On May 30, 2023, I left Los Angeles where I was born and raised and drove out the driveway for the last time from the house I had known since 1965. With my dog, Cali in the back seat and my nephew Adam riding shotgun, our journey took us through Arizona, up into Colorado through the Rocky Mountains, and across the plains of Nebraska and Iowa. Finally, arriving in Chicago, also known as Chi-town, the Windy City, or the Third Coast.

I now live in an amazing neighborhood called Rogers Park in the far north section of the city. I walk along the coastline of Lake Michigan every morning and see the same people every day. Rogers Park feels like a small town. Considered a “walker’s paradise” according to Redfin, I have the independent Morse Fresh Market two blocks away, Le Piano jazz club even closer and RP Social Club, the neighborhood bar where one of my favorite bands plays every Monday evening. There is so much to do, you must pace yourself!

Recently, LoveandGrief.org installed another beautiful memoriam next to the tennis courts for a few weeks. This one was particularly stunning and whimsical.

A local told me that Rogers Park has more dogs per capita than any other neighborhood in Chicago and I believe it. I’ve found a group of like-minded dog owners at the far end of the park where we let our dogs romp off leash in the early morning. Sometimes, we bring coffee and donuts just for fun. It’s a 2-mile walk roundtrip for me, but it’s worth it because Cali basically sleeps for the rest of the day.

Everyone can’t wait until Memorial Day weekend when the Blue Jay Café will open its doors for the summer next to the sand and children’s playground at the beach.

And the Glenwood Farmers Market which starts April 19th. Unlike Los Angeles which has open markets all year long, we have to wait until Spring.

The other day, I was sitting outside in the front yard with Cali when I saw a postal truck stop and park. Our mailman Luke got out and crossed the street for only one reason: to pet my dog. Are you kidding me?

I would also contend that RP may have more artists than any other neighborhood in the Windy City. Writers, painters, musicians and everything in between seem to gather here in a supportive atmosphere crackling with creativity.

How ironic I had to leave Hollywood in order to be successful in the “biz”. Since my move here, I secured distribution for the documentary ABOVE AND BEYOND: The Story of Cpl. William T. Perkins, Jr. that I produced with my late partner Craig Ingraham. I’ve joined a band singing and playing electric bass and published my debut novel FREEDOM QUEST-A Love Story.

There is something to be said for living in a vibrant community of fellow artists who support each other and spread love.

We’re having a great big party on May 3, 5-7pm in Rogers Park at Jarvis Square Tavern to celebrate my book release and a second book release event at the Guitar Works Ltd. music store on May 17, 4-6 p.m. in Evanston. Both are easily accessible via the Red Line.

And I’ll be in San Diego April 25, 3-6 p.m. at Folk Arts Rare Records and L.A. (Studio City) May 2, 5-7 p.m. at The Last Bookstore. I sure would love to meet you!

Check out the Events page on my website www.deboramasterson.com and follow me on social media.

Peace always, Debora

The title of the article, Full Disclosure, is a witty reference to the crazy “reveal” as Bill Richardson and Freedom Quest band leader Craig Ingraham wait for rehearsal to begin outside the Mission Hills Congregational Church in San Diego.

And in my own full disclosure, in the book Freedom Quest, all the names have been changed, except a few public figures, so you’ll just have to guess who’s who.

CLICK TO READ

Bill Richardson who lives in North Park, played violin and sang in the 1973 Freedom Quest band and also played in the Craig Ingraham Band, which had its last performance in 2014.

Speaking of San Diego, I’ll be in San Diego at the Folk Arts Rare Records, 3610 University Ave. San Diego, Cali 92104 on April 25, 3-6 p.m.

And in Studio City (Los Angeles), my hometown at The Last Bookstore on May 2, 5-7 p.m.

If you’re in the area, come enjoy the sounds of Freedom Quest and celebrate this story of music, love and dreams. I’ll have copies of the book with me to sign if you’d like to pick one up, or you can order in advance on Amazon.com or at BookShop.org where you can give credit to your local bookstore.

Visit DeboraMasterson.com and click the Events tab for all the details. Please stop by. I’d love to meet you.

