368 DAYS LATER...STILL ALTADENA STRONG!

Writing during this difficult time has been cathartic. It has helped to ground and center me. When I write, I hope to convey a feeling or idea; if I can do that well, it’s very satisfying. Writing for Lotus Rising LA is very important to me because it allows me to document individual and collective struggles and victories. Losing a home to a fire is unimaginable. Home is a place of refuge, peace, family, and pride. Having that taken away in such a sudden and violent manner is so destabilizing that it shakes one's sense of security and agency in one’s own life. Survivors of the fires need significant financial support, but they also need people to hear their stories. The most touching thing that has stayed with me is when Omar and Giselle, my son and daughter-in-love, took clothes and other household items that had been donated to them down to Woodbury Road in Altadena, along with countless others. They had lost everything in the Eaton fires, but the generosity of others so touched them that they were compelled to give as well. Seeing everyone on Woodbury Road loving their neighbors, regardless of race, politics, religion, or sexual orientation, and just helping those who were hurting, was inspiring.

There are times in life when people connect on a basic level, and it always seems to happen when tragedy occurs. In those precious moments in the aftermath of the event, we put down our racial bias, political, and religious differences. We remember that we are human beings who need help, and we give it. That expression of love toward someone who may or may not look like you, or who probably wouldn’t acknowledge you on the street (in normal circumstances), is the most incredible feeling. That feeling strengthened me and helped me to rise each day to face the wreckage the fires left in my life.

One year later, my lot has been partially cleared by the Army Corps of Engineers, but they destroyed half of the paved courtyard. The heavy equipment damaged my paved driveway. Nature is reclaiming the land. Blackened, ghostly remains of burnt-out tree stumps are shooting forth bright green new growths. My lot is a mixture of a decaying disaster and vigorous rebirth. Three hundred sixty-eight days later, my lot has been surveyed, I hired a contractor, and had plans submitted to the county. I have received a Will Serve Letter from the Water Company and paid Southern California Edison to have a temporary utility pole placed on the property. Now I’m waiting for the Contractor to make corrections and for him and Edison to coordinate the delivery and energizing of the utility pole so the County can approve the plans. All of this is going on as I wait to see if Southern California Edison will submit a fair settlement offer that will allow me to rebuild my home.

As always, I take deep breaths, pray, and try to get outdoors. Sometimes just going for a walk helps to brighten up an otherwise depressing day. If you need someone to hear your story, Lotus Rising Community Voices is here to listen. Contact this writer @ 4theloveofbooks61@gmail.com   

Together we will remain Altadena Strong!

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS...

The past few years, amid the Trump administration, have been exhausting. No matter how hard I try not to let the stain of other people’s hatred and bigotry affect me, somehow it always does. Hate erodes it, bringing nothing of value to the equation. Over a lifetime, it will suck the good and decency out of you. I have often wondered how the mother of Rittenhouse could love her child and yet drive him to a Black Lives Matter Protest with a gun in a car and drop him off? How could a parent teach a child to hate?

What I want this Christmas can’t be purchased and wrapped in pretty paper with a festive bow. It can only come from deep within me and an abiding faith that this too shall pass.

I knew that there would be a backlash from having a Black President, but this level of sustained anathema is alarming. This all in hatred of “others” (anyone other than heterosexual white Anglo-Saxon Protestant or white Nationalists) is willing to destroy the very country it purports to love. I used to believe that the youth would save us, that once all the old bigots had died off, then maybe America could begin to move toward a better future. However, this last decade has uncovered racial bias across the board, among the young and old.

Latinos for Trump and Somalis for Trump have found out that America’s Immigration story wasn’t written for them. Usha Vance and Vic Rumba Swami have discovered that they are included in the Black and Brown people categories. Jewish people’s honeymoon period with white Nationalists will end abruptly, probably when they least expect it.

Black Americans who are not immigrants but are descendants of the enslaved are roughly 11% of the United States population, who knew from America’s inception that it was based on a lie. Our ancestors knew that the dream was not meant for them, but they dreamed anyway. It was because of their dreams that this nation thrived and became what it was. And yet African Americans have had the entire United States Government, from the local level to the Federal level, systemically work to continue to enslave them. Sharecropping, poll taxes, literacy tests to vote, Jim Crow laws, Vagrancy Laws/Black Codes, Red-lining, Racially Restrictive Real Estate Covenants, etc…

Immigrants coming to America were told that if they worked hard enough, they could be successful here. I wonder what they were told about the Blacks in America who hadn’t made it. I doubt they were told how oppressed they were and how there was little to no investment in their schools and communities. Nor were they told that historically, every time a Black community appeared to be thriving, their communities were either burned down by a mob, destroyed by urban development, or, more recently, displaced by gentrification. I wondered if they were taught in their citizenship classes about the contributions of the enslaved and Black Americans? Somehow, I think they consciously or subconsciously internalize the American Dream to be the pursuit of riches, status, and something other than themselves.  At least that is what it feels like to me, because how else can you explain the last 10 years? Where people voted to put a felon in the White House instead of a qualified Woman of Color?  

What I want for Christmas this year is for people to stop hating each other. We don’t have to agree or like each other, but hate is too strong an emotion to carry and too ugly an emotion to inflict on someone else. For our own well-being and personal growth, maybe we can stop trying to be right all the time and be more understanding. As Tiny Tim expressed in his crippled, impoverished state (much like our country today), “God bless us, everyone!”

IN THE VALLEY OF DRY BONES

In the valley of dry bones are the bitter and defeated living dead. They are the ones who always have a scowl on their face and have nothing positive to say. They are also the ones who have given up on living a joyful life. How does one get to such a desolate place in their life? They get there in many ways. Loss is one of them, and betrayal is another.

In life, you will experience losses of many types, and one of them will be so profound that it will thrust you into the valley of dry bones. A place where living is reduced to mere survival. Where breathing hurts, and all you want to do is go back to the past before the event happened. After a while, you will find yourself living more and more in the past with the dead instead of being in the present with friends and family. You close yourself off, finding it difficult to get up and leave the house. Everything bright and exciting about a new day is gone, and all you can do is get through one more day.

Some of us have been hurt by the people that we love. That betrayal cuts the deepest. While others have endured a series of slights, back stabbings, and deceptions, causing them to become callous and respond in kind, they have developed a hardened demeanor. I saw this phenomenon as I was growing up and vowed that I wouldn’t become like that.

I have never wanted to be a bitter old lady, and I’m grateful that I’m not. But I have been living in the valley of dry bones for far too long. The death of my mother was a devastating loss for me; one that I have struggled to overcome. My mother died nine years ago, and I hadn’t realized how long I had been grieving. Although I will continue to mourn the loss of the woman who meant so much to me, I can now begin to live fully again and let the dead rest. I’ve asked God to give me back my joy, and I’m trying to do my part by living my life with gratitude. I’m grateful for the time I had with my mother, and I'm thankful for the time I have left with my family.

If you have found yourself in this desolate place, perhaps you can reflect on how you want to live going forward. You are not alone; many have found themselves in the same place. I’m a woman of faith, so my faith has helped. Joining various clubs and spending time with my grandkids has been instrumental in getting me out of the house. I’ve taken college courses for fun and written three books. My writing has been very cathartic and opened up new spaces for me to roam. Joy has begun to creep back into my life, even when grief makes an unexpected appearance.

I won’t look back on the valley of dry bones; instead, I will look forward to what each new day has to offer, and I hope that you will do the same.