There was an earthquake in northern Utah last week, which hit a 4.9 on the good ol’ Richter scale just northeast of Randolph, UT. I have no clue where Randolph is. But I felt like stating that fact.
I didn’t feel the earthquake; I was driving home from work. Some of my coworkers who were still at work at the time said it shook the cubicle walls. I could huff and puff on those walls and blow them down so that didn’t surprise me. They took it as a sign to go home already.
Have you ever felt an earthquake?
I remember feeling one the summer of 1999. I was working as a daycare/camp counselor at the Jewish Community Center and it was naptime. I was probably resting next to either the really sweet kid who liked to read a story before taking his nap or by Max who was the difficult boy that wouldn’t behave. Regardless, I felt the quake because I was lying on the floor, but didn’t realize it was an earthquake until hearing about it on the radio later and matching up the times.
That was the same summer that we had the tornado in Salt Lake. People started talking about the last days. No wait, that wasn’t an accurate statement. Correction: people CONTINUED talking about the last days.
My Grumma told me the story of the earthquake that hit Salt Lake when she was a little girl. She said it left a crack in the wall in her home. Something she would never forget.
In junior high, I was terrified of earthquakes. I was sure the “big one” would hit us in the middle of the night when I wouldn’t be coherent enough to duck and cover under a school desk. One night, I slept under the coffee table in the basement family room. It was safe under there.
If an earthquake hit in the middle of the night now, I’m sure every piece of my upstairs neighbors’ bedroom would end up on top of me, judging by the excessively creaky floors.
BUT… I would have enough food for a few months and enough water for about a day. Maybe two days if I tap into the water in the toilet tank. Yummy.