So I went back to my writing folder and picked out this poem I’ve been working on intermittently for a year or so. I really didn’t think it was finished, but when I read it yesterday, I changed my mind. It’s a poem about grief—a recurring subject of mine as many of you know by now. But it’s also about the boundary between life and death, often called the “veil” throughout literature.

The poem is called Between Here and There. I hope you like it.

Between Here and There

Where are you?

Where did you go?

Why can’t I see you, feel you, touch you?

This ache, deep in my gut, twisting and churning

Rises up to my throat, and I silently scream.

Then rises even higher and the tears stream.

I’m coming tonight…but how do I get there?

Is it just over the hill, around the corner

Or, fraught with travail, a million miles away?

Will I arrive in the nick of time,

Or does it take a lifetime?

Can I jump a fence, slip through the crack,

Or walk through Alice’s looking glass?

Float on a magic carpet or take the train

To travel along the time and space plane?

Will it be a long trip?

Filled with painful retribution and karmic enlightenment,

Between this life and the other?

Or in the blink of an eye, will I find you on other side

Of this eternal divide.

Can here and there be one?

Debora Masterson c. 2026

Photo by Juli Pacheco

Freedom Quest - A Love Story is available for pre-order wherever books are found. For bookings, events, and more details www.deboramasterson.com

Freedom Quest follows two young artists, Michael, a rising rock ’n’ roll musician, and Grace, a musician and dancer, who meet and fall in love during the cultural upheaval of the 1960s.

It was a moment unlike any other. A time when freedom expanded, creatively, socially, and personally. When music, art, and experimentation reshaped the culture and challenged “the Man.” When a generation rejected convention in favor of something more open, more expressive, more alive.

Against this backdrop, Michael and Grace are swept up in both the promise and the chaos of the era. Their connection is powerful, but the forces around them prove just as strong, pulling them into darker, more uncertain paths.

At the center of it all is the band Freedom Quest, a group on the brink of breakthrough success, until everything begins to unravel.

A love story fueled by rock ’n’ roll, and the moment that changed everything.

Pre-orders make a meaningful difference, helping signal interest to publishers, booksellers, and the industry at large.

You can pre-order through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or your local independent bookstore. You can also order online via Bookshop.org and support your favorite local shop.

Freedom Quest also makes a wonderful gift for Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, or graduates heading into a new chapter of their own. The book will ship and be available on bookshelves April 21, 2026.

I can’t wait for you to read it.

For upcoming book signings and events, visit www.deboramasterson.com.

But then, the nod from a passerby, a smile from a neighbor, or a hug from a friend and the day is transformed.

I made a big move from Los Angeles to Chicago almost three years ago. Just me and my dog, Cali. We ended up in Rogers Park, a neighborhood with the distinction of being one of the most diverse in the nation and more dogs per capita than any other in the city.

I was lucky to end up here. I had never heard of Rogers Park, but somehow, I was plopped down into this incredible little beach town on the Far North side of Chicago.

Little? I know it sounds strange, but it does feel like a small town here. I see the same people every day. Most everyone stops and says hello. We let the dogs sniff and rabble a bit. And the beach? Well, yes Lake Michigan, a few blocks to the east, looks just like the ocean with waves, seagulls and a big sandy beach. I keep thinking it’s salt water until ducks and occasional geese fly in and land.

There are occasional surfers with long boards since the waves are usually no more than three feet high and, in the winter, some brave (or crazy?) souls are out there in full body wetsuits dodging ice flow!

If I had known I was moving, I wouldn’t have gotten a dog. I would have waited until after the move. It made the move so difficult with Cali, but ironically, it is because of her that I’ve met so many people. She’s a Husky mix according to the rescue organization where I found her or I should say, she found me. They let her off leash in this small area and this stunningly beautiful dog walked over, sat down next to me, leaned against my leg and looked back at me with her incredibly light blue eyes. I had no choice but to choose her.

I didn’t know much about Huskies other than I knew they were runners and needed lots of exercise. That was no problem where I lived in L.A. because there was a back yard and a doggie door so she could go in and out as she pleased. But now, I’m in an apartment and she has to tell me when she needs to go out and do her “business”. That was a huge learning curve for both of us.

