This is the cracked driveway leading up to where my next-door neighbor's house use to stand.  His house was the the first, to my knowledge, on our block, to suffer the tearing effects of the landslide.  It is truly unsettling to be wide-awake in the dark of the night, listening to your home being pulled apart, limb by limb.  Finally, the home was condemned, razed and trucked away as so much useless garbage.

At the last meeting held by the City of Anaheim, some six months ago, they posted their new landslide map.  Unbelievably, where my neighbor's condemned home had been was now denoted as being outside the "designated" landslide area.  This struck me as being quite bizarre since their geologist, Mark McLarty, told me that the slide plane ran directly under my neighbor's home.

In Anaheim, things get stranger and stranger.

As I write this (2/28/98), Seven Gables Realty has planted a "For Sale" sign just to the right of the driveway, in case, after reading this article, you are interested in buying this prime-view piece of property that now, somehow, has been miraculously healed.

When my neighbor first walked into his home it was brand new. It was where he raised his family. When he left it, after having suffered a serious financial loss, the home was literally torn asunder by the undermining effects of the landslide; and he was confined to a wheel chair by the degenerative effects of multiple sclerosis.

Seeing that real estate sign staked into his land brought back unsettling thoughts of that classical work of dark literature, House of Seven Gables.

My neighbor's home rested to the right there, where the weeds have now taken hold.  The garage pad is to the left.  Funny, how five years later I can still see it all...
This is where they had their family barbecues.
His handsome son and beautiful daughter enjoyed this pool with their many friends during their teen years.
Their swimming pool now has a wide-open crack in it that leaks directly into the landslide crevice.  The City of Anaheim knows this. Their geologists know this.  Everyone knows this.  Yet it is left, unnoticed, half full with dark green rain water -- the lubricant of landslides.