We live on Ash Street. Literally. Due to the Brea/Yorba Linda fires last week, our street was able to live up to its name. Everything is still covered in a layer of ash. I saw on the news that the fire was jumping houses by way of hot embers in the air, so I made Ryan hose down the perimeter of our house because our yard is pretty much dry brush right now. One of the reasons he's such a wonderful husband is that he humors me and my paranoid requests.
This was the view from our car on our way to Barrett Windes' 2nd birthday party in Yorba Linda on Saturday. It was devastating to think of all the homes that were destroyed and all the people who were affected. There were crowds of people everywhere just watching in shock. There was a constant stream of police & fire-truck sirens going off in the distance all day long. It kind of felt like the end of the world, like something out of a movie. It was so surreal.
Saturday night was miserable in our house. It's an old house and there's about an inch between the bottom of our front door and the ground. We rolled up a towel to block the smoke from seeping in but we still woke up Sunday morning to a stuffy, smokey house. We put a humidifier in Wendy's room, which seemed to help. But I couldn't really complain about everything I own smelling like it had been to a bon fire, when there are people who have lost everything they own. My heart really goes out to them.