ArcaMax

2025 is a full year so far.

If you grew up in the beautiful (but parlous) land of Los Angeles and live in Washington D.C., the moment feels like paradise lost.

Seeing your hometown burn to the ground on screen, with high winds showing no mercy and leaving vast swaths of city life destroyed, makes tears run dry as fire hydrants.

Nothing will ever be the same. California dreamin' woke up a nightmare.

The loss of lives extinguished in the Palisades and Altadena fires is the first layer of grief. Other layers are shared losses of houses, neighborhoods, schools, shops and streets. Community.

Unlike most big cities, Los Angeles has no central core of population. It's a horizontal expanse of enclaves, each with its own character.

Take picturesque Pacific Palisades, the rolling neighborhood where iconic Sunset Boulevard wends its way to the beach. The California essence of cool went down in catastrophic flames. My favorite elementary school teacher, now a psychotherapist, "lost everything" in the unutterable tragedy.

The Great London Fire in 1666, the Great Chicago Fire in 1871 and the San Francisco Fire in 1906 are comparable urban events. The conflagrations cleared cities for remarkable architecture, like St. Paul's Cathedral.

Going to a New Year's Eve party two weeks ago, I took Sunset, past Will Rogers' historic home and Palisades High. As I drove up the Pacific Coast Highway, Moonshadows restaurant in Malibu stood clear by the breaking waves.

These places, holding meaning and memory, are in ashes. My family and friends took a walk up to Inspiration Point in Will Rogers State Park every Thanksgiving for sweeping sights from downtown to the sparkling ocean, even Catalina Island, where I went to camp.

In a young city that lives for tomorrow, vestiges of the past are perhaps more precious than we knew -- before the blazes.

At Santa Monica High (Samohi), I spent my youth playing tennis, running marathons, riding my bike and getting good grades. The Eagles were our soundtrack, though the Malibu girls loved the Beach Boys better. A cultural divide in our seemingly carefree selves.

The weather made it easy to turn a sunny face to a city built on beauty.

"You look great" is a common greeting. But there's a lot of churn and creative, original thought -- performers, seekers and storytellers for the nation -- going on under the sunglasses and swimming pools.

The same week, the nation bade farewell to Jimmy Carter, in his flag-draped coffin at the Capitol and the National Cathedral.

I attended the somber and silent remembrance as the blue-eyed Southern governor rested on the same catafalque as did Lincoln and Kennedy in the Capitol Rotunda -- open to the public overnight, soldiers and sailors standing sentry.

Carter accepted his 1980 defeat and delved into humanitarian work that earned him the Nobel Peace Prize. He was a champion for human rights and fair elections abroad. As president, he brokered peace between Israel and Egypt.

And he taught Sunday school in Plains, Georgia, the town he loved till his last breath at 100.

At Carter's funeral in the morning, Andrew Young, 92, Carter's ambassador to the United Nations, gave a eulogy expressing amazement that a Deep South peanut farmer rose to the presidency. Note: Carter also served as a naval officer.

Sullen Donald Trump was the only president who didn't place his hand on his heart as the Carter coffin passed by. That would have been too gracious.

As the coffin colors moved along the Cathedral aisle, I broke down in tears. That represented a good man gone, my girlhood, the death of democracy as we've known it.

In the pew sat a man who sent a mob to overthrow a fair election on Jan. 6, 2021. I witnessed the Capitol attack.

Californians fear the fires will be politicized before they're put out. Not a word of sympathy has come from the president-elect, who may seize the chance to settle political scores against our deep blue state.

If Trump keeps his campaign promises to deport thousands, seek revenge and name fiery loyalists to destroy agencies, and hangs out with hater Elon Musk, then, well, ask not for whom the bell tolls.

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The author may be reached at JamieStiehm.com. To find out more about Jamie Stiehm and other Creators Syndicate columnists and cartoonists, please visit creators.com.

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