Homesick
A Soundtrack To Rebuilding And Recovery
S.W. Lauden is my pen name. The person behind it is Steve Coulter.
My family and I sadly lost our Altadena, CA home to the Eaton Fire. We are all safe, but the road ahead will no doubt be difficult.
These “Vodka Sauce” posts are more Coulter than Lauden, but I’m trying to spread them out between our regularly scheduled “music, books and music books” programming.
Earlier this week I watched the Army Corps of Engineers clear the fire debris from our lot in Altadena.
The chimney, which became a towering tombstone in my mind, was already gone by the time I arrived mid-morning. I took that as a sign that things were moving forward, but regretted missing its symbolic destruction. I needed some sense of closure and felt I had let an opportunity slip through my fingers like ashes through a sifter.
I’m full of these momentary regrets lately, constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop, another tragedy to arrive. I try to keep busy, but trauma is patient.
I was greeted by a couple of friendly subcontractors as I walked up. They explained the process, answered my questions about foundation and tree removal, and listened as I reminisced about our destroyed home and neighborhood. Both expressed their sincere condolences and wished us luck in the rebuilding process.
Wandering over to a familiar spot under our sturdy oak—the only tree on our lot not marked for removal—I watched as the remains were diligently scraped into massive mounds. I was hypnotized by the fluid motion of the excavator’s arm which swung buckets full of wreckage into a line of waiting dump trucks while a Bobcat loader buzzed around in the background like a Tonka toy come to life.
Half of our house’s footprint was already cleared by the time I left a while later. Anything that hadn’t already been hauled away was amassed where our garage once stood. The twisted remains of bed frames, metal shelves, kitchen appliances, mountain bikes, camping gear, and the charred metal rims of my drums jutted out from the peaked piles of rubble that used to be our home.
I said my thank yous and headed for the car, numbed by the finality of it all.
It was late afternoon by the time I returned.
I waited as the Army Corps and various subcontractors did their final inspections, efficiently loaded the heavy equipment onto a massive semi truck that filled our narrow foothills street, and packed up all their tools. A neighborhood friend drove by and we chatted as the last of the crew waved and headed off to the next Altadena lot.
He and I discussed the many things that occupy our minds these days: insurance payouts and SBA loans; architects and contractors; building codes, plan checks and permits, and how different our community will look in 2-3 years. He eventually drove off too and I was soon standing by myself on an uneven patch of disturbed earth.
We used to sit out on our lovely backyard deck, craning to see the stunning SoCal sunsets over the neighbors’ houses and through the many tall trees that surrounded our property. It was no problem watching day turn to night as I occupied the fleeting space between the recent past and whatever the future holds.
I’m not sure how I expected to feel standing there in the eerie silence of our erased neighborhood, but what arose inside of me is best described as homesickness. I’d finally accepted that there was no home to go back to, not until we build the new house and finally put this entire unwanted chapter of our lives behind us.
It may take years, but we’ll get there.
My daughter Lucy wrote a touching piece about her experience being away from home during this stressful period for our X/Z Song Trader series.
She framed her perspective around Noah Kahan’s “The View Between Villages.” I have long found it easier and more comfortable to process my emotions and major life events through music, so it was interesting as a parent to see Lucy use it as a coping mechanism in a similar way.
Nature? Nurture? Hard to say, but I’ve been listening to that song a lot since reading her essay, including that night as I drove away from our empty property. The algorithm latched onto Kahan’s catalog and eventually delivered his song “Homesick” as I made my way down the hill to our latest Airbnb.
The universe can be like that sometimes. I laughed and cranked up the volume.
That got me thinking about other songs that explore similar themes. Since this is first and foremost a music-focused newsletter, I decided to create a quick playlist, but my scattered brain only came up with a handful tracks that felt appropriate for a soundtrack to rebuilding and recovery.
Here’s what I have so far: “Sloop John B” by The Beach Boys, “What Are We Doing Here?” by John Entwistle, “This Must Be The Place” by Talking Heads, “Subterranean Homesick Alien” by Radiohead, “Home” by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, “Coming Home Soon” by The Television Personalities, and (of course) “Home Sweet Home” by Mötley f’ing Crüe.
I decided it would be more fun to crowdsource the playlist, so please leave your song suggestions in the comments and I’ll share the results with everybody very soon.
Until then, I wanted to thank you all for the incredible support over the last couple of months (including Alina’s beautiful drawing). Yes, it has been that long already, but we have a long way to go before we finally get to go home again.
Homeward Bound (Simon & Garfunkel). Sending lots of love, Steve! ❤️
*not about being homesick at all, but this popped into my head: In Every Dream Home a Heartache 😉
Not sure this one fits, but the lyrics of Counting Crows' Long December have really stuck with me the last few months. "I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself to hold on to these moments as they pass."