Escaping The LA Wildfires

When the fires closed in, I made soup.

My husband woke me up with the words “We should start packing bags.” I didn’t understand what he was talking about. “For what?” I said, half asleep.

A black haze covered the entire sky. It looked as if it were night, save a small blue pocket to the east showing that the sun had risen. Was the fire about to envelop us or miles away? Looking out the window, we had no idea.

This week I learned that in a fire, I wouldn’t remember to grab my wedding dress but I would take a The Hobbit t-shirt I got at the Silverlake flea market. I wouldn’t think to pack the polaroids from my childhood hanging on the wall or the cash in my “travel jar” — I would, however, bring hard drives containing short films from 10 years ago that are already on YouTube.

As smoke from the Eaton fire filled the air, it became clear that the threat wasn’t immediate. We were in a “red flag zone,” not an evacuation zone. We debated whether to leave or stay. The Slacks from our work-from-home jobs rang with demands. Our air purifiers ran on blast, hopefully improving its quality. I packed a bag, and I made soup. If we left, all those veggies in the fridge would go to waste.

We should leave for the toxic smoke alone, I argued, as I chopped mushrooms. Plus, by the time we get an evacuation notice, it might be too late or traffic might be too bad, I said, adding parsley.

I prepared to leave and I prepared to return. It wasn’t until I was on the road hours later that it hit me: Oh right, we’ll probably lose power, and all the soup I froze will melt. If the house burns down, perhaps I will regret making soup instead of concentrating on finding keepsakes.

The idea of returning to nothing was simply unfathomable until I’d already left. And while our house remains intact, it was only a matter of luck. We are so, so lucky.

This week’s newsletter was supposed to be about setting New Year’s goals (not the way the wind blew!) and somehow I have kept one of said goals: Dry January. If I ever wanted a drink, it was Wednesday night after we fled LA and arrived at a friend’s house in the desert. But I didn’t drink. It was an anxious few days of unknowns and refreshing the Watch Duty app, but it meant everything to be in it with friends, supporting each other through fears and questions of when to return. We were all so lucky: We were alive. We had a safe place to escape the smoke. None of us had lost everything. We all knew several people who had. One of our close friends lost the home he owned in Altadena with his wife, who is six months pregnant, and their toddler. Another friend worked in a restaurant that burned down and is suddenly unemployed. It could’ve been us but it wasn’t, and the gratitude and relief and empathy and guilt all come at once.

Material things are just things. But things are memories, histories, identities, senses of self, safety, and security. Material things can come and go and be replaced, but that is all of life. We are here temporarily, just like the things we come to depend on.

Smog blanketed the entire city as we drove back to our home yesterday. According to iPhones, the air quality is good. But the AQI doesn’t account for what’s burning now: Asbestos, lead, plastics, PFAs, rubber, treated asphalt, batteries, heavy metals.

“A recent study found that even for homes that are spared destruction, smoke and ash blown inside could adhere to rugs, sofas, and drywall, creating health hazards that can linger for months,” states The New York Times.

They continue: “‘We’re breathing in this toxic brew of volatile organic compounds and polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons and hexavalent chromium,’ Dr. Patel said. ‘All of it is noxious.’”

Not far from my home, unmasked people eat outside at Dune, a popular al-fresco restaurant. A waitress there wears goggles and a mask, serving them because it is her job, but privately telling me that she hates that people are eating outside and creating a demand for them to stay open. “They’re risking cancer to eat falafel,” she says.

Like with COVID, everyone has a different level of comfort — this time risking getting sick from toxic pollution (most likely years from now) instead of an immediate virus.

After reading a Forbes article explaining how toxic smoke plumes can travel 14 miles and adhere to food and food packaging inside homes, I wondered if I should throw away everything I left in my open-air pantry. What about the dishes left out to dry when we fled? Or am I overreacting? After all, people are eating falafel outside. On the other hand, just miles away other people are rummaging through the remains of homes built with asbestos in the 50s. (I did not throw everything away.)