At the rescue place, she was in and out of foster care for over a year which caused separation anxiety. For the first year in L.A., she howled every time I left the house. It finally stopped, but then I moved and it started all over again—for two years! I spent hundreds of dollars on doggie day care and pet sitters until finally, she stopped again. Now, when I leave, she’s content sleeping on my bed and I’m lucky if I get any acknowledgement at all.

Since the separation anxiety is over, she is the quietest dog I’ve ever had. She rarely barks or howls.

I take a walk every morning to the lake where I’ve found a secluded area at the far end of the beach where the dogs can play off leash. Cali has found her “pack,” and I have found my community. I don’t know what I would do if I hadn’t found this incredible group of diverse people with our shared interest in making sure our dogs are healthy and happy.

It’s almost 7 a.m., and Cali will be waking up any minute now. A big storm rumbled in last night with lots of lightning and thunder around 9 p.m. and it’s supposed to rain all day with possible snow this evening!

I guess it’ll be a short walk around the block this morning. Oh well, can’t have everything. Where would you put it?

That’s a Steven Wright joke.

Here’s another:

Small world.

But I wouldn’t want to paint it.

Remember: no one can take your laughter or your joy away from you.

Stay happy, my friends.

Do good work. Smile, even though your heart might be breaking.

I didn’t expect it would feel like such a big deal to me, but my brother and sister-in-law have waited a long time for this moment. They had almost given up hope, but I told them how life works. You think you’ll never be a grandparent and then, within a few years, you end up with more than one. Sort of like the wave of weddings when you’re in your 30s, followed by the wave of babies before the biological clock winds down.

Being with these little ones is indescribable. It’s as if time stops. The world of due dates and responsibilities falls away. We can revel in the innocence and wonder on display. Everything is new. If you let go, you become a child again through them, if only for a little while.

And if that weren’t enough, witnessing the love and adoration my two sons have for their children fills me with gratitude.

I never expected to have grandchildren. When I graduated high school, I vowed to never get married, never have children, and never live in the Valley again. It was the era of Gloria Steinem, Bella Abzug, Dolores Huerta and Betty Friedan. The women’s liberation movement of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. We fought hard to end patriarchal dominance and sexism, demanded economic and social equality, and made real progress.

But I did marry, had kids and raised them in the Valley. And, I learned to never say never.

Now I have three grandchildren, all healthy and full of life, thankfully. But I can’t help wondering where they come from.

Newborns arrive from somewhere, after all. I’ve searched their cherubic faces for an answer. If they could only talk, maybe they could tell us. Heaven? The Source? Paradise? Universal Consciousness? All of these names attempt to describe the mystery.

All major religions speak of an immortal soul that inhabits the corporeal body during the short time we exist on Earth. The longer I live, the more I believe it. Despite all of my experiences, and even though most of the cells in my body have regenerated many times over, I am still the same me. The same little girl who struggled with roller skates. The confused teenager vying for attention. The adult making her way in a mixed-up world. Girl, woman, dancer, teacher, business owner, writer, musician, wife, mother, grandmother. Through all of these iterations in life, at my core there is still one thing that hasn’t changed.

Moments like this remind me how quickly life moves, and how the stories we carry shape who we become. It’s part of what inspired me to write Freedom Quest – A Love Story, a novel rooted in music, memory, and the feeling that some moments in life stay with us forever.

So, another little angel has graced us with their presence. May this child grow wise and strong. Congratulations to the new parents and grandparents.

And so it goes…

I was three years old in this photo with my mom, a fiercely determined look on my face, struggling to find my balance on roller skates.

That determination grew into ambition. At times, debilitating ambition.

In my 20s, my goal was to be a “star.” A triple threat like Sammy Davis, Jr., Ann Margret or Debbie Reynolds. I was ruinously competitive and jealous of anyone I thought was better than me. And because I had almost no self-confidence, I believed everyone was better than me.

That mindset nearly destroyed me.

When your goal is to shine brighter than everyone else, you live in constant comparison. And comparison is exhausting. It eats at your soul. It convinces you that someone else’s success diminishes your own.

I didn’t realize I wasn’t chasing excellence. I was chasing approval.

NOW

After years of therapy and hard lessons, I learned something simple and radical: I had to love myself first.

