If You Could Save One Thing...

DEBORAH CROMBIE: A few weeks ago, a house in our neighborhood burned. This was an historic home, on one of main streets leading into the town square. We knew the owners, although not well.  We were, in fact, frantic with worry for my husband's cousin, who lives across the street. (This was fairly late at night and the police and fire department had the entire area cordoned off, so we couldn't be sure what had happened. When we saw photos the next day, we were shocked.

We say "burned to the ground" rather lightly. The real thing is terrible. There was nothing left of this beautiful home but a pile of charred rubble, collapsed in on itself.  Absolutely nothing. Even after hurricanes, floods, and tornadoes, there are usually a few scraps of personal belongings or mementos that remain, but not here.

On the plus side, our firefighters did a terrific job of containment, and none of the other nearby homes were damaged. And the biggest plus of all--no one was hurt. The owners weren't home at the time of the fire.

But it started me thinking (the writer's curse.)  If I could save ONE thing, and only one, from my home, what would it be? (Of course it's a given that people and animals come first, so we're going to assume that family and pets are safely evacuated. We're also going to assume that we have our phones, and at least in the case of us writers, our laptops. And our wallets with credit/debit cards and driver's licenses.)

What, then, if I had to choose?  What would be irreplaceable? Old photos? (So many we've never managed to scan...) Books? Impossible to choose just one...  Art? Unless you happen to own an Old Master (and I don't), probably replaceable.  Although many of my London Transport posters are out of print...
Jewelry? Not in my case.

Journals, then?  A lifetime's worth of half-filled scribbled in, mismatched notebooks?  How to choose one?

I found I couldn't make a hypothetical choice.  Maybe, in a real situation, I could. Or I would grab something, without thought.

Reds, could we define our characters by what they would save?

And what would be the one thing you would rescue?

HALLIE EPHRON: ONE thing?? Boy is that a tough one. Thinking, thinking...

I choose an oil painting by my uncle Richard "Dickie" Wolkind, my mother's little brother. I'm guessing that he painted it when he was still an art student. When he died of cancer in 1955 at the age of 28, he was working for Disney studios. My mother, thirteen years older than he, was devastated. That painting about the only thing I got from my parents' estate, the only thing from her side of the family. It has pride of place over the fireplace in our living room.

RHYS BOWEN: This is something I've lain awake considering on nights I couldn't sleep. It would be really hard. I think I have all my writing and photos stored on a cloud so that wouldn't be too terrible. Most of our old photos are scanned. But we inherited a lot of John's parents' antiques, completely irreplaceable, like the sword an ancestor brought back from the crusades, the Chinese plates when John's grandfather was a governor of part of Malaysia or my favorite--the beautiful music box from the 19th century. I have a collection of dolls both foreign and antique and obviously I couldn't drag that cabinet out of the house.

Now I'm thinking clearly. My awards are on a shelf halfway down the stairs. I could easily grab a couple of Agatha teapots. But would I rather have them than the pot one of our kids made in second grade? Oh dear. More pondering to be done on sleepless nights, I guess. But the interesting thing is that I love being at our condo in the winter where we have no stuff, no clutter. It feels free and airy.

LUCY BURDETTE: What a tragedy Debs, although yes the people out of the house is most important. When we had Hurricane Irene bearing down on us in Connecticut a few years back, I faced a similar question. John had some surgery that very day and was overnight in the hospital. I rushed home and began to carry photo albums and paintings to the attic. The paintings are not valuable per se, but they are all done by local artists and we treasure them. My grandmother, Lucille Burdette, was also an amateur painter and I would hate to lose her few works. (Photo: Lucille and Frank Burdette.

As it turned out, we had no damage inside the house. Though I did have to evacuate and stay with friends (very good friends!) for three days with the cat, the dog, and my surgery patient.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: I've honestly thought about this, and like you all, I discover it's impossible. It's horrible, and terrifying, and choosing one thing, interestingly, makes it diminish. I mean--every time you looked at the thing--would you think about IT, or would it remind you of everything you lost? AH. I can't even talk about this. "I am so sorry for your loss" --that phrase we hear so often--just reverberates. 

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: When our children were little, we practiced fire drills at home. The Smithie's second grade class did a unit on fire safety, complete with visit to the local station and a booklet on how to make a family fire plan. A typical first child (responsible, organized, bossy) the Smithie insisted we follow the directions. (She was appointed to be our fire safety officer.) 

Although we thankfully never needed it, I'm glad we did have a plan, and that we roll-played - what if you can't get to mommy and daddy? What if the stairs are blocked? She and the Boy practiced crawling under smoke, touch-and-go (making sure the doors aren't hot) and several different ways to get out of our old house with its many doors and windows. One thing we stressed time and again was take nothing. More people are injured stopping to rescue things or going back for that one irreplaceable treasure. The only thing that can't be replaced is a human life.

So no, I wouldn't stop for anything. Leave it all behind and get out. I'm a surprisingly unsentimental person. 

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL:  I'm also surprisingly unsentimental about "stuff." In fact, I know this is strange in our culture, but I really try to own as little as possible. Part of it is being a New Yorker and simply not having the room, and part is just wanting life to be as simple as possible.

My computer is the only thing I'd grab, especially if it had a work in progress on it! (Now realizing I should back things up more often.)

Oh, and my grandmother's wedding ring. (See, I'm not completely without heart...) 

DEBS: Hallie, I love your uncle's painting! And how could I
have not thought about things like my signed Edward Gorey print (his last one, and one of the few in color.) Or the painting my now-well known artist cousin painted in his teens?  Or my half-dozen framed Christmas cards hand drawn by Laura Maestro, who illustrates my books? Or Rick's grandmother's Majolica teapot?  The list goes on and on.  But, like Rhys in her condo, I find staying in hotels and rented flats very liberating. Are we burdened or enriched by "stuff?"  A little of both, I think.  

Readers, what about you?  What one thing would you save?