Rockin' and rollin'

Nature has blessed the Northwest Corner with three major earthquakes during my years here. 

The first one struck during lunch hour in third grade.  For reasons unknown, I somehow had my hands wrapped around a classmate's throat and was shaking her, when suddenly the shaking went out of control.  I recall running mindlessly and uncomprehendingly down the stairs, as hunks of plaster fell about me.

The second one began when I was in graduate school, living off-campus in the shadow of a newly constructed freeway.  I heard a large truck coming down the pike, a sound that grew louder and louder until it dawned on me that this was no truck.  It was  Earthquake 2.0 of my lifetime.  I tried to climb under my bed, which was awkward, because the bed was only about six inches off the floor.

The third earthquake, the so-called Nisqually quake of 2001, occurred during the morning while I was sitting in my office, fifteen floors above Fifth Avenue.  I felt suddenly queasy, a queasiness that increased as I watched the Medical-Dental Building across the street pass back and forth across my field of vision.  I spent most of the quake huddled under my desk.  In times of stress, my reactions  as a senior attorney were no more dignified than they had been as a third-grader.

In the years since 2001, scientists have reminded us repeatedly that the traumatic Quake of '01, although a 6.8 tremor, was a subduction earthquake, caused by small movements of tectonic plates some 32 miles below the surface -- as were the two earlier quakes.  We still await the "Big One" --  a sudden release of energy caused by "stuck" portions of the plates when they suddenly rupture and slide.  These ruptures occur in our area on an average of every 480 years (our last was in 1700), with the upper plate moving horizontally 10 to 30 yards in seconds, and built-up pressure on the upper crust being suddenly released, causing the land to sink.

Such a "tremor" could be a 9.2 in magnitude, lasting up to six minutes, with a loss of life of over 10,000.  The odds of such a disaster occurring in the next 50 years is "only" 10 to 15 percent.  But still.    

My predilection is to worry about problems rather than do anything about them.  Therefore, for at least a decade, I've occasionally awakened at 3 a.m. and worried about my house sliding off its foundation and becoming not only worthless, but a costly liability that the city would undoubtedly force me to clean up and remove.

Finally, however, as part of a general spiffing up of my property, I hired a seismic expert to come in and earthquake-proof my house.  (He refuses to use the word "earthquake-proof" -- there are no guarantees, he reminds me.)  After a day and a half of incredible noise in the basement, my foundation has been equipped with a large amount of snazzy-looking hardware, designed to hold the house on its concrete foundation, as well as some mundane-looking plywood designed to reinforce the "cripple wall" at the front of the house.

I feel much better.  The house may still fall apart.  I may still die of a heart attack from fright.  But at least the house will stay put on its damn foundation.  I'm mentally at rest.  I feel smug, in fact, eager to see my less prudent neighbors' houses fall apart should the Big One occur within my remaining years.

The work was completed Friday.  This morning, at about 3 a.m., California suffered a fairly significant earthquake (about 6.1), centered not far from Sonoma, where many of my family members live.  No reports of any damage from any of my relatives, but -- in my anthropomorphic way -- I assume that the Earthquake Gods -- infuriated by my attempts to frustrate them in Seattle -- are taking out their vengeance on my family elsewhere.

It's a nice, sunny day in Seattle.  Enjoy your summer.