Not in a performative way. Not in a “look at me” way. But in a quiet, grounded way.

Ironically, loving yourself is the only way to truly love others. It’s the only way to give without resentment, to share without fear, to genuinely celebrate someone else.

I remember the moment I stopped competing and started contributing. I began sharing what I knew. I began mentoring. I began cheering for others instead of measuring myself against them.

It didn’t come early. Sometimes I wish it had. But I try not to regret. Every experience, even the painful ones, brought me here.

Freedom Quest: A Love Story, my new book, is, in many ways, the story of that lesson unfolding in real time: the ambition, the ego, the longing, and the slow discovery of what truly matters.

If I could offer one piece of advice: be careful about making “being a star” the goal.

Stars burn hot and fast. Fulfillment is quieter. It lives in connection, generosity, and purpose.

Ask yourself: Are you building something that feeds your ego? Or, something that feeds your soul?

Grief has a strange way of rearranging the world.

When someone we love dies, ordinary moments can suddenly become extraordinary.

I’ve always been somewhat of a skeptic about “signs.” I want a scientific explanation for everything. Yet every so often, something happens that challenges my doubt.

Tuesday, I received a text from the widow of a dear friend who I’ve been helping through this long journey of grief. She was describing something many people quietly experience but rarely talk about.

She wrote:

“I’m not a musician, but over the years I’ve recognized that I sometimes receive messages in the form of songs. Sometimes I hear just a few lines repeating in my head until I finally understand why. Often, it’s a song I would never normally choose.

This morning, I woke hearing the chorus of a song I didn’t recognize. It was so persistent, I finally looked it up. It’s called ‘Rock and Roll Heaven’. That was never one of our songs. It was Craig’s voice I heard. I truly believe it was a message from Sodie and Craig letting us know that they’re alright. Angels are among us. I have chills and they are not going away.”

Craig and Sodie were musicians, bandmates, and lifelong friends. Both are now gone.

That was an extraordinary moment for her, but what she didn’t know makes it even more extraordinary.

Long before Craig and I met Sodie’s new wife, Craig was a good friend of the songwriter of ‘Rock and Roll Heaven’, Johnny Stevenson. Johnny came over to his house and played the song before it was finished.

A year later in 1974, when Craig heard it on the radio, he met Johnny at his new office in a high-rise overlooking Hollywood. Johnny had gotten a job as an A&R rep due to the success of the song. He remembered Johnny laughing and saying he couldn’t believe he was an executive at a record company, but they both understood what one hit record could do for your career.

If you believe in forever,
Then life is just a one night stand.
If there's a rock and roll heaven,
Well you know they've got a hell of a band.

And there it was: a message surfacing unexpectedly, insisting on being heard. Coincidence? This time I’m not so sure.

Every so often, logic steps aside long enough for wonder to have its way.

Even for a skeptic.

Share DM’s Musings

Sodero, Dero to all of us, was one of those people.

Sodero, far left, 2012
Photo courtesy of Steve Covault

Long before Freedom Quest became a book, before memory turned into narrative, he was my friend and our band’s gifted percussionist.

The news of his passing hit me hard.

For the past five years, I’ve lived alongside the colorful characters who inhabit Freedom Quest. Many of them are drawn from real friendships, real memories, real moments. Dero was one of those.

During the early stages of writing, he and his wife welcomed me into their beautiful home in San Diego. We spent two full days reminiscing about those heady, chaotic, magical years. Several of his stories, his humor, his spirit found their way into the book.

Several weeks ago, I heard his voice for the last time.

He left me a voicemail to say goodbye. He told me he didn’t have much time left in this world. He said he simply wanted to hear my voice. I called him back multiple times. I left messages. But we never spoke again.

Last night, his wife called with the news. She could hardly get the words out. He passed peacefully in his sleep at home on February 1.

Dero was a remarkable percussionist.

I still remember the first time he unveiled his ocean drum, filling the room with sounds like gentle rolling waves. His bell tower created magical, cascading tones that shimmered in the air. His music was never just rhythm. It was atmosphere, emotion, texture.

But beyond his talent, Dero was something even rarer. He was loyal. Honest. Kind. Deeply compassionate. The one who stood firm beside Michael in his darkest hour.

