I’ve been wanting to post for the past hour, but keep getting derailed by all the emails asking about The Earthquake.
Thanks for caring. The coasters are fine. (Oh, and we are, too.)
It was 4:36 this morning. The rattling began.
Later, I thought of the ratty motels featured in movies and sitcoms — those with the “Magic Fingers” on the beds? For 50 cents? Well, let’s just say the magic was in overdrive.
Gary, my husband, woke up for about a minute. I told him I thought we were in the middle of an earthquake.
Ohhh… yeah…
He rolled over and went back to sleep.
When I teased him a few hours later about how safe I felt that my big strong man was on top of the emergency, he was ready with an answer:
Well, if we were going to have a crisis, I should be well-rested, right?
Our 16-year-old son John says the earthquake didn’t awaken him.
But the call at 4:37 am from his buddy Philip did.
“Dude, we just had an earthquake!”
Huhhhh? Whaaaa?
Apparently John takes after his dad in all the important ways.
I just talked to Will. He’s deeply disappointed in his foo-foo doggy.
“Aren’t dogs supposed to know ahead of time and warn the family? We have to have a serious talk this evening…”
Apparently Will watched too many Lassie reruns growing up.
Also heard from Korey of The Gravity Group (they’re in Cincinnati). He says two of them awakened and three didn’t.
I want names.
Meanwhile, we do have a set emergency procedure for earthquakes. Our crews are carefully inspecting the rides and buildings. So far, so good.
As I prepare to push the “publish post” button, I feel the rumble of an aftershock. And thank God that all are safe.
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