Friday morning the little blue house at the end of the road shook like a wet dog after a flea bath. Something was terribly wrong outside, but what? What startled us out of a sound sleep, shortly after the alarm was reset for the third time?
We looked out of the windows and couldn't see was playing happening to our little corner of the world, which caused the middle and end slats of our bed to exit the frame when we panicked. Was the sky falling like Henny Penny warned it would?
It sounded like a herd of cattle stampeding across our new roof. Paul thought something was messing with the west - side of our home. Since nothing was tumbling about inside, it failed to occur to us that an earthquake had interfered with the last few minutes of the rest period.
I thought that it could be a space ship that landed in Dave Barr's field, next to our castle. The aliens might be looking for a frightened and sleepy couple of old-timers, as bug eyed as them, hiding beneath the covers of their broken down bed. I didn't think of cracks or vibrations that relief stress on and beneath the earth's lithosphere, rather; I feared those space scientists were going to inject us with a long thick needle of foreign fluid and beam us up, up and away. I reminded Paul that travel was mentioned in his horoscope, but he didn't buy any of that nonsense either, even if it might have turned out to be a blue book event about to unfold. I theorized that they could be looking for American Idols and found where we live, by mistake. Then, later, the Sartors might be considered "spacey" junk and dropped out beyond the sunset.
In 1959, we were living on Front Street in San Diego, California, in a little sparsely furnished lackluster efficiency apartment.
We slept on a roll-a-way bed on a light -- weight mattress, with a weird feeling filling.
My sailor husband and I were sleeping beside our baby, Starla Gail's crib. We were awakened by similar sounds as those that we experience Friday morning, with even more intensity; an earthquake rocked our space!
We felt the wrath of the primary waves of the quake as well as the secondary waves that did the damage. The cabinet doors flew open, precious canned goods, not easy to come by, tumbled from the pantry shelves and the coffee table slid across the polished linoleum covered floor, into the baby comfort zone. It sure did disturb her sleep. She screamed louder than the monkeys did in the early morning hours at Balboa Park Zoo, nearby.
Our cheap slick mattress covered in blue and white ticking slid off of the bed taking us with it. We were rather feather light in those early days of our marriage too, but we never lost the mattress until then. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so; we opted to take care of the most important treasure that we could cradle up in our arms, our little baby.
We were told later that the epicenter of the quake was not far from us. I believe seismologists determined the magnitude of that natural event measured a 6.2 read on the Richter scale. Structural damage befell a brick building a short distance from the apartment complex.
We neither had a TV nor a newspaper to further inform us as to the accuracy of other's claims or what to expect next.
If we would have had access to a newspaper and good reporters, in the aftermath, then and there, like those at The Brazil Times today, to tell us what others felt and what our eyes missed, all those years ago, we wouldn't still wondering; how bad was it?
At any rate, before events like that or worse shakeup our world again, we need to do some ground work in regard to safety, a survival plan if you will. Earthquake insurance surely does make good sense also.
Some say they are beginning to find mushrooms. I don't have time this week to test my luck. This big yard appears to be out of hand already, far from a landscaper's dream and close to my worst nightmare, early on.
In early May, when my late father's favorite flowering greens, the dandelions dot the lawn, wave their long arms and smile at the yellow fellow that kissed them; I sing the same old song. Mary Mary warms up to the tasks at hand and shakeup their world and everything from here to there with my Craftsman riding mower. Now, if I can get the mini - bush hog serviced, to my satisfaction, I'll mow down a few green onions, as well as, the path to our garden.
And, that haircut Paul needs; I may add that trim job to the schedule. I am almost in the whacking mood now, just thinking about it! Since the piercing healed and I am no longer playing nurse there will be enough time any way I cut it!
Thank you for putting up with me. I truly enjoy writing, telling it as it is and the fact, that; I can sit down at this computer before me and communicate with each and every one of you every Thursday, individually, through Brazil Buzz. Seems like I always have a lot to say, even if it isn't much.
I can be reached at 446-4852 or drop me a line to 613 North Elm St., Brazil, IN., 47834 or by email at firstname.lastname@example.org.