A Very Life in Our Despair
May 10, 2009

It’s Saturday evening and my hands have stopped shaking, but the chop-chop-chop sound of the helicopters hovering about half a mile away while they refill their buckets with water or fire retardant is a constant reminder that it is far from over. It’s the Jesusita Fire in Santa Barbara, California, the declared worst disaster in this area.

It began on an unusually hot Tuesday around 1:30 in the afternoon as a single column of smoke in the lower foothills of Santa Barbara. Only twenty-four hours later it looked like an atomic bomb had gone off: continual eruptions of black and brown smoke pouring out of the hills punctuated by reddish orange flames leaping 100, even 200 feet into the sky. Our infamous sundowners—unpredictable, hot winds that come up from the Santa Ynez valley on the inland side of the mountains that separate the valley from the coast, then roar down our canyons—were a dangerous companion to the fire.

I watched uneasily from my new home to which I had moved just the Friday before. The windows offered what in other circumstances would be a spectacular view but was now a sickening and increasingly terrifying scene. But I didn’t feel personally threatened yet. The wind was driving the smoke and flames eastward rather than downward. Until Thursday.

I arrived home at 4:00 in the afternoon to what appeared to be smaller, almost innocuous fires compared to the day before. But around six, the wind and fire conspired to explode on the hillside almost directly north of my location. Multiple fires raced one another almost in a sprint in a direction that would bring them right to me. Firefighters had set up a line on Highway 154, hoping it could be stopped there.

I tried to stay calm as I thought through what I needed to do. We hadn’t been issued mandatory evacuation orders, but they were obviously coming. I have three cats, none of whom willingly travel in the car. They would have to  be grabbed and tricked into the carrier. I was scared that I would not be able to capture all three, and it showed in my uneasy behavior, which they picked up on.

Choosing what to take (besides them) was difficult. I am pretty much a minimalist except for books, but most of what I do have has enormous sentimental value. My mother’s sterling silver place settings and five-piece coffee and tea set were first. Important papers, of course. The books caused me the most agony. I knew I could only take a few. But all of my books are precious to me—not because most of them are irreplaceable but because they have become “mine” through personal marginalia, post-reading reviews, newspaper articles that relate to the subject or author, inscribed pages, even well-worn spines from having been read so often. I picked up and stroked a number of them from their piles on the floor where they have been since I moved. I mourned their potential loss, but I also realized that ultimately they were “things” that could be left behind. With one exception. I own a lovely six-volume set of The Works of Lord Byron that was published in 1821 by John Murray. What makes it particularly special is that Byron was still alive at the time of this edition’s publication and that the set itself is in wonderful condition. I have read it, albeit carefully, and without adding marginalia since I view myself as its temporary caretaker.

I could not bear the thought of losing it in a fire. My agitation increased as I searched box after box for it. Finally, there it was. I grabbed the volumes with an audible cry of relief and stashed them in the trunk of the car along with a book I thought I might read: John Steinbeck’s Travels With Charley. Then I got the first cat, then the second (with minimal bloodshed on my part). They went out. I set my sandals by the door, grabbed the third cat by the scruff of her neck—I could not put her in the carrier as the risk of losing the other two who were already in a panic was too great—and closed the kitchen door, forgetting the sandals.

The time between the moment I locked the door and the moment I returned home again late Saturday afternoon to unlock it once the mandatory evacuation orders were lifted was full of some awful experiences. If I sound somewhat devoid of emotions it is not because I am but because I cannot spend much time on them. I find myself unable to go to the local website from which I was getting and sharing information prior to my evacuation. I cannot watch any televised coverage of the fire or listen to the twice-daily press conferences. It’s too upsetting to watch it because I lived it. Now both the cats and I need time to be alone and to be quiet with our distressed and unbalanced feelings.

