But Is It Really Just "Stuff"?

We just had the one year anniversary of the devastating Tubbs fire here in Sonoma county. Of course, that wasn't the only fire happening at that time; it was just one of many. You can read my perspective of what happened here. Anyway...

One of the things that gets said a lot about the physical losses people suffered is that it was "just stuff." Stuff can be replaced. And, to some extent, all of that is true. I said something similar about my own stuff back around the time of the fire when I decided that all I needed was my writing paraphernalia (laptop, flash drive, notebooks) and my people (which includes animals). The rest was just stuff. And I still agree with that on the whole as evidenced by my efforts during the past year to get rid of a lot of my collectibles. [If you're interested in buying comic books and gaming stuff, let me know!]

But! But...

The Museums of Sonoma County is doing an exhibit, right now, of art "from the fire" in honor of the anniversary. One of the things said in one of the pieces was, essentially, "Yes, but it was our stuff." It included a list of the things lost in the fire that were actually irreplaceable. And I could go a lot of different directions with that including doubling down on the original "it's all just stuff" proclamation, but, instead, I'm going to go in just one direction:

It's not just "stuff;" it's memories.

As I mentioned, I'm working on selling off my old collectibles and some of that is just stuff. It's like a byproduct of earlier days when I worked in comic/gaming retail and stuff that accumulated because I was collecting something or... whatever. Just stuff. But some of that stuff that I'm going through is more than that. Some of the things have memories attached to them and, when I find something like that, it brings those memories bubbling back to the surface of my brain (which, now that I think of it, is a gross image; I may have to use it in a story some day). Some of those memories are things that in all probability I would never have thought of again if I hadn't come across the item associated with the memory.

For instance:

There was this game called Mage Knight that came out about 15 years ago. It's a miniature battle game I used to play... which was really all I remembered about it as I started pulling out boxes of surplus figures to sell off. But, then, I found one little box of figures that were set aside from all of the rest, particular figures: They were my army from a campaign I ran with a group of friends back when the game was new. I would never have remembered about that if I hadn't found that particular box, because the memory of it was tied to the army.

Going through a box of comics recently (and I have a LOT of comics), I came across some old X-Factor comics which included issues from "The Fall of the Mutants" story line and the issue with the death of Angel and the introduction of Apocalypse, and I was immediately taken back to when I first got those issues and read them and what it felt like when Angel died and the anticipation involved in waiting for each new issue. Things I haven't thought about in at least two decades, maybe longer, and only remembered because I had a piece of stuff in my hands.

And then there's the fact that one of the places I grew up (my grandparent's farm in East Texas (and my great-grandparent's, too, for that matter)) burned down in some wild fires in Texas several years ago. Those places are gone, and I can never take my kids there, now, to see them, and I don't have any clue as to the memories in my head that may have drifted away in a smokey haze because I know longer have a thing in existence to call it forth.

So, you know, sure, it's all just things. And some things are replaceable, but the cross-stitch owls I made for my grandmother when I was a teenager (which is actually in my garage because my mom sent it to me after my grandmother died) is not. And the rope art piece I made for my grandfather is also not replaceable, and that was still at the farm in East Texas when it burned.

And none of what I'm saying is in defense of having stuff, because I do believe that, as Americans in the US, we tend to have way too much stuff. I certainly have way too much stuff, which is why I've endeavored to lighten my stuff load, but, also, it's not my place to devalue someone else's stuff with the declaration to them that, "Well, it's just stuff." How am I to know what memories are tied up in that stuff? How am I to know what they permanently lost? What memories are gone forever and what things can't be passed down? What things are significant and what things are not?

I can't; that's how. So, if someone is devastated by the loss of their things, well, that's okay. They get to be devastated. And if someone else shrugs it off with "it was just stuff," that's okay, too. It's not for me to know or judge. But you know what I think you can do? You can listen to someone tell you about the things that were important to them that they will never see or have again. You can let them experience that memory by telling you about it. Maybe, that way, they can hold onto it just a bit longer. And, really, what are we without our memories?

