The Devil You Know

Everywhere in the world has its own unique set of geographical quirks. There are monsoons in India, tornadoes in middle America, and sandstorms in the Sahara. People who inhabit these places are well versed in their local natural phenomena, and generally seem to take them in stride. It’s only to out-of-towners that things like hurricanes and blizzards are incomprehensibly frightening. I don’t particularly think I’d like to deal with a tsunami, thanks very much, that sounds like a whole lot of not fun. But to someone who hears the sirens on a regular-ish basis? It’s just another day at the office. Last week provided one of those “Oh, is that happening again?” moments.

On January 4th, 2018, at approximately 2:30 AM, the earth moved.

Not everywhere, just under me and the rest of the residents within a certain radius of the epicenter of the event.

I’m a native Californian. Earthquakes are just ‘this thing that happens’. The one the other week was a magnitude 4.5, which means nothing to you unless you’re used to riding them out or you have an unhealthy addiction to the Richter Scale.

I was in bed. The quake itself didn’t wake me up — I had woken up about three minutes prior for no apparent reason. When it kicked off I was startled, but it became almost immediately clear what was happening, so I just stayed put. About the time I was starting to consider getting up and seeking shelter, it was over. No aftershocks, the ceiling was still where it was supposed to be, everything was fine.

So I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I consider this to be a perfectly reasonable response to an earthquake. People I know who live in areas not prone to tectonic plate movement, on the other hand, think I’m off my head. “OMG, earthquakes must be so scary! How can you react to them so calmly?!”

Darlin’s, I remember Loma Prieta. Ladies and gentlemen, THAT was an earthquake.

October 17th, 1989
17:04
Magnitude 6.9

I was three-and-a-half, and spending the day with my maternal grandparents in Los Gatos while my mother was teaching at the Yamaha store in San Jose. (Pianos, not motorcycles. I do not have a badass, motorcycle-riding mother. At least, not yet. I’m still waiting for the call to say she’s finally embarked upon her mid-life crisis.)

My grandmother and I were in the kitchen. The way their kitchen was set up didn’t allow for a table, so the counter on one side was like a diner counter. There was a pass-through so that if you sat at the counter you could see anyone in the living room. Or, you know, the TV. Above the pass-though on the kitchen side was a glass-front cabinet full of commemorative wine glasses. My grandmother had me sitting on the diner counter underneath the aforementioned glassware while she fixed my dinner. I’m sure we were having a conversation of the sort you have with three year olds.

When the house started to shake — after the initial WTF?! moment — my grandmother grabbed me off the counter because I was under a literal wall of glass, and those tend to shatter if disturbed. The next part is a little weird. I think she must have originally intended to take me out the front door, but changed her mind once we were out of the kitchen and headed for the dining table. The kitchen opened at both ends, so she could very easily have gone straight for the table to begin with, but what the hell do I know, I was three and freaking the fuck out. In any case, we made a circle, and I know this to be a fact because to this day, I can vividly see my grandmother falling on top of me in front of the living room sofa. The next thing I remember after that is being under the table for a reeeeeaaaallllly long time with her and losing my shit every time there was an aftershock. Actually, both the aftershocks and me losing my three-and-a-half-year-old mind went on for a couple of days after the initial quake.

Needless to say, it took my mother longer than usual to collect me that evening, and my dad longer to get home from the Cottle Road IBM campus. Mom had ended up taking refuge under a piano to ride the quake out, but my father’s story is the best. He was on a conference call with the IBM office in Rochester, MN, and when the building started going and didn’t immediately stop, he dived under his desk with the phone and said, “Sorry, guys, I’m going to have to call you back. We’re having an earthquake. Bye!!!”

Sixty-three people were killed, all told.

Property damage was estimated between five and six billion dollars.

But the Oakland A’s stole the World Series victory from the San Francisco Giants. Silver lining!

So, yeah. A 4.5 in the wee hours of the morning? Piece of cake.