A smaller earthquake story

My mother asked at our Fathers Day dinner tonight, “Did you feel the earthquake this morning?”

I came home and looked it up. It was a 3.3 at 7:30. Is she sleeping on a seismograph? I don’t think I would have felt that if I was expecting it.

I’m glad she brought it up, because it gives me the opportunity to tell you another earthquake story.

Last summer I was sitting in the breakfast nook, which has a flimsy-feeling floor, when my husband stood behind me dancing or some such.

I felt a jiggle.

I made my this-might-be-the-beginning-of-The-Big-One face, half standing with my palms flat on the table, and said, “Did you feel a little earthquake?”

My husband shook his head like I’m an idiot. “I did that. Here, I’ll do it again.”

He bent his knees and bounced. As he did this, I felt the floor roll and shake under me.

“Stop it!” I yelled, because for a minute I believed he was shaking the breakfast room.

No. He just happened to do that as a 5.5 earthquake struck.


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One Response to “A smaller earthquake story”

  1. Rhonda Says:

    When Lemony graduated high school, we went to lunch at Macaroni Grill with her best friend’s family. Her friend’s dad got a container to take home his pasta. He filled the container, and then shook it from side to side to level it out. Well, the whole table shook and I thought “dang, he doesn’t have to shake it so hard.” Then I realized that his timing coincided with an earthquake. He was forgiven.

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