Nobody knows what to do. It is overwhelming and sad. I can’t focus on anything, but I have so, so much work to do. I don’t feel safe, but I am safe. I don’t feel like I can breathe, but I am breathing. I lived through 9/11 in New York — an event where, inevitably like this one, more people died from cancer from toxic debris than the actual incident. And just like 9/11, the aftermath of grief is coupled with unbelievable solidarity, community, and pride. I love Los Angeles and I’m so proud of it. It’s a city full of hope and passion, of delusional young artists working to make their dreams come true, and disillusioned old artists whose dreams haven’t come true but who fell in love with a city in pursuit of them. Our politicians may be useless, but our communities are not; they have rallied around those in need. I am in awe of the mutual aid efforts, a reason to have hope and to believe in the beauty of what we could rebuild, even as terror reigns through what is.

I have no idea what’s next for Los Angeles and what’s next for the entertainment industry. The air will likely be unsafe for months. The chances of people ignoring that and going about business as usual are very high. What is certain is that I’ve never felt more solidarity here. We’re all in this together. What’s less certain is… for how long? For every family doubling down on Los Angeles as their forever home, ready to rebuild or rebuy, another family is getting financially forced out of an already too-expensive city. Many others will leave by choice, fearful that these fires are a glimpse of what’s to come for LA as climate change worsens.

In the chaos of this week, maybe guessing the future is futile. Maybe focusing on the small things that make us happy is the best thing we can do. I’m killing it with my Dry January goal despite my city burning! I’ve restarted a consistent newsletter after months off! I have fresh food in my kitchen, a true blessing!

I haven’t eaten the soup yet. The winds are returning to hazardous levels tonight. My valuables and documents and my dog’s essentials are packed. If fires come, I will be ready to go at a moment’s notice. And the soup will still be in the freezer, waiting for my return.

DONATE TO SUPPORT FIRE VICTIMS

Here is a list of over 700 crowdfunding campaigns from people who lost their homes in the fire:

Where to donate to people who've lost their homes in the LA fires

Other great places to donate are:

• The Anti-Recidivism Coalition to support incarcerated firefighters (be sure to write “firefighter fund” in your donation)

• Pasadena Humane Society

• Mask Bloc LA, providing respirators and masks

• California Fire Foundation, providing assistance to victims

• Baby2Baby, providing essential items for children and families

IN-PERSON VOLUNTEERING

Starting to volunteer at the Los Angeles Public Library was one of the best parts of my 2024. If giving back doesn’t sound rewarding, here’s a more self-motivated reason to volunteer (no judgment!): I recently watched Live To 100, Netflix’s Blue Zone docu-series, and it claims that the people who have historically lived the longest have participated in community volunteer work.

• If you’re in Los Angeles, here are ways to volunteer right now.

• You can also consider fostering or adopting a pet who has lost its home.

RESOURCES TO HELP THOSE IN NEED

• All LA library locations are offering N95 masks

• Renters can apply for assistance for lodging at disasterassistance.gov

• Various YMCAs throughout the city are offering essentials (and this is a good place to volunteer, if you are able)

• All Saints Church in Pasadena is giving out clothes and goods

• Altadena Girls is gathering and distributing donations for teenagers

• Saint Sophia Cathedral is offering essentials, meals, and clothes

• Guitar Center is replacing instruments lost in the fire

• A fun one: Dame is replacing vibrators lost in fires if you email heythere@dameproducts.com

A FORTH THING FOR FUN: UNWIND WITH A GOOD MOVIE FROM 2024

The Oscars delayed announcing nominations, but don’t worry: I’m here with an equally prestigious list of favorite films I watched last year. You can watch a few of them at home right now.

• The Seed of the Sacred Fig

• Anora

• Wicked

• The Substance

• Kneecap

• All We Imagine As Light

• The Last Showgirl

• Babygirl

• Challengers

• Small Things Like These

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Gandalf. "So do I," said Aragorn, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

— The Fellowship of the Ring, which is NOT the book depicted on the LOTR shirt I took in the fire, but which thematically seemed like the best option

Wishing you a safe, wonderful, and inspiring week.

Thank you for subscribing to Little Things, a bestselling Substack newsletter about creativity and being human from Ali Griffin Vingiano, a TV writer, filmmaker, and creator of In Flow Retreat Center. You can register now for my Writing & Yoga retreat in Costa Rica this May.

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