Despite my experience, I recognize that I am one of the fortunate ones. I didn’t lose anything. But one of the working/staging areas for the firefighters, the one where the helicopters come to reload their buckets, is within easy sight of my windows. And though I am reminded of it every minute with the sounds that still dominate the air—for the fire is only about fifty percent contained as I write this—I am also reminded by those sounds, as Lord Byron put it, in a line I remembered just enough of to find again in Canto III of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, was “There is a very life in our despair.”

Upcoming Book Festivals:
Two book festivals are coming up in the next week. First, in Michigan, is the Ann Arbor Book Festival, running from May 15-17. Among their events are their annual Short Story contest, the annual Literary Symposium, Breakfast with the Authors, their third annual Writers Conference, a special play presentation, and the inaugural Lila Award (recognizing outstanding contributions to the prominence of the book, fostering a love of reading, and promoting literacy) and film showing. On Saturday, May 16, sixty vendors and authors will be participating in a street fair with readings, panels, and signings; there will also be more special events including an Author Home Tour, the Antiquarian Book Fair, the C-SPAN bus program, teen writing awards, a children’s author performance, a demonstration of the Expresso Book Machine, exhibits, chef events, a pitch panel, a spelling bee, and a performance poet.
 
The 4th Annual Hawaii Book & Music Festival takes place in Honolulu on May 16-17 from 10:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. with a sunset concert each evening. With sixteen venues, 175 events, and 550 presenters, this amazing festival offers two full days of  so many events that it is impossible to list more than a few here: a playwright slam, lots of children’s activities, and a book swap. “We strive to introduce Hawaii books and music to the world,” they note on their site, “and to introduce Hawaii to new worlds of books and music.”

The Pub House:
Kore Press was founded in 1993 by the collaborative effort of a book designer and a poet who, influenced by the Women in Print movement of the 1960s and 1970s, have created a house that focuses on “excellent works of literary and artistic value by a diversity of women.” It terms itself a feminist-literary-arts-press that publishes bilingual, lyric, and politically-voiced poetry, personal essays, prose, and manifestos. Among their new releases is the powerful Powder: Writing by Women in the Ranks from Vietnam to Iraq, a collection of poetry and personal essays from nineteen women about experiences ranging from a first jump to suicide contemplation to an attempted rape by a comrade. In addition to regular trade editions, they also offer audio CDs, limited editions with glorious bindings, chapbooks, and broadsides.

There are wonderful things to be found here, and it is particularly fine if you are searching for gifts for a woman. But anyone who appreciates quality writing will love these books.

Of Interest:
Computers have certainly made the process of printing much easier, but in the process something has been lost. This week, I have three links I want to provide, one a web site, the other two are YouTube videos.

First up is Briar Press, an online community of printers and artists “dedicated to the preservation of letterpress”—its equipment and the art of fine printing. Only two people run the site, but more than 33,000 other printers and artists share their expertise and enthusiasm for the art. They are in the process of updating their museum, but you can visit the Cuts & Caps page where you can download images for your computer or your letterpress. They also have a classified ads section that includes workshops and events as well as an excellent discussion forum, including a beginner’s section.

The videos are related specifically to publishing rather than the one aspect of printing, but they are fascinating. In 1947, Encyclopedia Britannica created “,” an educational video on how a book was printed. Compare that to today’s modern book printing with C-SPAN’s video on “.” The technology has certainly changed in the sixty-two years between the two, but in many ways the process is similar.

This Week . . .
Let’s do something good. Something that will make a difference in one life one time. I have two things, one that was already in the works (giving some towels and a comforter, used but in excellent condition, to a formerly homeless single mother and working student at my college newly ensconced in her first apartment in years), and my new idea, donating $100 worth of food to the local Humane Society that voluntarily housed pets, including mine, during the recent evacuation. How about you? Read to your child. Adopt a cat. Donate cash to your local food bank or humane society. Pay a utility bill for someone who is financially strapped. Visit an elderly person who doesn’t get much company and talk for an hour or two. That’s all. Just one thing. Just one time.

Until next week, read well, read often and read on! And stay safe.

Lauren