In September I wrote about our local wildfires and the devastation they caused. I talked about the losses; not just of vehicles and structures, but of absolutely everything the fire victims owned. Many were forced to flee their homes with only a few minutes warning, leaving behind possessions both exotic and mundane – everything from clothes and shoes to kitchen goods, linens, and furniture. They were reduced to what they could cram into their vehicle in just a few minutes.
I described my own indecision when faced with a voluntary, preemptive evacuation. I had time to think about what to take and yet I still managed to miss some vital items (passports, anyone?).
I think this will become like that old American Express commercial, "Don't leave home without it."
We were lucky. The fire didn’t get close and we returned to a home that looked exactly as it did when we left. Friends and co-workers were not so fortunate.
In retirement we are not rolling in dough. Most retirees are not. We still were better off than those who lost everything, and we donated and volunteered though it often felt like a tiny drop in an ocean of buckets.
I had something else, though. I had a creative urge, some rudimentary beading skills, and a stash of materials. In short, I had a potential stash of jewelry.
Frivolous? Perhaps. But for women and girls who left home with nothing more than the clothes on their backs that tiny bit of frivolity could be a bright spot of “normal” in the barren reality of their loss.
Even more than my basic skills and accumulated supplies, I had friends. Two of them, women I have known for decades, recently moved to our small coastal town (fortunately, to one of the neighborhoods not threatened by the fire). They both have excellent skills, and their own hoards of beads, wire, thread, clasps, and tools.
One morning just after Thanksgiving we hauled out boxes and baskets of supplies – each of us masked and at separate tables – in their living room. We had done this once before, right after the fires, and found we worked well together, exchanging supplies and techniques, sharing ideas, admiring each other’s creations, and chatting amiably as we worked.
Fueled by our shared creative energy – and several pots of coffee – we set to work.
We worked through the afternoon, finally calling a halt when our hands were too tired to twist another wire and our eyes were strained from staring at tiny components as we tried out one combination after another.
We did not make as many pieces as we had in September. That day we had produced about 60 pairs of earrings. But our November workday still produced more than 50 pieces, including many bracelets and some necklaces, as well as couple dozen pairs of earrings – many of them holiday-themed.
Our day's work. We put stoppers on each earring and placed each pair in their own zippered plastic bag. The necklaces were also bagged to prevent tangling.
A few days later I met with one of the organizers from the local relief distribution center and handed over our bounty. I made sure she knew there were holiday pieces in the mix, so that the recipients could have something special to wear in the last weeks before Christmas.
Some Christmas lights, and some mis-matched cloisonne charms. There were other holiday-themed pairs as well.
We also talked about the not-so-holiday items as potential gifts. It was our sincere hope that someone still struggling with the aftermath of the devastation would find something pretty to give their wife/mother/daughter at a time when gift shopping is nearly impossible.
Bracelets! We got a little crazy with the bracelets. Colors! Bead shapes! Crazy combinations! But when we were through? What a blast of creative energy!
I know that our contribution is not going to keep anyone fed or clothed, or put a roof over their heads.
Those are all very real needs in our community right now, and they will continue for many months, or years. Clearing the debris from home sites is ongoing, and after that will come inspections and permits and replacing utility access.
Even the rare family that could immediately afford to replace their homes – and many of the lost structures were rentals, or older manufactured homes that insurers refused to cover – are finding that manufactured housing is backordered by many months and construction companies are booked well into the new year. It may be summer, or even next fall, before they will have a place to move.
I can’t operate a skip loader to clear debris. I can’t fund new homes to replace those that were lost. I can’t even spend my days shoveling ashes into dumpsters right now. There are a lot of things I can’t do.
But I am trying not to focus on what I can’t do, and look for the things I can.
I hope that I was able to share my creativity and make someone else happy, even if only for a little while. It is a small thing, but I hope it will bring a smile to someone. I hope some girl, little or big, opened a box on Christmas morning to find a bracelet, or a pair of earrings, or a necklace that brought her joy.
There is a postscript to this tale of creativity.
As I noted above, we often shared/traded materials while we were working. If I needed a particular color of bead and hadn’t brought the right thing, one of my friends would offer something from her bead stash, and I did the same.
I brought a bag of graduated beads in a pale pink/beige color but I didn’t use them. My friend remarked on them, and I handed them over to her, telling her she was welcome to them as I had no immediate use for them.
We got together on Christmas Eve, and exchanged gifts. And I got those beads back – knotted onto silk thread with a gold clasp.
Not only is it lovely, it's an absolute perfect length!
I will be forever grateful for her gift of creativity.