Coastline Pilot/LA TIMES

8 July 2005

 

Chasing the Muse

Catharine Cooper

 

 

As the Bluebird salvage operation winds down, an emotionally packed calm drifts into the canyon.  What personal belongings have been pulled from the wreckage are bagged, boxed, tossed or stored, and the immediate needs of shelter, clothing and transportation are temporarily satisfied.  The frenzied early days of the disaster activities have been replaced with the long and arduous process of rebuilding homes and lives.

 

For some, questions of ever returning to the hillside remain unanswered.  Financial constraints, as well as time, factor into the affected families ability to persevere.  The commitment of Mayor Elizabeth Pearson and City Manager Ken Frank to re-establish the Flamingo Drive neighborhood is supported by the bulk of the community, but it’s ultimate funding is a challenge to all of our resources.

 

First round rejections by FEMA to tag funds, earmarked earlier as relief for the statewide rain damage, are disappointing.  While the outside press refers to all Laguna residents as millionaires, those of us who live and work in this community know the difference.  To any of us, the loss of our home would be tragic.  Experience tells me that this is true, no matter the size or value of your home, nor where you reside.

 

The last ‘run’ on my parents’ home was early Saturday.  What had seemed impossible – the rescue of the piano and the automobiles - was resolved by the commitment of Charlie Williams.  A bulldozer carved a ramp through the steep and fissured earth directly to the back deck. 

 

The heavier furniture, which they had given up for lost - the couch, bedroom furniture, and the washer/dryer were successfully loaded onto Charlie’s truck.  The refrigerator had to be emptied before we moved it, and this was not a job for the squeamish. I grabbed large compactor bags, opened the door, and squelched my gag reflex. Alex and Remy, who work for Charlie, covered their faces and held open the bags.  Four weeks without electricity had rendered all meat, fish and milk products a biological HAZMAT. 

 

The crew turned their attention to the collapsed garage, where a severed and uplifted slab has pinned my parents’ cars under the rubble.  Like a jigsaw puzzle in reverse, Charlie directed a careful removal of structural pieces in order to free the vehicles.

 

I made one last pass through the house, searching the corners, shuffling through the piles of discarded trash. In the floor of the downstairs bedroom, I discovered the Wright family Christmas stocking, woven long ago by someone’s nimble fingers.  Upstairs, two white handkerchiefs, lace and filigree with embroidered initials, and a tiny heart shaped dish tangled with broken glass.

 

Suddenly, it’s done.  Everything of value has removed from the house. All that remains - a broken shell that once was a home.  

 

I step out on the front deck and gaze at the panorama of canyon and Pacific vistas.  The chatter of tiny wrens echoes along side the house.  Surprisingly, the jacaranda continues to bloom profusely, its purple flowers dancing in the late morning breeze. 

 

Memories, previously kept at bay by activity and a need to stay focused, flood the moment.  I travel back 41 years, remembering briefly the difficulties of the first year here, living without my father in the wake of my parents divorce.  I see my grandparents, long departed, in mental snapshots in front of the Christmas tree.  A roar of history - birthday candles, Thanksgiving feasts, graduation from high school and college, marriages, my children as toddlers crawling over white carpets, mom’s heart attack – shuffle through my mind as tears finally work their way to the surface.

 

The ocean is as constant now, as she was then, and as the scent of the sea washed up the canyon, I sniffle back my tears, and choke down a goodbye to a place that is to be no more.  My sadness feels selfish - it is not my home that was lost, but my parents.  It was a home left of my own accord, while they were forced, by an act of nature, to flee.

 

From the back, I hear the cheers of success as one my mother’s car is freed from the garage and moved to an undamaged section of Flamingo.  “Small victories” has become a daily slogan for many of us, and will continue as the process of demolition and rebuilding edge forward. 

 

I’d like to give special thanks to Bob Burnham for his diligent oversight of the salvage/rebuild process and timely communications. The generosity of this community continues to be overwhelming.  Makes me pretty darn proud to be a Lagunan.

 

 

Catharine Cooper was actually a Laguna Beach cheerleader ... once upon a time.  She can be reached at 949 497 5081 or ccooper@cooperdesign.net.