Living in New England when we get a couple of feet of snow it’s a pain in the neck but no big deal. However if you mention that to someone from the south or the southwest it blows their minds that it doesn’t bother us.
And this one, today? I was in the kitchen, puttering around and getting Easter dinner together, when I heard a noise and went off to investigate. It sounded like something in the laundry nook or the pantry, and I didn’t relish the notion that rodents had made their way into either space. But I couldn’t see anything wrong in either area, and merely filed it away as one more thing to check into this week: an additional burden. Because there was clearly a problem with the pipes, or in the laundry room, or in the back of the pantry—and I didn’t want to have to pull everything out and find out what it was. So I went grimly out into the living room, where my mother and my husband were discussing “magnitude.”
“An earthquake?” I asked. “Thank God.”
“You must have been walking,” my mother remarked. “That’s why you didn’t feel it.”
“Yeah, I was,” I replied. “But you’ve made me very happy.”
I’m sorry but when I hear earthquake, my first thought is destruction and death, but it sounds to me like I have to start to adjust my perspective.
Glad to hear they are ok anyway.