I thought, “So this is how it ends”
During my lengthy career of reporting and editing, I have worked my share of fire stories.
I always pushed myself and my reporters to dig for the human element of the story.
Anybody can put together the “who, what, when, where, why, and how” of a story. It takes little talent or digging to get the basics.
But those elements are only a very minor part of a story. The human element — how people respond and react and their emotions and experiences — is what matters. People can breeze through the basics and not get the full impact. To fully understand, you must get into their hearts and minds and tell that story.
Until Friday, I always thought my reporters and I had done a good job of storytelling, of relating those horrible incidents in a way to reflect that fragile thing we call the human condition.
I now know better.
Painfully.
You see, Thursday night, my wife Cara, our puppy Daisy, and I were threatened by a frightening fire.
The condo we live in is a four-unit building. A fire broke out in one of the units in our building when some people irresponsibly lit a propane cooking stove indoors. It burst into flames that quickly spread to the unit next door and crept towards our unit.
Firefighters responded quickly and battled the blaze.
Meanwhile, Cara and I were furiously searching for our treasures and necessities to rescue. Our lovely neighbor Gabrielle showed up early to usher Daisy to the middle of the fairway on the golf course we live on, so we knew our little girl was safe and in good, loving hands. It had already been a hell of a week for Daisy as she had just days before been to a spaying clinic and was already in a state of confusion and anxiety.
We were soon joined by other members of our Baja family who live nearby — Dirk, Rob, Rebecca, Ray, Ted, Barbara, Jorge, Penny, Dawnette, Susan, and surely others whom I did not see — who arrived to help remove items from the building. The owners of our condo, Michael and Sylvia, were at our side for support, encouragement, and friendship.
We didn’t know it at the time, but our dear friend Robbie was one of the first responders, pulling hoses for Los Bomberos — our firefighters. There were several others — Paco, Cesar, and God knows who else — rescuing our possessions from the garage and assisting the small but talented firefighting force that arrived to strangle the flames.
Some brave, kind people who we have never seen before showed up to help as well.
I am uncomfortable about mentioning names in fear of leaving somebody out or in the very likely event that somebody came, did what they could, and left without fanfare or our knowledge. That’s how it is here on The Baja.
But know that in my heart, you are all heroes in Cara’s, Daisy’s, and my eyes.
They were hauling furniture, clothing, televisions, and the rest of our possessions out of the house to protect them from what seemed like an imminent assault through our bedroom wall.
It was utter madness, shock, and fear.
As Cara and I made our last sweep through our home, a huge plume of smoke filled the bedroom.
It was dark.
It was hot.
It was smelly.
It was quiet despite the torrent of water the battling firefighters were pouring onto the flames.
We couldn’t see.
For a moment, we couldn’t figure where the door was.
We were both sure flames had made it through the firewall and were about to burst into our home.
It was almost impossible to breathe.
I can remember thinking: “So this is how it ends.”
In retrospect, it was foolish to have been in our home at that point.
The flames were shooting 20–30 feet into the air through gaping holes in the roof, and firefighters were furiously hitting them with everything they had. At that point, it was a now-or-never moment as far as containing the fire. If it had not been stopped at that point, our condo and the other one on the other side of ours would surely have been engulfed.
Here in Mexico, most of us live minimalist lives. We don’t clutter them with useless crap, and I really don’t get a sense that many give a damn about keeping up with the Joneses. But what we do have is very, very important to us.
There is also a real sense of community here, not just some vague head nodding in the stores or a wave as you pass each other on the street.
We refer to each other as our Baja family, and not in some mock, cliché-ridden way. There is a true sense of connection and familial bonds that may get stretched at times but never really break. Is it all perfect? Of course not, nothing ever is. But for this place, this group of people gathered here at this point of time and space, it is as close to perfection as it could get. It may not work for others, but it is good enough for me.
There are occasional spats, misunderstandings, and a bit of snippiness, but everybody here pretty well knows what really matters: that despite whatever sibling rivalries bubble up, we remain brothers and sisters of the heart, mind, and soul and that we realize we are all pretty much the same while still being pretty much different in our own special ways. But again, that is good enough for me.
After the flames subsided, we had numerous offers of shelter and have been staying with Rosemary, who is lovingly referred to as the mamacita of our community.
Anger?
We’ve got lots of anger. The fire was the result of irresponsible behavior by idiots, plain and simple.
Shock?
It is still largely unbelievable that something like this would happen to us. It was a frightening experience, one I hope to never go through again. I would not wish those feelings on anybody.
There are still some physical aspects from it all. We are tired from all of the lifting and toting and are still getting over the smoke inhalation, but we will survive.
We have a lot of clean-up — physical, mental, and emotional — work ahead of us. But Cara, Daisy, and I made it out safely, and that is all that matters.
Peace.
The viewpoints expressed above are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of The Independent.
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You are alive. Material objects are transitory. Re: Buddha’s last words… So happy all is well, rebuild, conquer again, and as the Floyd song goes… run rabbit run, dig that hole in the sun… time to dig another one…. well dig another one. We may not agree on politics, but we are all bozos on the same bus. Firesign theater, but a fool , can elevate… If only all of us can see we are all one and the same. Different timelines no doubt, but all the same. Good luck and best wishes.