. With Emilee's birthday to kick it off, my birthday toward the end and one of our BFF's birthdays in the middle, there are parties, presents, excuses to spend extra time with family and friends and, of course, cake, ice cream and Tucano's.

July is always a hard month. With cake, ice cream and Tucano's comes another notch on the belt, another article of clothing that just doesn't fit like it used to, a more disgusting visage in the mirror, more reluctance to shower and contemplate my body in all its corpulence. With the heat of July comes difficulty sleeping and a sapping of energy, even with our wonderful air conditioner, that brings malaise and a lack of motivation to do much of anything, let alone exercise.

This July has been laid back for me. Not having a job for the moment, while I do my best to maintain the house (doing dishes and cooking dinner for Emilee being the main daily responsibilities) and pack a box every day, I have plenty of free time to read, write, play games, make blog entries, load music onto my iPod, etc.

This July has been tense for me. With every piece of furniture that leaves the apartment, with every box I pack, every time I look at the new van, every time I say good night to my friends, every time I listen to music from the CD I made with Impact, I think of what we have lost and are losing as we move to Connecticut. Every time I read my email, every time I look at paperwork still to be filled out, every time I think about spending so much as a dollar, my mind shifts to the doubt, debt and uncertainty which await us in Connecticut. Every time Emilee asks if she really does have to go to work today or if she can come home early (jokingly done almost daily), my heart is filled with guilt as I know I'm not contributing enough.

My friends and family encourage me to be excited for the adventure to come but I'm kinda having trouble feeling adventurous through the doubt.

Hot times in the old home town

When Emie and I planned our trip to Disneyland for our anniversary, we didn't even know the half of what we were going to get!My mother was the first from our group to hear about the Jesusita fire. In her words:

So, there we were at Disneyland, in line for the Toy Story ride, and I was checking Facebook on my PDA when I saw that a couple of friends here in SB had posted notes about a new fire in the SB foothills. I wanted to know more about it!! So, I checked a couple of usually reliable sources, and really couldn't find anything much - - - the fire was only a couple of hours old. When we finally located it on a Google map, it was just a tiny spot somewhere in Southern California.

What began as a small spot many miles away from home became a cause of much fear and alarm in the coming days. It was our actual anniversary, May 6, and we were visiting the Santa Barbara Zoo. We had debated between the Zoo and the Botanic Gardens, but I decided the Zoo would be better, since it's right next to the ocean. I had it all planned - A romantic walk on the beach to watch the sunset on the ocean followed by dinner at the Beachside Cafe.

It was as we got up from eating our lunch that we noticed the massive plume of smoke rising to the north. Having lived through the painted cave fire when I was a kid, my panic instincts started to kick in - this actually looked WORSE than the clouds that were gathering over the T-ball field those many years ago. Calling Mom (with interference from the smoke making the call cut out constantly), she told us that a mobile home had just gone up in the blaze, but it was nothing to worry about.

A few minutes later, we heard a zoo employee on his cell phone telling his family "I don't care what the police say, it's getting worse fast and I want you out of there! I'm coming to meet you at . . ." My panic rose. With my body on fight-or-flight mode (Emie, meanwhile, calmly wandered through the zoo's snake house), a romantic walk was out of the question, so I decided it would be better to just head back to my parents' house before things got any worse instead of our beach walk.

We checked in on the fire and didn't seem to be in immediate danger, so we went to the Elephant Bar instead. We returned hours later after some less-than-stellar service and realized that the fire could now be seen from our front door. It was on a distant hillside, true, but it was a frightening sight. We knelt together in family prayer and I called upon God to send His angels to fight the blaze, asking Him to use his power over the winds and elements to fight the flames. We felt somewhat better but the fire was still too close for comfort.

Emie went to bed and was sleeping soundly while my mother and I stayed glued to the news watching the blaze spread and destroy people's homes and lives. The Botanical Gardens were burned, striking a personal sorrowful note - I was glad we hadn't been closer to the fire, but sorry Emie never got to see the Gardens in their splendor. Mandatory evacuation zones expanded and multiplied quickly - the sundowner winds were taking their toll. Dad was out-of-state on business, but assured us that he had, while praying, gotten the distinct impression from the Spirit that we would not have to evacuate.

I tried to get back to sleep, but couldn't - it can be tough to share in that same Spirit of safety when you're scared to death. When I next emerged, Mom told me to get my shoes on - we had just been placed in an "Evacuation Warning zone." Essentially, we were being told that, while we didn't have to get out right now, we should be prepared for that order to come within the next hours. Much as we do our best to be faithful and trust what the Spirit says, God rarely favors an unprepared fool. We decided to start packing things into the van.