Photo Month: Day 20

Four Months, Give or Take, Later

Some of you are probably aware of the fires we had around here last October, followed not long after by additional devastating fires in southern California. The fire here, though, the fire where I live that destroyed nearly 3000 homes, about 5% of the housing stock in an area that was already in crisis due to lack of affordable housing, has gone down on record as the most destructive fire in the history of California. I wrote some about it back when it happened, but those posts have all been taken down, now, and collected here:

There's some additional stuff at the end that wasn't on the blog, because why not, right? Anyway... Here's the part where you get to show support for your "local" (online is local, right?) indie artist. Yes, writers are artists. If you read the posts back when they were live and you enjoyed them, pick them up now to show your support for the artist who wrote them. I mean, come on, it's only a buck! (I'll take that as jerky, please. (Kidding! Bad joke.)) Plus! For your $1, you will get the added political commentary at the end, and we all know how much you like that!

The Rest of the Year

the rest of the year...
It's going to be a BIT MEssY
somewhat
LIKE
this
post

Things are just...
>>>>>>>>>>busy<<<<<<<<<<
And I'm behind
on most things
BUT
specifically
the Blog
Because I keep it several weeks ahead most of the TIME
But tIime
caught up to me during all the stuff with the fires, and I've failed to get back ahead of things

SO
even though I don't have a specific
SCHEDULE
I do have a pattern
most of the time
but NOT through the end of the year

Also...
I'm working on beginning to sell off my comic book collection
right NOW
and that's taking a lot of tiMe
but
you know
if you want to buy some comic books
let me know

So That You Understand

This was a neighborhood. My friend had a house here. Whole parts of the city look like this.

The Waiting (part 5)

This is a view of a small part of the fire from downtown Santa Rosa one week after it started.

That's miles away.

It was the waiting that was the killer. 

You can find the rest of this piece here:

----------

It's at this point, I suppose I should say that if you want to help with the fire relief efforts that there are ways to do that. I would suggest Redwood Credit Union, but there are plenty of other trustworthy places to go through for donations.

HOWEVER

Before doing that, I would actually suggest supporting the relief effort for Puerto Rico. In the long run (and the short, for that matter), they need it more. I mean when we have a #fakepresident who is actively undermining the relief effort, it's time for the people to step up and do the right thing. I'm not telling you not to help with the fire relief effort here but, if it's a choice for you, support the relief effort in Puerto Rico.

Also, just to be clear, I'm not suggesting that there is some kind of mandate that you send help to... well, anywhere, BUT, if you want to... That's all I'm saying.

Power (part 4)

Theoretically, my wife was supposed to go to work. Theoretically, she was supposed to have been at work on Monday, too. She had almost gone on Monday, a half hour commute north, but had made the decision to work from home, something that hadn’t much happened due to the power loss and poor internet reception. It had been a good thing, though, because they had shut down the freeway north of us about half an hour after she would have arrived at work. The freeway was still shut down on Tuesday morning, so she would have been stuck there overnight with no way to communicate with us. That would have been a nightmare.


You can find the rest of this piece here:

Silent Night (part 3)

That said, Monday was a waiting game, like being stuck in traffic behind a terrible accident. But a terrible accident involving a bus full of people you know. All you can do is sit and wait to hear if there are casualties, but you know that emergency services are having difficulty getting there because of all the backed-up traffic.

All of our information was coming through the radio and my wife’s phone...


You can find the rest of this piece here:

The Red Glow in the Sky (part 2)

I left her to do the research on what was actually going on while I took the dog out. The dog, too, was up early and wanting to go out hours before she usually wants to do that. Agitated, I guess.

We, the dog and I, went out the door into the pre-dawn darkness and made our way to the end of the driveway and turned north to go up the sidewalk…

…and the sky glowed red against the black of night.

You can find the rest of this piece here:

A Piece of a Life (pictures)

The Smell of Smoke (part 1)

The smell of smoke was in the air. Strong, like sitting around a campfire, but the smoke haze in the air had no obvious source. I thought back to the plume of smoke we’d seen from the highway on the way home from the south Bay earlier in the day. Not that we’d agreed that it was smoke, but I’d thought it was smoke.

Still, as far as I could tell, there was nothing to see...



You can find the rest of this piece here: