My living room couch is angled against a north-facing window. The location of the two plump pillows shifts with the sun. In the morning and early afternoon those pillows lean against the eastern arm so I can read by natural light. The pillows move to the other end, near the lamp, when daylight starts to fade.
Natural light was plentiful last Friday. I've noticed I spend less and less time gazing at the sky these days, something I blame on years living in or near major metropolitan areas where stars can no longer be seen, but the sky was quite remarkable Friday morning. Could that color be described as cobalt? I wondered when I sauntered out to the patio with my first cup of coffee that morning. Not cobalt, I decided, but nevertheless a breathtakingly dramatic shade of blue. I admired the sky and then laughed at myself for admiring the sky.
My plan for the afternoon had me delivering a second load of contributions to the submarine wives for their Saturday yard sale. That morning I dropped off the first load then piled more contributions on the kitchen counter before stretching out on the couch with John Hart's The Last Child. One chapter led to another just as one chapter has led to another since the dawn of the printing press and it was 2:45 pm when I finally managed to exercise enough self-control to close the book and think about loading up the car.
The book landed on the coffee table just as the house started shaking. "Ick," I thought. ("Ick" is what I think whenever I feel the ground shake. I am not proud of thinking "ick". I would much prefer to have thoughts demanding a more refined vocabulary like "seismic event" or "techtonic plate shift" but I want to accurately and honestly record my memories of this historical event so "ick" it is.)
In my limited experience of earthquakes - mind you, I never felt a single tremor for the first two years we lived in Japan - they last for two or three seconds. Until now, the basic procedure has been: ground shakes, Peevish mutters "ick", ground stops shaking.
Except this time the ground did not stop shaking. The Anshinkan Disaster Simulation kicked in. I sprang around the coffee table and dove headfirst under the dining room table, gripping one of those claw-and-ball feet for dear life. Life did strike me as being ever so dear at that moment. How could I have taken it for granted?
"Lulu!" I have a houseguest but had no idea if she was in the house. She's been sleeping in Matt's room for the past month and our paths have crossed about seven times for a sum total of 12 minutes. "Lulu!"
The floor continued to shake. From under the table, I watched in horror as the dining room chairs danced around the room. My life started flashing before my eyes. The vertical blinds had started to sway like a hypnotist's pocketwatch by the time my early training kicked in. Those Hail Marys poured out of my mouth but, truth be told, it was the Our Father that stopped the earthquake. That surprised me. I'll have to spend some time pondering that one. At the time, I was merely grateful.
The blinds continued to swing long after the earth stopped trembling. Then I crawled out from under the table to assess the damage. There was none I could see. The spice jars on the little ledge above the sink were still lined up in alphabetical order. The laptop computer on the back porch was still connected to the internet.
I gazed at the computer in astonishment. While I was praying for my life and gripping that table leg, my youngest son had posted on Facebook: Earthquake in Japan!
I shot him a quick return message just as Lulu appeared in the living room in a state of semi-shock. She was stepping out of the shower when the earthquake started. That was pretty funny (glad it wasn't me kind of funny) and we were sharing a chuckle when the first aftershock hit.
We both dove under the dining room table. I grabbed my book as I passed the coffee table. What in the world was I thinking? That I was going to read rather than pray? That I would actually be able to concentrate on the plot in the midst of a 7.something intensity earthquake? Maybe I was simply trying to exude calm for the benefit of my 24-year old guest. Maybe I was thinking my children would appreciate knowing I died with a book in my hand.
This was 200 miles from the epicenter. I cannot begin to imagine the horror those people in Sendai experienced.
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