Like many folks east of, say, the Rocky Mountains, I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention when I first heard reports about the California fires. I think my initial response was, “Again?” And then I went back to whatever I was doing, disinclined to spend too much time worrying about the Golden State’s natural disaster du jour. But as conditions worsened and the fires spread, unchecked, I started to look a little closer. Then I started to worry about my old Horrorstruck colleague and very good friend, Sheila Merritt. Worry a little, then worry a lot.

With my sketchy knowledge of Southern California geography and the precise relationships between this area and that one, this town and another, it seemed to me that she lived way too close to one of the blazes that was getting a great deal of media attention, the Witch Fire near San Diego. But the more I poked around online, the more confused I got. There were conflicting reports, constantly changing maps. Rancho this and Santa that. Good news, bad news, terrible news and no news. Was Sheila actually as close to the fire as I thought? Was she in an area that had already been evacuated or, God forbid, destroyed?

Over the next few days we were able to swap a few e-mail messages, which helped a lot … but I didn’t relax completely until I got what amounted to an “all clear, all OK” message on Wednesday of last week. A few days after that, Sheila and I were back to discussing the flaws in the second act of Carousel and other bits of musical theatre trivia — exactly where we’d left off before the fire. But while Sheila and her husband, Phil, were luckier than many, I still wanted to hear more about what they went through. I thought some of you might like to hear it, too, so I asked her to write down her account of those uncertain and traumatic few days.

Here is what she sent:

Running Away: Let’s Do It*

by Sheila Merritt

The rude awakening call came at six in the morning. It was a reverse 911 recorded message from the city’s police department. A fire was raging north of us, and we should be prepared to evacuate, pending a second phone message. We quickly dressed, and started throwing things into a suitcase and briefcase. As light dawned, we saw that two large eucalyptus trees, which had existed in the open space just beyond our back yard, had blown down. It was a result of particularly nasty Santa Ana winds. Fortunately, the trees didn’t injure any one or any nearby structure. There was only about three percent humidity, it was very hot, and the smokey winds continued to whip and threaten.

We packed important documents, some heirlooms, jeans, tops, underwear, toiletries. No photo albums, memorabilia. As we were on notice for a possible second call, we busied ourselves with removing Halloween decorations from the windows. We didn’t want anything flammable in that area. Occasionally, we’d throw another article of clothing into the open suitcase; not really assessing what was most necessary. It was nervous energy at an extreme.

Around 10:30 that morning I took out some bread from the freezer to defrost for sandwiches. I left it on the counter when we evacuated, getting the second phone call sometime after 11.

We loaded the car, had a few words with neighbors, turned off the gas main, and headed north to my brother’s home an hour north of our house. Interstate I-5 that direction was mostly smooth sailing, as many evacuees were heading to evacuation centers in the south. The air was unhealthy, full of smoke, but we saw no flames during this part of the journey.

Elite Evacuees

My brother’s place is a duplex in a posh beach community. We resided in the upper half which is a complete unit: Kitchen, baths, living room, computer access, large screen TV. The TV coverage there was geared to the fires in the LA area, since that’s where the broadcast stations were located. We turned to the computer for news of our area, but the updates seemed absurdly slow. There were maps of evacuation areas, many very near the ocean, which was unusual for our area. Flames had jumped freeways, and made their random way through many communities. Our area was bordered by woodsy properties about five miles away. The map which showed the directions of the various fire offshoots, showed some pointing towards where our home is. Privileged evacuees that we were, we drank wine, waxed philosophical, and tried to pretend that our home and neighborhood was not in danger: The level of success varied by the minute.

Our Town

After two nights away, it was announced that the evacuation had been lifted for our area. Again, the freeway traffic was exceedingly light as I-5 south had only recently reopened, and northbound was closed. This was due to fires in Camp Pendleton, and coming home we could see bursts of flames on the sides of the interstate. Blown embers would ignite into new flames, causing these puffs to occur.

Around noon, we stopped at a local market to pick up sandwiches for lunch. The normally busy parking lot had loads of spaces. The market itself was so unpopulated that one could roller skate through it. The cashiers and shoppers all spoke in hushed tones, and seemed to be operating on automatic pilot. The odd thing was, that the moment of taking our exit off the freeway, the visuals would not have indicated that anything out of the norm had occurred. There were scattered tree limbs and branches, but the sky wasn’t very murky. To look at the place, it seemed as though no threat ever existed.

The air quality was still considered unhealthy, so staying indoors was advised. I threw away the stale bread on the counter, which I had left in our haste, made phone calls, sent e-mails, and put Halloween decorations back in the windows. There was a striving for a return to normalcy, but everything was subdued, and sober. We nodded and smiled wanly at neighbors, many who had elected not to evacuate. They all had their reasons.

The Excitement of the Mundane

Today [Monday 10/29], a week since we evacuated, I did my morning workout for the first time since the fires. I figured that if our Chargers football team could play a game yesterday, in what had been used as a center for evacuees during the crisis, I was safe. There had been earlier warnings about limiting exertion due to poor air conditions. It feels exhilarating to return to routine. Our adrenaline levels had fluctuated so much; as well as our metabolisms. I seemed, excuse the pun, to be literally “burning” off calories. The hummingbirds have come back to work the lavender, and other birds are back foraging on the grass. I need to feed the plants and palms, and I need to pot some thyme to place in the bay window. Life goes on, despite moments of the equivalent of “survivor’s guilt.” We were unscathed by the inferno, but not untouched by it.

Flashback

All this reminded me of another encounter with fires, one in which I went to face a harsh reality, instead of fleeing from it. It was 1993, around this time of year. The day before Halloween, my sister suffered a debilitating stroke, and I flew down from Northern California to L.A. It was totally surreal, as the flight check-in staff was in Halloween costume. The grim reaper greeted me as I checked in for the flight.

Once at the hospital, I addressed the situation, and looked forward to going outside for a break. The problem was that the fires that had hit Los Angeles in a major way made the air quality horrible. Ash was in constant descent, and my idea of being given a reprieve from the reality of my sister’s condition was necessarily denied. The cruelty of illness versus the cruelty of nature: It was a no-win situation.

Now, as we emerge from the shell shock of the evacuation, I remember a time that was even more challenging. It didn’t promote a mass exodus, or a sense of losing one’s home. It did, however, make me feel trapped by circumstance. I am grateful that this latest crisis did not place me in that situation again.

*Apologies to Stephen Sondheim