Missed It

Last month's 4.4 earthquake woke me up at 4AM.

Last week's 7.2 earthquake hit Baja, Mexico, in the middle of the afternoon—a long, rolling quake that turned our hanging candleholder into a pendulum—but didn't register with me at all.

I was in the shower and wouldn't have been the wiser if Zach hadn't shouted the news to me.

It's really just the strangest phenomenon. One of my colleagues, who lives across town, said it was long and strong enough to make him and his wife queasy, but a friend who was at the gym missed it entirely.

Last year, when Zach and I were rear-ended, we waited for the police, gave our statements, then drove to the hospital. In the five minutes that elapsed between leaving the scene of the accident, parking, and walking into the emergency room, there was an earthquake. Everyone in the ER was talking about it, and we had no idea it had happened.

I have felt at least four and missed about the same number (that I know of) between our time here and in the Bay Area.

For all I know, I'm missing one right now.

Although our candleholder isn't swaying. . . .