To lose a dear friend is always painful.

To lose one whose presence lives so vividly inside a story you are about to release carries a strange, layered heartbreak. I had planned to see him in San Diego during the book tour. I had hoped to invite him to speak.

He will still be there. Only now, in spirit.

Dero insisted on calling death a transition. And I believe that.

A transition out of pain, surely. A transition toward new horizons. I imagine Michael and Dero together somewhere in the vast Universe, making celestial music.

Sometimes, if I listen closely enough…

I swear I can hear it.

I’ve been feeling that pull as I search for the original members of the band Freedom Quest and, for that matter, anyone who appears in the video of that unforgettable 1973 concert in Ocean Beach, California. It was a quick flash in time like a white-hot star that crashed and burned too soon.

Over the years, there have been a few partial reunions. Two of the members have remained steady friends. Others drifted in and out after the band broke up. I know there were hard times and unresolved feelings. I completely understand if some people would rather leave the past where it is.

And yet...

This music, created more than 50 years ago, has endured. It still resonates. It still matters. And that feels worth honoring.

As I continue sharing the story behind Freedom Quest, I would love to reconnect with some of these musicians and, if possible, include them in some upcoming book events in late spring and early summer. This isn’t about reopening wounds. It’s about celebrating creativity, history, and the strange and beautiful ways art outlives the moment it was born.

If you were there, onstage or in the crowd, or if you recognize yourself in that time and place, I hope you’ll reach out.

More to come soon. Stay tuned.

Thank you.

www.deboramasterson.com
@FreedomQuestBook on socials

Share

Leave a comment

Back then, my primary interest was dance and I never really thought of myself as a musician, but I learned harmony from my Mom who would sing in my ear when we gathered around the piano. My two younger brothers and I sang for company who came to visit—”Freight Train”, “MTA” were big favorites. We knew every song from both the “Oliver” and “Music Man” musicals. My little brother who died too early could bring tears to your eyes with his rendition a capella of “Where is Love”.

In high school, I joined a folk trio with my friend Nancy and her big sister. Three guitars and three voices belted out Peter, Paul and Mary songs—they loved us at the local woman’s club luncheons. Our big finale was “When the Saints Go Marching In”. The three of us would circle the room and march out the door to a standing ovation.

But it wasn’t until I picked up the electric bass in 2012 that I started getting serious about music. I had finally found my instrument.

There’s a saying: If you can do anything else besides art, then do it. Being a musician, dancer, or an artist of any kind, has never been easy, but in the ‘60s and ‘70s as a musician, you could make a good living playing supper clubs, bars and restaurants. About $50 a night which doesn’t sound like a lot but equals over $400 a night now. The manager would open the till and hand out cash at the end of the night. No one declared the money or paid in quarterly taxes as an independent contractor. Dancers, not so much as musicians unless you were taking off your clothes. Fast forward to now, it seems most artists have second (or third?) jobs to pay the bills.

During college in San Diego, I choreographed and danced in class but outside of school, was hanging with the band Freedom Quest, singing background harmonies and watching the love of my life perform his songs backed by an incredible band. Every show was a mini-Woodstock. These nine talented musicians are what I like to call 100% musician—they know music instinctually. Extraordinary music comes naturally like water from the source. I sang background vocals along with two other members.

Our little house in Ocean Beach was the rehearsal den. A bowl of chocolate mescaline sat on the living room table into which licked fingers swiped dabs. Cannabis flowed like chocolate, Mystic Mint cookies were devoured, and the music soared. Several of the band members lived in LA so rehearsals would sometimes go three or four days straight. They slept on the couches or took turns using the spare bedroom.

Share DM’s Musings

There were occasional LSD trips to the beach in La Jolla, or Julian in the Cuyamaca Mountains where I witnessed a manzanita bush, a most beautiful plant, turn into the burning bush from the Bible. For a few moments, I was Moses on Mount Horeb! The crimson flames swirled around the green leaves, but the bush was not burning up. “A bush on fire but not consumed” says the Bible. Weird thing is I had never read that story.

Different times indeed.

“Take Me Away”, “Calling You My Brother”, “Take A Little Time”, “Still Tied to the Dock”, “If They Took All My Songs Away”, “Crutches” and “My Time Has Come”, seven hippie anthems, were recorded during that period.

