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Anne Louise Bannon is the author of the Old Los Angeles and the Operation Quickline series. Her latest book is Death of the Drunkard. You can find out more about her on her website, read her last post here, and buy her books here.

We lost our power at 5:18 p.m. that night. With the winds roaring like jet engines, my husband, Michael Holland, and I ate dinner by candlelight, then settled in for some reading. We weren’t worried so much as wondering how many days we’d be living in the 19^th Century, i.e. without electricity.

Around seven or so that night of January 7, 2025, a friend who lives near us called to let us know that a fire had broken out in Eaton Canyon. It wasn’t good news, but hey, we were a good two-plus miles away from the brush surrounding Altadena, California. We had lots and lots of houses in the way. It would take an apocalypse to reach us.

An apocalypse is what we got.

Our sweet little house is gone, as are the homes of most of our immediate neighbors. Over 7000 structures burned. While we are grateful that we got our dog and three cats out, along with the important papers and photos, there was much we had to leave behind. Things that cannot be replaced, like all the 78 rpm records and stuff Michael has been collecting since he was a teenager. Like the paintings my parents did when I was a kid. Like the hand-written manuscript of my first novel, which I wrote when I was fifteen.

Nor is it just the stuff. It’s waving at my neighbors in the morning as I take my walk. Going into the coffee place where the baristas know my name and I know theirs. Heading into the little legacy diner and chatting and bitching with the owner and cook, Barb Shay. The Little Red Hen Coffee Shop is gone. Unincorporated coffee will be back, but we can’t get to it because the roads are still closed.

All these little rituals gone, along with the pincushion and pins I’ve had since my eighth-grade home economics class, and the wool fabric I bought in Venice last October that needed some intense layout work to get pieces for a pair of dress slacks out of them.

My feelings, surprise, surprise are all over the place. I’m trying to give myself room to grieve, but there’s so much that needs doing, and everything takes so much longer. Waiting almost two hours to get our mail from the main post office, which I wouldn’t have done, but we were expecting some important paperwork.

I know intellectually that I am handling the situation as well as anyone can – that my reactions are healthy responses to trauma. My gut doesn’t get that, though, and the next time someone says how brave I am, I’m going to deck them.

No, I won’t because I know that people are trying to be supportive and, really, there are no words sufficient for what Michael and I are dealing with. But at the same time, I can’t handle much more toxic positivity. (There’s a term for it! Who knew?)

The response from the people we know has been amazing. Several people who I had good reason to believe were not particularly fond of me have gone the extra mile to offer us money, shelter, and gift cards. Other friends have been more than generous in the same way. Hell, relatives I haven’t spoken to in years (and was glad not to) are suddenly texting me with kind messages.

And it’s not just me. The friend who called to tell us about the fire? He and his wife have also lost everything, and she just now called me because people have given her so many clothes, she can’t use them all. This entire region is reaching out to one another, both the whole and the wounded.

I reached out to a woman recently, and she lifted me up. She began by crying on my shoulder, deep, soul-wrenching sobs. When she started sniffing, I told her that we’d get through this. She paused, then raised her hand for a high-five.

“We’re badass!” she hollered. “We’re gonna jump right outta this shit!”

I’m going to put that on a T-shirt.

So many people all over are wondering what they can do to help our hometown. Actually, there is something people can do, and it’s going to take a lot of us. There is no question that the perfect storm that ignited the Eaton, the Pacific Palisades and all the other fires burning around Los Angeles, was caused by climate change.

I am just as guilty of contributing to it as anyone, but I ask all of us to start the change by skipping the straw.

When you order your iced tea or soda, tell the waiter you don’t want a straw and drink around the ice. Yeah, it’s a little thing, but when a whole lot of people go without that little bit of plastic, it will add up to a butt load not going into our landfills and even fewer petrochemicals being used to make the darned things.

Consider skipping meat one night a week. Being a dedicated carnivore, I know how hard that is. But when a whole lot of us do, we won’t need to raise so many cows, pigs, and chickens, which will reduce greenhouse gas emissions.

When your car is idling, turn the engine off. There are probably times when you need to keep it on to keep the heater going while you text someone. But most of the time, you don’t need to, so don’t put the emissions into the atmosphere. Or maybe try walking instead of driving every so often. Your arteries and your doctor will thank you.

Yes, these are all little things. But if a whole lot of us do them, it will have a massive impact, far greater than if a few of us go plastic-free and car-free. We make small changes, then more small changes, and eventually, we’ll get on top of this climate thing. We can do it.

We will rebuild my little town. We will make a better world. We are Altadena Strong. We are BADASS!