An earthquake. In Cincinnati. You have got to be kidding me.
Okay, it didn’t actually happen IN Cinci, you all probably know it was more like Evansville, Indiana – but we felt it here. I’d finally gotten Smooch back to sleep after his now-regular 5:00 a.m. wake up (what is UP with that, by the way?) and was lying in my bed, hoping I could doze back off. I thought I was losing my mind when the bed seemed to shake, but then both cats sat bolt upright and I realized it wasn’t just me.
The windows rattled, not unlike the windows in our home on Fort Hood would rattle when the army guys were out “in the field” practicing artillery fire.
A few more seconds of shaking, while I tried to figure out if an airplane was making an emergency landing (we’re close to the CVG airport) or if this was an earthquake, and then it stopped. I considered turning on the news, decided against it. I tried to snooze a bit more, until the phone rang. (Gruff, checking to see if he’d left his wallet at home -yes- and if I’d felt the earthquake too -yes.)
At that point, I got up to call my mother. What is it about crazy events that make me want to call home? We started talking about all the things that have happened to me in the last few years – I’ve lived through a tornado (which wasn’t close to us at all, really), a hurricane (Katrina, when she was mildly crossing the Florida Peninsula), a fire, a blizzard, and now an earthquake.
Seriously, I’d better never EVER move to the West Coast. I think the only things left on the list of natural disasters are tsunamis and volcanic eruptions.