The music still lives on streaming and a YouTube video documents the times.

P.S. The proof copy of FREEDOM QUEST - a love story arrived in the mail yesterday afternoon. It came early and I was taken by surprise. In the middle of cleaning house, emptying a month’s worth of trash out of my apartment (I’m not really a slob), dressed in dirty old clothes and pre-shower, I found a package downstairs in the foyer. Did I forget I ordered something? I brought it up, opened the door and tracked snow, mud and salt all over the rug and hardwood floor in the entree. As a SoCal girl, I keep forgetting to wipe my boots off outside. Ugh, what a mess!

How incongruous--I open the package and presto! become an author. But first things first, I need to finish my housecleaning and clean up the new mess. Thank you Mother Universe for keeping me humble!

I know not everyone will connect with it. That’s part of making art. Vulnerability often gets mislabeled as insecurity, but for artists, it’s usually the opposite. It takes courage to dig deep and share what’s in your soul, to be brave and trust your instincts. I’m reminded of Sally Field’s 1985 Oscar speech for Places in the Heart. “I’ve wanted more than anything your respect…I can’t deny the fact that you like me right now.” She garnered some criticism for that, but I found it genuine and deeply human.

With that in mind, I’m truly excited to share that my debut novel, FREEDOM QUEST: A Love Story, is coming soon.

It’s been a wild ride, much of it rooted in truth, and I can’t wait for you to read it.

I’ve also launched a new website where you can learn more about my work and what’s coming next: www.deboramasterson.com. You’ll find links there to stay in touch as this journey unfolds.

Thanks for being here. It means more than you know.

Debora

Now, we begin developmental and copy editing followed by proof-reading while working on the book cover. I signed the agreement with Atmosphere Press on Thursday and immediately felt extremely tired. I expect this is an emotional response to the enormous task of writing this book that took 5 years to finish along with the fact the book is about me and my soul mate, the late Craig Anthony Ingraham who has now departed this earthly plain.

I've been in bed for three days with a pillow over my head and a cold lurking, but with the ingestion of large doses of Vitamin C so far, I've kept illness at bay. Jumping up and down with joy, screaming to the Universe and calling all my friends and family to tell them the BIG news would have been what I expected.

Despite the lack of physical energy, my brain has been going strong. Plans for the book release parties to be held in Chicago, Los Angeles and San Diego have overtaken me. We are planning multi-media events with a live band playing the songs from the 1973 Freedom Quest album and songs featured in the documentary Craig and I produced, "ABOVE AND BEYOND: The Story of Cpl. William T. Perkins Jr." which is streaming on Amazon Prime and Apple TV+. You can find the links to watch the documentary at the website: http://www.billperkinsfilm.com/

Here’s a photo of the original FREEDOM QUEST band taken at Presidio Park in San Diego. That's me in the orange blouse to the right of the tree. You can listen to the album here or on most music streaming platforms. It's gonna be so much fun!

This photo brought me to tears. The water rose 26 feet in 2 hours. At least 15 children are dead and two dozen girls from Mystic Camp are unaccounted for. I think of my granddaughter who just came home from a weeklong camp and think, it could have been her! I don’t cry easily, but this is heartbreaking.

This is not normal flooding. It came on so quickly, no one expected it. What can we learn from this?

We had a full house, over 75 people in attendance. Thank you, Chicago for showing up! Thanks to my team, Zelda Dudovitz and Noah Schaik for their support and Chicago Filmmakers for their lovely venue and to everyone who was able to come.

Here's a video recap of the night for those who couldn’t make it.

The sun had just come up over the building to the East and shone so brightly, I couldn't use my phone. Just as well, lately I've been terribly addicted to it anyway. I listened to birds heralding Spring. Lilies of the Valley, sometimes called Maybells, Mary's tears or muguet in French the first sign of warming, and even some daffodils, are blooming already.

