Thousand Oaks

I was a little girl when I first heard of Thousand Oaks, California.  Our neighbors had kids much older than me and their daughter was marrying and moving to California.  It sounded so exotic back in the sixties.  A young bride leaving her parents for the Golden State.  I didn't occasion to speak with this sophisticate much, but I recall her saying how warm and nice it will be.  By the ocean.  Palm trees and tropical year round breezes.  I was enamored by her wanderlust.

Every once in a while as I grew up, made my own cross-country treks, settled in the mountain west, I'd think of Thousand Oaks and the dreams of Judy Grasiola.  I'm not sure that is her real name.  A Facebook inquiry to a hometown group I belonged to yielded ambiguous results.  But I'm going with what I remembered.  Anyway - I've been to California three times in my travels.  The first time was in 1987.  My wusband and I took almost a whole year and bummed around the United States in his little light blue Chevy S10 pickup truck.  We drove many miles and logged about 40 states into our National Parks passport.  That inaugural trip to the land of nuts and fruit started in northern California.  We dropped in from Oregon and took the famous US1.  A thrilling and nauseating adventure.  It is hard to remember more than 30 years later, but I am pretty sure we only got as far south as the San Francisco area.  We visited my Uncle Frank and his friend Kay.

Trip number two was in 2001 - pre 9/11.  My ex and I took the kids to SoCal for a Disney/Sea World/Legoland whirlwind.  The most memorable part of that trip was having to buy winter coats in April - in California!  It was warmer in Colorado when we departed, than when we deplaned at John Wayne Airport.  We treated my nephew Michael to Disney Land.  I recall him donning sunglasses and proclaiming what a sunny day SoCal was having.  My ex and I both chortled.  To us it was hazy and overcast.  The skies did not compare to our everlasting Colorado sunshine.  The bonus on this trip was connecting with my childhood friend - and sista of anotha motha - Pamela, and her kids at Legoland.

My last visit in was in 2014.  I drove with my youngest daughter through western Colorado, Utah and Nevada to arrive in San Diego where we stayed with my cousin Billy and his family.  His mom, Cookie is my first cousin on my dad's side.  These two were fabulous hosts with a great guest set-up.  Our own casita on the property in the hills just east of San Diego.  We were enjoying our time so much that we convinced my middle daughter to fly out and join us.  We went to the beach, ate amazing meals and enjoyed the sunshine.  Yes - finally the state lived up to it's nickname.

We also visited my childhood friend Pam again this time in Ojai - just east of Ventura.  Beautiful landscape.  But dry.  Lake Casitas, the source of drinking water for these parts was depleting.  The trees appeared to be suffering.  Landscapes were tinder.  I recognized all too clearly conditions that were ripe for disaster.  Just two short years earlier, my own neighborhood in the suburban/mountain interface of Colorado Springs was ravaged by a wildfire.  The wood slat fences designed to assure neighborly privacy fueled the flames.  Dried out decks, lack of a defensible barrier surrounding homes and even wood shake rooves contributed to the decimation.  To my untrained, but familiar eye this artsy enclave was in peril.

Now the news of fires in California are prolific and heart-wrenching.  In the past few years we have seen my friend's beloved Ojai surrounded by the Thomas Fire.  The Mendocino complex.  Napa Valley.  Southern California.  Even metropolis' like LA are barely spared.  The list of names to denote the fires is voluminous.  The headline remains the same "Largest fire in California history", but the place name is constantly changing.  The Camp fire is massive.  More than 600 people missing, though authorities are hopeful that this number will decrease as evacuees mark themselves as 'safe.'

The fire near Thousand Oaks, Woolsey, came on the heels of (another) mass shooting.  How much grief can a community endure?  No time to process a hail of bullets before a wall of fire prevails.  I cannot imagine how this childhood notion of a town with swaying palms and ocean breezes is holding up.  Reality always tempers fantasy.  These people are suffering.  The way my neighbors suffered in Colorado Springs.  Just two years past the Waldo Canon Fire, we had a shooting in the same supposedly bucolic corner of the city.  Tragedy after tragedy.  I am mentally fatigued.

I don't know what became of Judy from Edgewood Lane.  If she still lives in Thousand Oaks, I hope she was spared the sufferings of late.  If she ever reads this, I want her to know that I have thought about her and her Utopia many times over the years.  Perhaps her move to California  was an early seed of adventure planted in my pre-pubescent consciousness.  To her and for that- I am eternally grateful.

Time to write,

Jane