My Mom’s 89^th birthday was October 11. She was going to be 89 and at that age, the future is uncertain. So for a short moment I turned in my broom and black pointy hat and tried to be a good daughter.

I decided to give her the gift of… me!

I made arrangements to take a red-eye flight Thursday from Los Angeles to New England so I could be at her house to surprise her when she woke up in the morning. To make it even more special, I organized my entire immediate family, which is a little like herding cats, to meet at a restaurant for lunch with her the following day.  Since I was only going to be there until Monday morning, I also made arrangements to take her to see her brother, also no spring chicken.

My temporary halo was glowing.

I had, however, forgotten that no good deed goes unpunished.

For a week prior to my trip, the local news media was shrieking that we were going to have dangerously bad Santa Ana winds and high fire danger. Now, I know it has been dry (it last rained in May) and I completely despise Santa Anas; if you’ve ever read Raymond Chandler, you’ll understand.

Our local meteorologists go wild with excitement whenever we have anything remotely resembling weather. If there is a smidgen of rain, they dub it “Storm Watch 2019!” and call it breaking news, and feature live video of reporters holding umbrellas.

So I dismissed the breathless warnings.

On Thursday morning the winds got serious. At the stable all of the jumps blew down, and when I drove out there, the truck was getting heaved around the road by gusting wind. Apparently we were having what they like to call a ‘major wind event.’

Therefore, I did take a few precautions. Fire terrifies me, and with all of my animals, I am usually super-prepared. I didn’t go as far as packing my truck and putting together emergency stashes (now and forever dubbed ‘apocalypse bags’) for me and the animals with all of their meds etc.

I do this for the ANIMALS. As for me, I don’t even pack aspirin, never mind clothing. If I’m out of my house for a while, I will be wearing the same grubby sweatshirt and jeans for weeks. But at least the animals will be okay.

So I made arrangements with Mark, the amazing ranch manager where I keep Mickey (who also happens to my trainer’s husband) to pick up and house the horses if something catastrophic happened while I was gone.

 I also dug out a small transport cage for my canaries and left the keys to my SUV with instructions for my house sitter that I’d arrange for a place to go, if needed. Since I had been so cautious, and there was no fire anywhere near me, I was pretty confident that everything was going to be fine.

You know, when you’re ready, nothing happens. Usually.

When I boarded my red eye to Hartford at 9:30 everything was good. By the time I landed bleary-eyed at 5:20 EST, (2:30 PT) all hell had broken out.

At the gate, I blithely turned on my phone and it blew up with messages from neighbors and friends about a fire that had started in  nearby Sylmar, jumped the 5 freeway (which just doesn’t happen that often) and was burning out of control in Porter Ranch, which is literally two miles away.

Fire can travel faster than you can imagine, particularly in 70 mile-per-hour winds.  Embers fly and ignite easily in super-dry conditions, and fire creates its own weather. It’s literally a toxic stew.

In a panic, I texted my house sitter, since I knew she’d be awake and concerned. She said it was smokey, but not bad yet.

By the time I picked up my rental car, but before I lost cell service in Mom’s rural part of the world, Mark called me and asked me what to do. We agreed to sit tight for a bit. Five minutes he called back to say that the 118 freeway, and the main way from my house to the ranch was about to close. But he had someone who could pick up my horses now if I wanted. I wanted.

At 5:30 PT a trailer arrived in my street and a team of lovely volunteers picked up by now freaking horses and drove them to the peace and tranquility of Lavender Creek Ranch. It’s only about 15 miles away, but far from the fires.

(My neighbors waited a few hours and my little street apparently turned into a horse van convention. There were trailers lining the street, with panicked horses refusing to load clogging everything.)

Lucy, the old pro, settled in right away, but Talen, who I’m sure recognized the ranch as a show barn, was afraid he was going back to work, and worried a bit.  Okay a lot. He screamed constantly. Still they were safe.

Meanwhile, back on the East Coast, I drove to the farm and woke Mom up. She was surprised and delighted to see me. Mission accomplished.

It was a stunning New England fall day. The trees were colorful the sky was blue and the temperature crisp. I didn’t notice, because my nose was jammed in my phone checking texts and updates from the LAFD.  The fire was so fast and furious that the fire department and LA City websites crashed. Soon the only updates I could get were on the notoriously rumor-free Facebook and Nextdoor sites.

That was just as much fun as it sounds.

I’d been in Mill River for about four hours when simultaneously the phone rang and I got a LAFD text alert: my neighborhood was being evacuated.

Since the horses were gone, my long-suffering house sitter Karen, only had to catch the canaries (not too hard) the cat (that alone took 45 minutes) and stuff the four dogs and some food into my SUV.  That’s all.

I texted her the address of my friend Kathy’s place (she had generously offered up her guesthouse) and called a few friends to meet her there with food and alcohol.

Then I kissed Mom who was urging me to leave, and headed back to the airport and got on the next flight to LA. I don’t pay Karen enough to evacuate, much less stay with the monsters in someone else’s space.

As I changed planes in Chicago, I got a text that the evacuation had been lifted.

Karen reloaded the clown car and brought everyone home. Sadly, there is no photographic evidence of this.

I landed at LAX at 1am on Saturday morning. As I drove north on the 405, the smoke filled the car around Sunset. By Mulholland, you could see the strips of flame ripping up the Sylmar hills. The 118 reeked and northbound exits were closed.

Ash was falling like snow as I pulled into my driveway. The dogs were super glad to see me, but they’d obviously enjoyed their adventure. Tilly the cat, not so much. The birds didn’t care.

So for all of my good intentions, planning and 28 hours of travel,  and a shitload of money, I spent six hours with my Mom on her 89^th birthday.

No good deed goes unpunished. Ever.