My mind wandered to what it would be like if I were completing this trip of getting a blood test for my annual physical in Los Angeles, instead of Chicago. I enjoyed using the Metrolink train or subway in L.A. whenever possible, but both were a car ride away and often, the parking lot was full. The view from the Metrolink train in L.A. is primarily cement walls covered with graffiti, albeit some of it very beautiful, but a lot of it is gang tags. Tall fences with barbed wire across the top prevent anyone from trespassing and there is always a lot of trash built up along the corridor.

To get a blood test where I lived in L.A. I needed to drive. The wait time in L.A. is definitely longer than here. I remember waiting a minimum of 15-20 minutes. Here, I've been to the nearest ER (once for Covid); urgent care clinics, and various Advocate Health locations which is the group where my general physician is, and the wait time has always been shorter. I can't explain it, but that's my experience.

Today, I walked with my dog, Cali, and dropped her off at the daycare center across the street from the station. The train was packed and I was only going two stops, so didn't try to search for a seat. As I stood in the vestibule, I saw manicured lawns, well-maintained vintage buildings, some corner markets and cozy bars pass by. I saw one man planting bulbs at the corner of his block, a few dogwalkers strolling, and several parents walking their kids to school. There was no trash. I counted one plastic bag and what looked like a discarded tissue the entire length of the trip.

I got to the clinic at 7:45am and the doors opened, but the lab didn't open until 8am, so I figured I'd have to wait at least 15 minutes, but five minutes later, I was called. I was finished before 8am!

After fasting and my blood test, I visited a fun supermarket called Mariano's next to the station before hopping on the train back to Rogers Park. Mariano's had a Starbucks and Stan's Donuts at ground level with the supermarket on the second floor. I bought a coffee to assuage the mild headache that was forming. (Geez, am I ever going to give up caffeine?!), passed on the donuts and bought a ridiculously expensive piece of banana bread with my drink.

I wandered around the store a bit and set my alarm so I wouldn't miss the train. Thirty minutes later, I walked up to the platform. The sun was shining brightly by this time and I leaned back against the bench and fell into a very peaceful place. Body and soul revival. I was so glad I didn't drive and so glad to live in Chicago. The whole trip took an hour and a half. Cali got her breakfast at home while I wrote this Substack post.

Subscribe now

Share

My husband and I woke up in the air covered in our sheet and blanket above the bed. I screamed and my husband yelled, “the kids!” which made me feel guilty that I, their mother, hadn’t thought about them yet. As we dropped back down onto the mattress, he was already gone to check on the boys. We succeeded in putting our shoes on and as a family, crawled along the hallway to get outside. Multiple aftershocks shook us and the house heaved. We reached the kitchen and found the refrigerator and all of the cupboard doors had opened and deposited broken glass, plates, silverware, Christmas and Halloween decorations, milk, juice, leftovers, everything onto the tile floor. We made it to the back door and finally to the front of the house and into the street where we communed with some of the neighbors. We stayed huddled together as dawn broke. There were explosions to the south which we later learned were coming from the CSUN university science lab. And several large explosions that came from the north which were the large municipal pipes that ran under Balboa Blvd. carrying natural gas into the Valley.

I recall this traumatic episode today not to dwell on the horror and heartbreak which was great, but on what happened next. The sense of community and closeness that began as the hours continued was incredible, love replaced fear as we helped each other. There was no school, no work. Our boys’ elementary school was located at Roscoe and Reseda Blvd. literally at the epicenter of the quake. We slept together in the living room in our sleeping bags and if an aftershock came, we would run outside. My youngest son told me later that sleeping together as a family like that was one of the best times in his life.

Slowly over a few weeks, the schools re-opened and our regular routine returned. I remember standing at the kitchen sink washing my hands as the water from the tap returned, and I cried. I cried because I was going to miss those days when we all were together.

My friends and family are going through this now in the terrible aftermath of the L.A. fires of January 2025 caused by climate change. I am heartbroken, but many have reminded me of the incredible outpouring of love and care that they are receiving from everyone, everywhere. We humans can be remarkable if we claim love. I am holding the positive memory of what we experienced and know that it is always so. When there are tragedies, calamities, atrocities, the human spirit of love and hope burns even brighter. On this Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in 2025, may your spirit be filled with peace and love and let it radiate out to all those who are in need.

