I need to write something here, but it’s not easy. Not much is easy right now for so many, and we are finding ourselves in the same category, and so I might as well just get on with it. If you haven’t heard by now, in the wee morning hours of Sept 6, our little sweet 1920s beach bungalow, often referred to by friends as “Doc and Chou Chou’s Enchanted Cottage”, our honeymoon home and hideout for over thirty years, what Doc liked to call the Pumpkin Shell, where I happily thrived extremely well, thank you, well, on that raining dark night, we had a massive fire that destroyed our home and all our possessions.
We’ve had a few miraculous things recovered, but the rest will be gone with the demolition. We are hoping to rebuild, and now we move on to the next chapter of life. We’re okay, and have each other, and have the most amazing friends, family, and neighbors.
This sort of event is always complicated, to lose home and possessions and the need to rebuild. We can handle loss of stuff, since stuff is just that: Just stuff. But far more impactful is the lose of the Imperial Palms archives, music, costumes, and the rest, and Doc’s budding return to the luthier business.
I was so excited! I was finally bringing the band back for the first show since the beginning of the pandemic. It was only 12 days away, this first event back, and I was so happy and so were the musicians. I tried to see if there was any way, but had to admit that in some extreme cases, the show, in fact, cannot go on. At least not yet.
I sang that night, surrounded by neighbors, with ran pouring down, and what seemed like every firetruck around, and first responders, all of them heroes. I sang, because I couldn’t cry yet. I thought it was curious that I responded that way, but, of course, it was not surprising at all. When one lives life in song, things happen like that.
Doc’s doing great. I’m okay, too, considering this shock to the system thing. We compete to see which of us can take better care of each other. We know we’re off-balance. Far more important, we’re hopeful, grateful, with our eye on the future, still dancing and laughing in daily moments, and being okay with just being there for each other in the darker hours. All part of the process.
Unbelievably, another neighbor’s home burned on Saturday. Our hearts go out to them completely, and this whole wonderful community of neighbors is reeling. So I think I’ll stop writing for now. I get tired quickly since the fire, but I know that will pass. We’re okay, and things will get better. Thank you for listening, our darling friends. I’ll write more soon.