Fire

When I was in college, on a frigid night (and I do mean frigid as in twenty to thirty below zero-- I went to school in Minnesota, folks), my apartment burned down. I got a sandwich bag full of smoky-smelling jewelery out of the apartment, and that was it.

Today, it was with a heavy heavy heart that I was reading about the fires in southern California. I've been there. It sucks. (It's weird for a while-- you think, oh I want that CD-- oh yeah, it's toast. You think, where's that picture? Oh yeah, it's ashes.)

As I was reading washingtonpost.com, I discovered that the fires were around San Diego. I have family in that area-- family that I don't talk to. (Bad grammar, I know-- but my point is that they haven't been in my life-- and some have been offensive when they have been in my life-- so I don't bring them into my life.)

I discovered that the town that all of my family lives in has been evacuated. I've had mixed feelings since. I have fond memories of visiting the family place several times when I was young. I'm sad at the thought that it could all go up in smoke. I feel sadness about the feelings they must be having right now. That's about as far as I can go, though. Does it make me want to reconnect with them? No.

Is this bad? Should I be reaching out to them? (This is rhetorical, of course.) Perhaps I should, but I really don't feel the need. I've been hurt so many times that I don't want to stick myself out there again.

In some ways, there is good that comes out of a fire. You truly get a sense of what is important (those that you love) and what is not important (stuff). People that matter surround you and nurture you. People that are buttheads make inappropriate comments. And you realize your own strength.

I know who I love and who loves me. I feel for those that I'm related to, but that's it. I wish them the best.