Subscribe now

Share

In 2008, at Bill and my alma mater James Monroe HS in North Hills, CA, we had “Bill Perkins Day” with 200 juniors and seniors in attendance who watched the film followed by a Q&A. The line of students waiting to ask the veterans questions was enormous. We finally had to close before the last student had a chance. LA City Council president and now U.S. Senator Alex Padilla spoke and local Channel 4 news covered the day. My dream is to do that again in high schools and universities across the country.

Share

I keep wondering how it came that I am the steward of this film. Why me? I never even met Bill Perkins. Bill went to the same high school as me, but as he left, I was just entering. Now, Craig is gone, many of the Marines that are interviewed in the film are no longer with us, and Bill’s immediate family are all gone, too. So I have taken up the torch, and gladly.

I hope you enjoy the film. Share, re-post, write a review, rate the film, request a screening.

For streaming links and further information, visit www.BillPerkinsFilm.com.

We’d love to hear from you.

Thank you.

Share

Subscribe now

Many people are asking how this could happen. Was it arson? I hope not. The Santa Ana wind gusts were clocked at 100 mph and it doesn’t take much for a fire to start (there has been no rain for months) and spread rapidly with the horrible conditions. It truly was the perfect storm. The videos attest to the whipping wind.

Watching the firefighters trying to put out the hellacious firestorms with their hoses struck me as almost absurd. The water-dropping airplanes and helicopters were grounded due to the severity of the winds. Then, I heard that early Thursday morning January 9 around 3 a.m. the fire crews fighting the Pacific Palisades fire ran out of water.

But what else can you do but keep fighting for every inch? The courageous fire fighters, first responders and government officials are doing what they can, but I’m afraid nothing is going to put out those flames until Mother Nature decides to drop some rain or stop the winds.

I donated to the LA firefighters and felt compelled to write something today, but really there are no words. I am heartbroken.

Christmas Eve - 6:30pm - Sherman Oaks Galleria - My friend and I walked through the mall to see some Christmas lights and decorations, stopping at Kiehl's to buy a gift. Suddenly, I felt a tickle in my throat. I thought it was some dust or something so bought a fresh-squeezed lemonade to wash it down. That didn't work and within hours, I was really sick.

Christmas Day - don't remember anything. Life ground to a halt. I slept for 48 hours straight. Thankfully, I could sleep. When I did wake up, my body was screaming. First I was freezing cold, then 30 seconds later, I was burning up. Blankets were up to my chin one moment and tossed off thirty seconds later, over and over again. I finally told my dear body, the carrier of my soul and being, that I would listen intently with my entire focus to what it needed. I assured it I was listening. In four days, I went through the entire gamut of symptoms. Nausea, vomiting and diahrrea for several days, then head cold, and finally sore throat and chest congestion. With precision and intent focus, I gave my body what it needed.

I find it interesting that the concept of listening to my body had never really crossed my mind before. As a dancer, I had told my body what to do. I didn't listen to what it wanted. I was in control. My mind made the decisions and forced my body to follow. Often to my body's detriment. We all know about that! "I'm going to go out tonight and party" (code for getting too drunk and/or way too high). Suppressing what my body wanted, my will would make the decisions and my poor body would be a mess the following day. But I was young and resilient. Not so much anymore.

A few years ago, I was doing some yoga and meditation and suddenly, the statement "I'm sorry" came over me, loud and clear. But who was I apologizing to? And for what? It took me a moment to realize I was apologizing to my body. I realized I had some work to do to re-connect my mind and body in a healthy way.

January 2, 2025 - Finally, my body has won the battle, but not without some side skirmishes! My eyes started getting infected and thought I might be coming down with pink eye! But, they cleared up on their own.

As Bob Dylan said, "You've got to serve somebody". Well, in my case, I've decided I'm gonna serve my body. It's the only one I've got. Hey, I'm your friend now, sista'!

Share

Debora Masterson is the producer of "ABOVE AND BEYOND: The Story of Cpl. William T. Perkins, Jr. USMC", a 2008 documentary that is releasing on PBS digital platforms January 13, 2025. She is also the writer of "The Way Time Works", a novel based on a true story that is being called the rock n roll version of Nicholas Sparks "The Notebook", a love story set during the tumultuous Vietnam War and cultural revolution of the 60's and 70's.