On a quiet night at Adamtopia, I'm here to write from the chaos of Sonoma County.
There are no words of eloquence or wisdom about what is happening here. It is just horror.
There are parts of this idyllic place that are untouched. If the air weren't so thick with smoke and an orange sun you might think exaggeration is going on. But it's not.
I'm learning that Gary and I, and the neighbors we frantically called upon my return; after I left my home, alone, and drove my car in the night to 'find the fire' - escaped with our lives.
We cannot go back to the remains of the beautiful 'mother earth' that nurtured us. First, the search and recovery of those who never made it out - who died in their beds - must be completed.
The fires aren't through with us yet. We have just 'moved in' to a hotel in Healdsburg, only to hear an evacuation advisory has been issued for this area.
I am safe. I'll stay vigilant and safe. I am in awe of the fierce and deadly power of wind. There was no stopping this fire. I now understand Nature.
I must be strong and that means I cannot cry yet. The love I held for my home . . . I cannot put it into words. When we had only moments to leave, I stood and turned around; twirled around, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. I had just driven my car home from the center of a cyclone and knew we needed to escape. I took down the framed photographs of ancestors, parents, children, from the wall above the piano. I left one picture on the wall. Me, as a little child. You see, I couldn't leave my home to die alone. This was the only way I could show I stayed with her.
The love from Adamtopia . . . it has helped sustain me through this week. It's not enough to just say thank you for the thoughts and prayers you have sent. I feel love here. Adamtopia has been a refuge; not just a place where we connect about the man who has inspired us. The people here helped me when my granddaughter, Penelope, was in neonatal intensive care for 11 days. People here helped me when my mother died. Now, once again you pay attention to me as this crisis tells its story.
I am in Healdsburg, homeless, with my family - that has driven miles, flown thousands of miles - to be together. And yet, as the hours pass, the daylight fades into another orange moon, I find myself at Adamtopia, among people like me, who found Adam and chose to listen to music again.
This heart will find the tears, and tell the story, once it can rest.
The moon is orange again, and smoke is all around.
Thank you, everyone. I've loved you for many years.
