Los Angeles has been my home for nearly 20 years, and the devastation here, now, is unfathomable. Entire neighborhoods have been reduced to rubble. Houses, businesses, schools, places of worship—all gone, devoured in an apocalyptic conflagration.
I'm thinking about the woman I saw on the news describing the home she lost as a 'member of my family.' I'm thinking about houses as repositories of memory, guardians of history.
It's practically impossible to find the appropriate tone to address a cataclysm like this when your platform is, in the old parlance, a glossy shelter magazine, chockablock with beautiful houses and shiny happy people.
Our homes are the frameworks we erect to give our lives structure, meaning, beauty. Through that lens, the scale of loss is incalculable.
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