Mom and I had been through this sort of thing before, but only when I was a little boy. Mom said that, during the painted cave fire, she mainly held me while Dad took command of the evacuation. Without Dad there, our psyches took a heavy hit, but it was time to dawn the Superhero mindset again and set to work. Between the two of us, we managed to keep each other sane, though, sufficient to start working on top priority items to load into the van.

Our top priority thing to save - the cats. From the 6 cats I grew up with, Mom and Dad are now down to three. Two of them, Tribble and Q (am I from a family of Trekkies or what?) are wonderfully placid, docile creatures, easy to pick up and toss into the van. The third, Molly, is half feral, so we knew we'd have to get her caged. Molly was already on alert (probably smelled the smoke from the fire) and was difficult to catch, to say the least. I finally pinned her against the bed with my knee, then grabbed the nape of her neck and her tail while she dug her claws into the knee of my pants. I slowly rose from the behind the bed with Molly forming an obtuse triangle then got her into her cage. First task: Accomplished.

Mom was taking care of clothes, pills, money, checkbook, etc., so my task was to load the van with other "precious things." For Mom, this means her needlework, crocheted afghans, tatted doilies and her grandmother's quilts. I spent an hour or so wandering the house, collecting the symbols of Mom's hard work and loading them into the back of the van. They may not be worth much monetarily, but they have enormous sentimental value and represent many hours of Mom's labor.

We decided to let Emilee sleep (a fact about which she laughs) for several reasons - we didn't want to worry her, but we also wanted someone to get a few hours sleep in case we needed to drive for a long time in a car full of nervous cats. About 2:00 AM, having done just about all we could to prepare and observing that we could no longer see the fire on the hill, Mom and I decided to try to get some sleep ourselves. I awoke frequently to the sound of sirens in the distance, so I think I got about 2 good hours in preparation for our long trip home.

It's now several days later and we see our prayers being answered. The winds died down miraculously, the humidity rose enough to create mist, the fire is mostly contained and people are returning to their homes. As my father prophesied, Mom and Dad never did have to evacuate, despite being only a few blocks from a mandatory evacuation area. As my mother said, "There were angels on the fireline." God's promise came through for us again - no great surprise, but a wonderful reinforcer for faith.

The Demon Within

As we've seen before, power often has a dark side. Of late, I've found myself battling my inner demons with a different understanding than I have hitherto had. I'm coming to recognize the voice of my inner demon - the creature nestled in my soul that whispers all my imperfections. "You're not good enough" it states in a quiet voice which still pierces my heart. "You're not strong enough or smart enough. You're weak and unworthy," it states in a sibilant hiss that cuts to the core. It's the voice that weeps in the dark, that shuns the light of day and the joy of friends and family. It's the grasping hand that pulls me down into despair. The Hyde to my Jekyll, the Gollum to my Smeagol.
Of late, I've been trying to distance myself from the demon, to separate him from my own identity. I've been considering naming him Xander, after the dark persona of my past. Can I truly pluck him from my heart and end his torturous cries? Will the void in my heart ever be filled? Can I ever know true peace in this life? Only time will tell.

Helpless Hero

There's an old idea that I first heard on Garfield and Friends, though I also found out that it's been said by Homer Simpson, among others. There's 2 kinds of problems in this world: Problems you can do something about, and problems you can't do anything about. So, there's never a need to worry. You don't need to worry about problems you can't do anything about, because you can't do anything about them anyway. And there's no sense worrying about things you can do something about because you can actually do something about them. Don't Worry, Be Happy, like the song goes.



Sometimes, though, much as you try not to worry, you find yourself in a situation where you feel completely helpless. Most of the time, superheroes don't feel that way for long, or else they don't live to tell the tale. Yet I find myself in a state of disquiet which can only be described as helplessness.

You've doubtless heard about the Gap Fire in California. It has come frighteningly close to my home town, where my family and friends still reside. I wish I could help them, but what help is radiation against a blazing inferno? I can only watch the smoke clouds on the radar map and hope and pray for the thousands upon thousands of firefighters gathered from across the nation who have come together to save them.

Even worse than the helplessness is the nagging fear. Will I hear that they've had to evacuate? Would they tell me if they had to? Would they wait to tell me they were in danger until the danger had passed? If worst comes to it, would I hear about their condition from someone else?