I had just gone to bed at about 1:30 (yes, late night; yes, up too late; no, not watching TV; no, not useless surfing--at least mostly not totally useless) when the house shook for a few moments. Longer than a slammed door, and all over, like it had been hit by something. I jumped out of bed and went to check things out. Totally quiet out on the street. No sirens. No neighbors coming out like me to check things out. Just peaceful middle-of-the-night mid-summer quiet. I went to check on my older two sons who were camping out with our rabbits, one of which just had babies. They were sound asleep (though Eli said he woke up briefly because he heard the rabbit cages rattling). Like what I should be doing. I went back to bed thinking it must be just me. Too late. Too little sleep. Too much coffee. Overactive imagination.
Then in the morning, Holly called me at work to tell me there had been an earthquake in Battle Ground, just over the Columbia from us in Washington. A 3.8 earthquake. And I felt it. Not my imagination after all.
We live right on the west side of Mt. Tabor--an extinct volcanic cinder cone in the Portland city limits.
Did I mention anything about 'overactive'? See any smoke yet? How about a re-fill on that Starbucks.
1 comment:
You must be related to me. Or better yet to our dear dad. Have things picked up in the dramatic dream department, because thats where we overactive imaginers get our start. :) Love, Lori (rhymes with Morie)
Post a Comment