Wildfires, dumpster fires, and a keeper of the flame

There's no hierarchy of lost memories

One of my family members in Los Angeles reposted this to Instagram—a note Captain Flatos of San Luis Obispo County Fire left behind in a home threatened by last month’s fires. San Luis Obispo is the town where I live 150 miles up the coast from Los Angeles.

It feels so very long ago now, what with all the proverbial dumpster fires coming over the transom these days, but when Los Angeles went up in flames in early January, I began making notes on all the things I wanted to say in this newsletter about the enormous loss of memories. I know there were hard feelings and some schadenfreude regarding the average cost of the homes that burned, and sure, some were second or third homes, and sure, people with means have an easier time than the rest of us rebuilding the structures that protect them from the elements.

IMHO, though, there’s no hierarchy of lost memories. A grandfather’s Holocaust diary, a ringlet from a child’s first haircut, a watercolor painting from a honeymoon in Big Sur, the only remaining photo of a parent who died young—such losses equally devastate the multimillionaire Hollywood executive and the unpaid intern who fetches the executive’s venti oat milk two-pump vanilla latte every morning. We may live in a culture of vast inequality, but there still exist a few great equalizers—love, mortality, and the power of personal history, to name a few.

Your wedding photos, the love note your first crush passed you in homeroom, the binder of family recipes, the teddy bear from your third birthday, the baptism gown passed down through generations, the homemade birthday cards, the saved ticket stubs, the collected sand dollars, the worn wooden spoons, the high school letter jacket, the handmade toy box, the piece of sea glass from that glittering day . . . These are the pieces of a life that cannot be repurchased. Here is where we find common humanity.

Yes, many structures and storebought things are replaceable, and they’re easily replaced by some people. But fancy homes and the fancy items within them don’t make a life. Anyone will tell you that. Stories and memories and love and art and all the stuff you can’t buy make a life. And when the items that hold those stories and memories—the photographs and journals and letters and mementos—when they’re gone, they’re gone. For everyone.

So, that’s what I was thinking about a few weeks ago. And then my close friend Pableaux Johnson died suddenly while photographing a Sunday second line in New Orleans on January 26, and shock and grief eclipsed everything else. If you read about Pableaux’s life HERE or HERE, you’ll learn that he was a keeper of the cultural flame in New Orleans, a city that knows well what it’s like to lose memories. (Hurricane Katrina, August 29, 2005.) Pableaux created memories every Monday evening by gathering friends around his grandmother’s old kitchen table for red beans and rice and cornbread, and he was constantly documenting memories for loved ones and culture-bearers from his happy place behind a camera.

This is a photo of Pableaux I love because I’ve seen him in this state a hundred times. Someone uploaded it to his memorial page.

Pableaux’s death is a massive loss for me personally, and for the wide circle of people whose lives he improved with his uniquely intimate style of friendship. But the bigger picture of Pableaux is about gain. Pableaux’s life was a net positive. He not only left his friends and loved ones in better shape than he found them; he was a radical connector and documentarian who left behind extensive writings, Spotify playlists, voicemails, recipes, and what must be hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of photographs. Many of the latter are already finding a home in Louisiana historical archives.

In Pableaux’s name, and in honor of the memories lost in the Los Angeles fires, how about telling a story today. Get out your journal. Print a photo. Write a note for someone to save. I’m setting an example with this one.

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Saturday Office Hours and Coaching

Last Saturday, I launched my Saturday Office Hours and Coaching for book production and publishing. Are you wondering about the benefits of starting a newsletter to market your book? Or maybe you don’t have a book yet and want tips on writing a proposal. Or you can’t decide whether to look for a traditional publisher or to self-publish. Wherever you are in the book writing and production process, I’d love to help you sort through your thoughts and find solutions that match your project and goals. Click THIS LINK for more information about my Saturday hours or email me and I’ll give you all the details you need.

New on Life Lines, my advice column for memoir and life story writers!

Q: What’s the best way to use journal entries in a memoir?

Read my A HERE.

Email me at hello@sararoahen.com if you have a question for Life Lines.