We were lucky to live in Altadena

We were lucky to live in Altadena

(Right on the border of Altadena and Pasadena, to be specific)
(Our street signs said Altadena, our mailing address said Pasadena)
(But when the fire was right there, towering to the sky and lighting it up red I knew exactly where we lived)
(Later José and I wryly laugh that nature answered the question for us)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

We were lucky to live in Altadena

(In a perfect craftsman from 1924, the yard lined with birds of paradise)

(When we considered the area José worried it might be a shitty wealthy racist suburb situation)
(Instead we found diversity, we found artists)
(Maria Bamford doing a set at PDA at 8 am)
(Jazz fans who recognized José while we we drank coffee at Café de Leche)
(They would classily stop to tell him they loved his music, nothing more)
(A town that didn’t just make space for art, a town that thrived on it)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

We were lucky to live in Altadena

(The mountains and Eaton Canyon five minutes away)
(A thirty minute drive could get me unimaginably high up, no service, able to meditate with nature’s greatest teachers)
(Sometimes the wind would be so loud I could hear its textures)
(Wild and untamed, improvising across the canyons)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

We were lucky to live in Altadena

(A farmer’s market within 15 minutes nearly every day of the week)
(Over three years I finally let my guard down, imagined where we’d put down forever roots)
(Got very into persimmons)
(We talked about getting a cart, one of those old-fashioned wire ones)
(Not because we needed it, per se, we just wanted be part of the rhythm of our community)
(To stroll through stalls overflowing with oranges and cauliflower, weaving past neighbors, sharing recipes as naturally as the sun rising)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

(With the kindest, gentlest humans I have genuinely ever met)
(Whimsy and delight at every turn)

(A woman named Jean stopped me just two weeks ago in the Rite Aid parking lot to tell me she read Taali Talk)
(We discussed her volunteer work at the local shelter helping feed unhoused families)
(She said she admired my writing, I still admire her humanity)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

(And oh, the music)
(Pete Min’s Lucy’s Meat Market just eight minutes away)
(When we’d record Marcus Machado and Kori Withers could just… stop by)

(Three days before the fire Benjamin Lazar Davis and I had a session that lit my heart up with possibility)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

We were lucky to live in Altadena

(Where we rebuilt Rainbow Blonde with that optimistic California light pouring through every window making even the dust motes look golden)
(The new studio majestic)
(We bought companion desks and the most gloriously excessive gold double chaise lounge)
(I imagined the chaise as a throne for dreams, the desks witnesses to creation)
(All symbols of a future we were daring to believe in again)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

(Even almost dying here last year, I felt gratitude for a town filled with medical brilliance)
(To live just across town from Lama Abdelnour, one of the world’s foremost experts on the absurdly rare kidney disease I have)
(What are the odds of landing in a place where the help I needed was so close?!)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

(During the worst of the relapses I would limp outside)
(Stare up at the sky)
(Tell myself ten minutes a day would send my kidneys the right message)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

(The birds would sing me back to myself)
(The squirrels grabbing pecans from the tree reminded me to gather strength even in scarcity)
(And when it was so bad I could not make it outside I’d admire hummingbirds drinking from the camellias directly outside the studio’s windows)
(Beauty surviving even in fragility)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

We were so, so lucky that every tear I’ve shed since January 7th is tied in with a loving, deep smile.

When we drive up to San Francisco the morning after fleeing, the usual five hours extended to eleven because more fires are blocking most main highways, I tell José that I know I’m a world class apocalypse bae but I’d love to not be

I am ready to retire
Maybe now I get a medal, a plaque, a lifetime pass to calmness

I am so worn out from narrowly dodging death
Four times now in five years
My soul threadbare, my energy as fleeting as the smoke we’re fleeing

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

(When the fire raged, it wasn’t just a place
(It was home, defined by what we stood to lose)

We were lucky to live in Altadena.

And now that the fire begins to settle
Now that we return to the miraculously still standing 1924 craftsman absolutely covered in potentially toxic ash
Now that it becomes clear that with all my immunosuppression we likely cannot stay
Likely will have to dispose of the golden chaise, the velvet pink couch, the whole studio too dangerous for us to keep
I feel the weight of what we’re losing

(I cannot imagine rebuilding again)
(It feels so absurd, trying to put roots down on ever shifting sand)

But a little part of me holds on
Like the camellias after the rain, like the mountains stubbornly standing after the flames
By now I hope I’ve learned from my nature teachers
To find the beauty of transience
Five years now of near-constant tumult
Maybe I’ve finally learned that home isn’t the walls or the chaise

It’s the gratitude you carry, even when the ash covers everything
The hand of your soulmate who is still alive wiping the tears off your face
The woman in the elevator on her way to Quest Diagnostics with you who gives you a knowing nod and says, “We’ll get through it”

We were lucky to live in Altadena
We were so, so lucky to live in Altadena

And maybe that’s enough for now.

More next week.
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