I usually try to stay away from any type of commentary on events that don't originate in my own head; I doubt seriously that I possess the writing skills necessary to offer a world view or philosophical discussion that would interest many people. I don't trust myself to write something true about stuff happening to other people.
That said, I just wanted to point out that as I write this, there are fires burning in Malibu, Irvine, and near Magic Mountain; none of those places is particularly close to my home, yet this morning I walked out to a dull sky and a car covered with black ash. Last night when Patrick and I went to bed, we could both smell the fires, and I half expected to look out the window and see bright red and orange flames on the horizon. Of course I didn't; we are lucky enough to be far away from all the activities. And it is those words - we are lucky - that I'm sort of focusing on right now. I'm thinking about everyone not lucky right now, all those who are packing up their families and their treasures, and moving themselves without knowing what to expect, or what will be waiting for them at the end of all this.
More than reports of my own activities, my own silly problems and obsessions: I hope that the brave men and women fighting the fires are successful and safe. I hope this all ends very soon.
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