Yes, there's stuff.

And then there's home.

I sat down on Tuesday morning to write this week’s newsletter. It was called “Pruning Your Roses.” An hour or so later my husband was racing home from work and we were packing our go bags, a drill we’ve been through before when our house nearly burnt in the Getty Fire five years ago. We’d had a dress rehearsal for that fire, too—a year or two before, we’d sat in Ready-Set-Go for two days and had taken the opportunity to put all of our important documents in a go-bag and contemplate what to take when you might lose it all.

My husband took this on Tuesday night as we headed out.

Here’s what’s weird, and this seems to largely hold for most of the people I’ve talked to. You don’t pack that much. Documents. Photos. Jewelry. Medicine. Irreplaceable heirlooms. A couple week’s worth of clothing. I brought all of my notes for my next book.*

And then it gets practical fast: Pet food. Cat litter. Chargers.

It’s actually a shocking revelation that yes, it’s just stuff. Largely replaceable, or not something you would bother buying again.

What’s not replaceable is home. My heart is breaking for all the families set adrift and for the communities that are completely shattered and destroyed. Many of these families are in our hotel trying to figure out where to go and what to do. It is unfathomable, horribly complicated, terrible. There is nothing to say. At this point, we are not one of these families—our house stands. We are watching the Eastern front of the Palisades fire and holding our breath.

It feels apocalyptic. It feels like Armageddon. The entire city is in shock, like an animal chased by a cheetah.

Mid-day Wednesday, that’s Sullivan Canyon with Mandeville in front of it. Also Rob’s photo.

Here’s what’s remarkable.

1. I am stunned that there has been so little loss of life. This could have easily been a tragedy on an entirely different scale. I’m so grateful that the first fire broke out mid-morning and not in the middle of the night.

2. The firefights and first responders: They’ve been going for days on end without sleep in what has felt like a hopeless situation. Thank you to all the states that have sent in support. We are so grateful.

3. Save for the looters, people are so good. I’ve witnessed incredible kindness, tenderness, and love in the past few days—in the elevators, in the lobby where we’ve all congregated to confer and trade information, from hotel staff, from friends near and far. People are really so good and in the worst of times, showing the best of themselves.

4. This might be a weird aside, but we’ve now evacuated to hotels twice for fire and we’ve been touched that area hotels cut their rates and boost services at a time when people are really vulnerable. No questions asked about cats, large dogs, et al. No gouge pricing. It’s worth stating because the first time this happened I didn’t know where to go with cats in the middle of the night…but it turns out that hotels turn up big-time. (Thank you Viceroy Santa Monica.) It is not lost on me that we are lucky we can afford a hotel room. We are so grateful for the offer of spare bedrooms as well. People are so generous.

* I have a podcast conversation coming next week with Pico Iyer, whose new book Aflame is presciently partly about fire. He and his mother lost their house in Santa Barbara many years ago, including his notes for three books and all of her belongings. We spoke a month or two ago for the podcast, partly about the above.

For those who are not affected, there are some practical things I recommend doing as it feels like none of us will be spared from environmental disasters in the coming years, regardless of where we live. A dress rehearsal is never a bad idea.

1. Digitize your photos and your important documents. This doesn’t mean you can’t also save the originals but it’s worth doing.

2. Make a mental go list. Maybe put it in a sticky note on your phone. This is a good exercise to prompt a de-cluttering.

3. Get to know your neighbors. Five years ago, we couldn’t wake up one of our neighbors because he wears hearing aids—he slept through the evacuation in the middle of the night. Another neighbor was out-of-town with animals that needed to be rescued. We are now on a text and WhatsApp chain and have keys to each other’s houses. We also have a WhatsApp chain going with the surrounding streets. This has been the best way to get and trade information and offer services and support. Put this in place now.

This is from this morning, also Rob—there are firefighters arranged along the road, waiting. I’m so moved by their service and courage.

My hope is that we can stay unified and not polarized by politics—and that insurance companies show up for Californians and others across the country who have been shut out of protection. None of us are immune. We will need the best of each other in these coming months and years. Let’s be part of that.

Stay safe friends.