I had no idea as I was blithely blogging about our upcoming golf outing at Torrey Pines that San Diego was already on fire.  Dan and I wandered down the road at around 4 pm, listening to the end of The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova.  So we were surprised by the cloud of smoke and ash as we hit Oceanside. 

As the smoke grew more dense, we turned on the radio and got the scoop on the Witch fire.  The bellman were wearing kilts (as per tradition) and painters' masks...sort of an odd combination.  We checked into the beautiful lodge and Dan got settled while I called Dad and Sally to check on family.

The inital report was that everyone was fine, even the family in Ramona.  Watching the news, I discovered that my beloved Malibu Presbyterian Church, where I spent many a Sunday in college, had burned.  Sad for that loss but so grateful that family was safe, Dan and I headed out.  We enjoyed a festive cocktail party and dinner at the Evans Garage, hosted by ca, the company putting on the golf tournament and round table.

At the dinner, I got an update.  Ramona was being evacuated.  My sister, Pamela, and her cats were heading to Dad and Sally's house.  My nephew, with my brother, Dennis, was fine.  His wife and babies were headed to his grandmother's house for refuge.  All was good.  I counted my blessings, grateful that everyone was safe.

We passed a fretful night, our second on a hotel bed in three days.  The air was smoky and dry...and I was extremely grateful for having packed my inhaler. 

Our tee-time was 6:45 am, so we rose early to stretch, hit a few balls, eat a muffin and down some coffee.  As we walked to the practice tee, it was still dark.  The sun rose gradually in the smoke-filled air and Dan and I joked about what the reported had said just as we left our room, "If at all possible, stay inside today."

Riding back to the shotgun gathering of carts, I remembered that Grandpa Stube, Buddy, had arrived at Torrey Pines in the dark on many a morning, securing his place for a walk-on 9-holes, along with his golfing pals.  It was a wonderful moment of connection and grace.

One of our foursome didn't make it to the course, he'd been evacuated the night before.  So Dan, our host Bryan, and I started out on the 7th hole (after replacing our dead cart) with 5's all around.  The 8th hole was a wicked par three with a huge wind coming at us (nothing like playing in a Santa Ana).  Dan got closest to the green but Bryan and I were well short.  I hit a brave chip shot up onto the green and our caddie, Gary Fuschetto, gave me a perfect read.  I dropped the putt for a par.  The next hole, a long par 5, proved more challenging for me and I was in with an 8.  We had just teed off on the 10th hole when a course official rode up and gave us the news that the course was closing.

After checking in with the folks (everyone was still fine and homes appeared to be in the clear other than Dennis's firewood burning...and no, he doesn't keep it stacked on the side of his house...he's a firefighter), we decided to head up to Orange County before traffic out of San Diego got any worse.

The drive was amazing.  We went up the 1 as far as Oceanside, traveling through smoke so dense it seemed like an eerie, orange twilight.  We stopped for breakfast at a cafe in Oceanside and were home after about two hours of travel.

As we drove up to our house, the winds were howling.  Smoke from the Irvine fires was blowing south into our area.  We rounded the corner and saw that our crape myrtle in the front yard had not survived the winds.  It sheared off at ground level, along with its supportive stake.  Other than that tiny loss, and a good deal of ash in the house since we left the upstairs windows open, we are intact.  Neither thing seems to be of any importance at all.

Meanwhile, friends up north in Santa Clarita all reported in safe, healthy and at home.  My heart aches for folks who were not as fortunate and I am numbering blessings with a full heart this morning  as smoke drifts in banks out to the ocean, North and South of the blue sky above our little hill.

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