by Anna
It started with airplanes. Living and going to school near the airport was how I got the taste for it. The frequent rumbling of the low planes, especially on days when the clouds are thick and low. It does it for me.
Living next to train tracks is good, and so are some movies with heavy-duty surround sound. But on Sunday, November 3 at 1:12pm, I felt what I had been missing. Like a Muzak listener hearing Beethoven for the first time or a bologna sandwich connoisseur finally tasting filet mignon, I experienced an earthquake. Not just any earthquake, but the biggest to happen anywhere this year. A seven point frickin' nine on the Richter scale.
It was great, the walls twisted and the ground grumbled. Stuff fell off the walls and people ran outside, no one was hurt. Despite it being over by the time everyone realized what was going on, it was wonderful.
But luckily, that wasn't the end of it. Aftershocks followed for almost 48 hours. They were great because they snuck up. I knew they were out there, lined up and waiting to shake away, so I was always waiting expectantly for them. They would have made a good drinking game. Rumble rumble... "Did you feel that one? Bottoms up. And another one! Glug glug."
I found sitting on the floor allowed for the most accurate detection and enjoyment. Since we were spending our nights in sleeping bags, the fun just didn't stop. I got little earth massages all night long. But now, one month later in fault line-free Minnesota, I've got a hankering for some good old-fashioned seismic activity. I may have to make a pilgrimage to the San Andreas area.
