A few nights ago I found this blogger through a post from My Baking Addiction. I wish I had discovered her site in a different set of circumstances, but maybe not. I read this in what was to be the middle of catching up on my food-related reading, but afterwards food was the last thing on my mind.
She is a stranger. We may have nothing in common, other then food. Maybe even then, we wouldn’t mesh.
After reading her post all I could think of was how to make her feel a little less alone in an overwhelming mess. Lots of us, myself included, spend the day hearing, seeing, reading, or deciding what is wrong with the world, reading the comments from her post was a great escape from that. I don’t think I started crying until I read the comments. Maybe it took a few minutes for the impact of what happened to Erika to hit me, or maybe the kindness of strangers and friends hit me harder.
I don’t think anyone can grasp the impact a devastating fire has on a person unless they have experienced it themselves, but to the best of your ability try and understand. Yes thankfully everyone is okay, but imagine losing every tiny thing your hands touch in your home, and the home that holds it. That pen you always hated, the wall you always wanted to paint, was part of what makes up your life and your home.
I will pass on to you the echoes of other bloggers: All of us may not be able to help out monetarily, which is completely understandable, and includes me, unless I really do give just $5, but I plan on having a little bake sale/food sale. Just as important are words of support. Visit The .
Here is Erika’s post from The Ivory Hut
In an Instant
added Sept. 1, 2010
Last night, my head was preoccupied with last minute work on a special project and putting the finishing touches on a post. My husband Tom and I had also been discussing the logistics of possibly attending BlogHer Food 2010 in San Francisco. These were the things that weighed on my mind.
A mere hour or so later—and instant, really—we were outside, in our shirts and shorts, watching our house crumble as it was engulfed in flames. I’ll never forget that hissing and crackling noise as my husband’s home of almost 30 years practically disintegrated before our eyes.
But we were safe. All of us. Our son Tim, without hesitation, ran back inside when he realized his grandmother was sleeping upstairs. By the time he got to her, it was too late to try and exit the house the same way he came in. Fortunately, Tom had devised a fire escape plan years ago, and Tim was able to bodily carry his feeble 82-year-old grandmother out the window, onto the roof, and eventually down on the deck. The sight of this brave son of mine carrying his grandmother as he ran down the lawn and away from the house is one I will never forget.
Obviously, none of us slept last night. We are fortunate to belong to a congregation that is as close to us as family, and one of our dear friends drove to our house last night to pick us up and take us to her home, which is where I sit right now, typing this.
The magnitude of the loss is almost too much to comprehend in its entirety. So last night, I mentally walked through all the rooms in the house, taking stock of what was valuable in that room, and then systematically making peace with the loss. I said goodbye to my new MacBook Pro, my 500GB drive of photographs, another 500GB drive of music files. My purse, with all my identification cards, and all the car keys—car keys that are useless anyway, since the flames have likely taken our cars too. Our passports and birth certificates. My husband’s prosthetic leg, without which he is unable to freely move around. Our shoes, all our clothes, and our musical equipment. My engagement ring and my wedding ring, and a gold bracelet passed on to me by my mother on my wedding day.
My baby pictures, which are the only remaining proof that once upon a time, I was actually cute. My iPod Touch, the value of which is immeasurable because it held all my half-finished songs, poems, and writings.
But when I weigh it all against the value of being able to hold my husband’s hand and my son’s hand last night as we said a family prayer of thanks for our survival, as well as a petition for strength to deal with the days to come, and the fact that this morning, I woke up to a day with both of them still with me, then I still think I got the better end of the deal.
Oh, and I’m sorry there are no photos in this post. You see, my beloved Canon 5D and all those lenses I had? They’re gone too.
Which stings, I’ll admit. But all I have to do is throw a glance my family’s way and yep, I’m still blessed.
Here is her most recent post: