What Elmo Taught Me About Community

Come on clap your hands and sing along.

This week is heavy. And that’s coming from someone over two thousand miles away from the devastation in LA. That’s coming from someone with no personal ties, no past trips or even knowledge of the area, just a phone and bad habit of scrolling longer than is healthy.

In situations like these, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed, even at a distance. Weighed down by the act of doing nothing because doing something doesn’t feel like it’ll be enough.

I've shared a lot of resources on my Instagram on how to help or where to donate. I hope they’re helpful. I hope it’s not overwhelming, that it acts more as a resource to show how a little can go a long way. I’m sharing them again here, for those who can. For those who need it on your desktop where your credit card is saved, like me.

A list of Go Fund Me’s not yet at 20%.

Baby2Baby Donation page.

Pasadena Humane Society.

World Center Kitchen.

As many people know, Elmo rules the roost in the Carey house. He took a brief hiatus for a few months in 2024, but he’s back with a vengeance, a constant companion to our daily routine (we got the Tonie) and his voice is often times, unwillingly, running through my thoughts.

To be honest, Bill and I want to muzzle Elmo. I’m not sure that’s okay to say, but it’s my truth. He’s a three-year-old who bosses everyone around, I don’t need two of those in my life. But, even I can admit, there are a few instances when we all find ourselves turning towards the TV, unable to look away, to not dance along to on of the Sesame Street bops. Obviously, Usher’s ABCs is a classic, but it’s never on enough. And then there’s Hailee Steinfeld’s “I Wonder, What If, Let’s Try”, where she and Elmo build something that resembles a bong with a plastic water bottle and a paper towel roll (if you’ve heard this classic, you can hear his voice right now).

But our favorite is Mickey Guyton’s "That’s What Make’s A Community”. I’m not a country fan, so I didn’t know Mickey outside her work on the street, but it’s a bop with a good message, one I’ve thought about a lot this week.

“Everybody working together, making our community better. Helping out is what it’s all about.”

I know this is cheesy, but follow me here. It’s a good song.

In the wake of the fires, some of which still burn on, people from across the world have come together to donate time and money, share posts and resources and even resurrect Heidi Montag’s 2010 pop career, hoping in some small way they can make a difference. It is making one, I know that, but the true story is emerging from the victims themselves. The ones who lost everything and the ones who live next door to them; the neighbors who defended their streets, pulling garden hoses across their yards, filling purses with water to stop the blaze from catching on their neighbors homes; the local businesses who have donated their products, services and time; the first responders who have stayed awake for days on end, trying to stop the flames from catching.

Yes, us outsiders need to continue to do what we can, even if it’s just streaming music, but we also need to take note. The community that lived on those now unrecognizable streets, who shopped at that toppled down grocery store, who played in the parks and did 4th of July parades, raised multiple generations there and put down roots there, they’ve shown up in ways no one could have imagined, expect maybe them.

I saw a news segment where Nurse Jackie, a resident of the Palisades, walked her street, understandably emotional at what was left. She talked about this being the home she worked so hard for, sacrificed so much for. She talked about how she would rebuild, while also explaining how her son keeps talking about coming back. How he doesn’t understand yet there was nothing to come back to. She talked about how these kids would be forever changed, how many of their friends wouldn’t return because no one was returning for a while. They’ll all have to put roots down somewhere else while they rebuild, some maybe temporarily, but others permanently. Their community is forever changed, both physically and emotionally.

There’s so much tragedy laid out on social media, the drone footage of the hills I’ve never been to, the neighborhoods I don’t even know, now gone. There are people searching for their fire proof safes, families who lost homes across generations and businesses, survivors trying to help out while carrying a burden themselves. But many of these people are saying they’ll rebuild. That they’ll find a way to come back. It’s been a week, they haven’t even come in to start cleaning up, and many of them are already making that commitment. They’ve made a commitment to each other, the ones in the fires path and the ones outside of it, to help.

That’s a community.

The people fostering pets while people get back on their feet, the restaurants cooking meals while people don’t have kitchens, the relators trying to protect from scammers, the bridal shops offering dresses for weddings that were being planned, the storefront donating their inventory for people that don’t even have closets—the community has stuck together, even if the physical existence has been burned down.

“We are stronger when we come together.”

This week should teach us all a lot of things, should move us all to do what we can, but it also, for me, serves as a reminder about community. The one I’ve built online, the one at work, the one at school, the sorority sisters I would still grab a drink with or help out if they called, the family I’ve been gifted and the one I’ve built.

I live in a rental in Chicago, I’ve yet to put down the roots I’m desperate feel grow, but this shows me that, when I do, I need to take care of it. To really be apart of it. To celebrate it and protect it and make sure my garden hose is long enough should I need it to be.

“I’m here for you, you’re here for me, that’s what makes a community.”