Well, not really. While hundreds of earthquakes happen under everyone’s feet everyday, feeling one is a novelty. This morning, all of Cincinnati is abuzz from feeling the shake from a 5.4 tremor centered near Evansville, Indiana.
I didn’t feel a thing. I only knew because Fox19 went to commercial only to come back with anchor lady Sheila Gray saying, “What was that? The whole studio just shook.”
The last noticeable tremor came in the late 1990’s. I worked downtown (where, in fact, it’s hard to miss when your building starts swaying.) Didn’t feel that one, either. In fact, the last Midwestern quake I’d felt happened about a month after the Challenger disaster. I thought it was a truck going by, supplying whatever to the construction crews on nearby I-71. Before that? 1979. My brother and I had a bunk bed at the time. I thought my brother had been shaking it, waking me from a Sunday afternoon nap. I came flying out of the bedroom to yell at my brother only to hear Curt Gowdy calling a Cleveland Browns game say that Municipal Stadium had just shaken.
I went to California for the first time last year, and while I wasn’t looking to feel the Northridge quake, I was disappointed the earth remained stable during both trips to the Bay Area. The only sign of an earthquake I saw on either trip was a few pictures on the wall of the old Port of San Francisco on the Embarcadero.
People in California probably laugh whenever there’s a quake east of the Mississippi. After all, the strongest one I ever felt I thought was a passing truck. But it’s like snow in the south. Atlanta gets half an inch and panics. Lexington, KY, gets half an inch and takes the day off. Cincinnati gets half an inch and drives slow. Cleveland gets half an inch and calls it a dusting. Denver calls it a flurry.
Someday, I may live in the Bay Area (because they can’t pay me enough to move to LA for very long). Then I’ll really laugh at the quakes here.