Disasters Take Their Homes but Strengthen Bonds : Relationships: Along with slides and fire come renewed family ties and offers of aid from friends and even strangers.

LAGUNA BEACH —  The last thing artist Vida Kucenas could have imagined four months ago was that she’d end up living in the desert with her 80-year-old father.

It wasn’t that their relationship was strained. In fact, Kucenas and her father, Tony Kizis of Palm Springs, enjoyed each other’s company enough to get together as least once a month ever since Kucenas moved from San Francisco to Orange County six years ago.

But Kucenas had lived a decidedly independent life for many years. She last lived under her father’s roof in 1967 and now owned her own home, a ocean-view affair perched on a hillside in the Mystic Hills neighborhood of Laguna Beach.

A portrait artist, she traveled extensively and thrived on the footloose life she’d created for herself.

But that lifestyle--and indeed her life--changed considerably on the morning of Jan. 18, when her three-bedroom, $700,000 home burned to the ground. That same morning, a landslide also rendered the homes of two neighbors unlivable. In the process, her relationships with her friends, her neighbors and her father were suddenly and significantly redefined.

“When you survive an ordeal like that and you lose everything, it definitely changes you,” says Kucenas. “You learn real fast that possessions don’t mean anything, that it’s all just so much baggage. Your relationships and what you carry with you in your head and in your heart are ultimately all that really matter.”

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While the fire destroyed Kucenas’ home and virtually all of her possessions--a couple of statues, several paintings and four art brushes were all that was salvaged--she says that in an odd way, the ordeal has proven to be a positive, liberating experience. For one thing, she says, it has definitely brought her and her father much closer together.

“We used to see each other every three or four weeks, but we never really made our relationship a priority,” Kucenas admits. “I’d call him in Palm Springs and say, ‘Dad, you haven’t been to the beach in a month. Come on down.’ Sometimes he would, but more often than not he’d say, ‘It’s too humid down there’ or ‘I want to sleep in my own bed.’ ”

These days, Kucenas’ sees plenty of her father, a retired civil engineer. Though she still travels extensively--she left last Friday for a trip to Italy--his Palm Springs home has become her home base. It will continue that way, Kucenas suspects, until the insurance is fully resolved and the city of Laguna Beach determines whether she and her neighbors can rebuild on the site.

“I always used to joke that my mother was a saint to live with him,” says Kucenas, whose mother died two years ago. “Now I’m doing it and I actually enjoy it. We have breakfast together, we talk about what’s going on in the world, and he fields all my phone calls when I’m away. It’s been great for both of us.”

And what does Dad think of his new living arrangements?

“It’s perfect,” Kizis says with a broad grin. “When I first saw her house, it was terrible. I was very sad. But what has come of it is good. For me, it’s better. Now I’m not alone anymore. Good comes out of bad.”

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Gayla Hitzel would no doubt agree. She knew she has a network of friends in Laguna Beach but had no idea how strong that support system was until it was put to the test when her family’s home slid. Everything she and her husband, Tom, 15-year-old son Ryan and 9-year-old daughter Kelleen owned was inside in the home, which city officials declared off-limits.

A fireman went in to retrieve the family dog, but everything else--Gayla’s purse, Tom’s wallet, their personal phone books, cars and clothes--were trapped in the house.

“It was a frustrating process,” says Hitzel. “In Vida’s case, her loss was immediate. For us, it dragged out for a number of weeks.”

What made the process bearable, says Hitzel, was the generosity of friends and even strangers.

“Two of our friends loaned us their cars. Another couple had a home that they told us we were free to use until we got our bearings. When the city finally gave us permission to get our things out, a friend organized a human chain to pass everything up the hill. It seemed like people were there for us before we ever had to ask.”

Neighbors the Hitzel’s had always known as Mr. and Mrs. Thompson quickly became Nancy and Jerry.

“The Thompsons really took us under their wing,” says Hitzel. “They both took two days off work and really opened their hearts and home. They, a lots of other people who we didn’t really know that well, came through for us. We received cards from neighbors we’ve never met. That show of support made a very tough time and little easier.”

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One neighbor whom both Kucenas and Hitzel credit for taking the edge off their nightmare is Steve Marshall, whose home is the last left standing on Mystic Lane. Marshall, who has lived in the home for 11 years and had just completed an extensive remodeling months before the slide and fire, likens the January ordeal to being drafted.

“It’s nothing you ever want to live through, but you sort of do what you can to make the best of it,” says Marshall. “I guess the good news is that we got to know our neighbors quite a bit better. Vida lived two doors away for six years, and I don’t think we’d ever spoken.”

Marshall says he and wife Colleen could really identify with their neighbors, because for several hours they weren’t sure whether their home might be next.

“It brought us closer together because we could really feel for them and what they were going through. From the time the fire department knocked on our door at five o’clock that morning and told us to evacuate, we watched it all happen.”

The Marshalls’ garage and kitchen became the unofficial command post for city officials, geologists and neighbors during the initial disaster, as well as weeks later when the Hitzel’s home and one owned by neighbor Marjean Hansen were destroyed in a controlled burn. Sculptures salvaged from Kucenas’ home were stored for weeks in the Marshalls’ garage. When Gayla Hitzel stopped by one afternoon and was told by officials she could enter her property to retrieve her purse, china and other items that had trapped in the house for weeks, she wore Colleen Marshall’s tennis shoes.

“Steve has been great,” says Vida Kucenas. “He’s called a few times just to see how I’m feeling. It sounds like a little thing, but those things really matter.”

Marshall says he’s done whatever he can to help keep his neighbors informed of goings-on in the neighborhood.

“I’m in sales, and my office is in my home,” Marshall explains. “For the first month or so, I didn’t get a lot done. Every time I saw a city official or geologist out there, I ended up talking with them so I could keep everyone up to date on what was happening.”

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Will Marshall’s neighbors ever return to Mystic Lane? No one is sure at this point whether the hillside can be rebuilt, but few are optimistic. The land that the Hitzels’ home once occupied has dropped some 20 feet, and with it has plunged property values. Even though Marshall’s home withstood the slide without as much as a cracked wall, he estimates the value of his property has dropped 40%.

While Vida Kucenas is well aware of such harsh realities, she says she’s making a conscious effort to not get wrapped up in the negativity of the incident. At this point, Kucenas says, she’s determined to look ahead rather than back.

“All I want to do right now is keep painting, spend more time with my father and settle with the city and my insurance company. Then I want to buy another home--preferably one on a much flatter piece of land.”