HOME: Return Reimagined
A homecoming shaped by sweat, gratitude, and a whole lot of paper plates.
We Saw Home on the Horizon
After months of displacement, we could finally see our home—not just as a place, but as a possibility again. What we weren’t prepared for was how much work it would take to make that possibility livable.
The restoration company, unfortunately, did a poor job. So we took matters into our own hands. My daughter’s partner, along with his former advisor from Cal Tech—both scientists—developed a full cleaning protocol. The four of us rolled up our sleeves and began the long, exhaustive process of reclaiming our space.
Yes, we cleaned the entire house.
For four or five days, we removed every item, scrubbed every surface, and contained what couldn’t be salvaged. One large room now holds what remains—some things are total losses, others we’ll clean and restore over time. That room is sealed off, and we’re not using the HVAC to avoid circulating contamination.
Through literal sweat and effort, we moved back in—with only the essentials.
Rebuilding With Just Enough
New beds. New towels. A new refrigerator. A giant Ninja air fryer/convection oven. That’s it.
We unpacked what we had collected in our cars during our displacement—items we knew were clean, items that had become our lifelines. We flushed the water heater, the washer, the dryer. We set up folding tables outside to create a makeshift workspace. We realized—too late—that we forgot a table and chairs, so we grabbed a few plastic ones.
I joked about leaving my DNA everywhere, sweat pouring off me as we worked. We leaned hard on our community. The kindness of friends kept us afloat. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was progress.
A Patchwork of Progress
It took several days before we even assembled our new beds. Meanwhile, DoorDash, Amazon, and Instacart became the holy trinity of convenience. Without them, this transition would have been ten times harder.
We owe so much to J and J’s circle of friends—compassionate, generous people who stepped in with support we didn’t even know we needed. Several of them had lost their own homes. Still, they showed up for us.
On Sunday, we went out to dinner in downtown L.A. to celebrate this strange milestone. It was a moment of normalcy, a shared laugh in a city that hasn’t stopped moving—even when parts of it are burning or protesting. A few blocks away, demonstrations were unfolding. It was sobering, but for us, this dinner marked a return to feeling human.
A New Kind of Home
So here I am—home again. With limited “things.” No shower curtain yet. Paper plates and plastic utensils. And slowly, the real things are coming back.
Am I forever changed?
Yes. Forever different. Forever grateful. Forever more aware of what I have—and who I have.
I’ve always believed in kindness. Those small, seemingly insignificant gestures that ripple into something much greater. “Random acts of kindness” aren’t random at all—they’re decisions. They don’t cost you anything, but they pay you back in humanity.
There is so much hate in the world now. Hate that’s been bottled up, fed, and unleashed. I can’t change all of it. None of us can. But we can choose to change ourselves.
If my fire displacement experience teaches you anything, let it be this:
Say thank you. Do something kind. Let someone know they matter.
I promise—it matters more than you think.