This is a United States Geological Survey map showing the 2,526 earthquakes we’ve recently enjoyed in, planetarily speaking, my neck of the woods.
For the past week or so our (three-story!) townhouse has been shaking so much that, for fun, I’ve taken to moving my chair into the middle of our living room, waiting, and then seeing where I end up. Maybe it’ll be by the TV! Maybe by our bookcase! Last Tuesday I cracked my knees right up against the front door!
Good times.
This morning I was awakened at 4 a.m. by rain coming down so hard that I thought it was some sort of weirdly prolonged thunder. It was one of those very rare rains about which you can know it’s simply not possible for any more water to fall from the sky. The rain was almost a solid, you know? It wasn’t exactly deafening, but unless you were standing right next to me, for instance, it was almost impossible to hear me blubbering about the end of the world.
You know how rain of that volume only lasts, at most, a minute? This one continued, unbroken, for two hours.
Awhile back I was interviewed about my book “I’m OK–You’re Not’ by a guy who is an End Times Christian. He was super-adamant about so many things in the world today being Biblical signs that the End of Days are upon us. Outwardly, I smiled and nodded; inwardly, I wondered how many people have died fully convinced that they just missed the End of Days.
One more rain like that, though, and I’m calling that guy.
He’ll be all, “Oh, sure. Now you call me.”
And I’ll cry into the phone, “Come get me right now! You wouldn’t believe what’s happened to my knees!”
(Update: this story, published this evening in the Los Angeles Times: More Moving and Shaking, but Why?)
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