Normally earthquakes just pass me by--I have a certain amount of constant vibration going on anyway, so I don't really notice. I did wake up this morning, as this 4.7, while only a 4.7, moved me around my bed a little bit and made my house move. (I noticed this because my house is typically very good about not moving.) I woke up pretty lucid, noticing the house shaking, but by the time I'd decided it was a quake, it stopped. From this experience I draw some conclusions:

• Big earthquakes suck. A lot. I will not enjoy the next one.
• My house is going to come crashing down like a pile of matchsticks.

Now I know the feeling, though. And as my friend points out, I seem to take pride in enduring things...

Yesterday as I drifted off into a nap, I turned on NPR and caught the Poet Laureate reading a few lines, one of which mentioned Mount Kearsarge, which answered my wondering from a few days ago about where my family had gone once for a long weekend. I haven't figured out which lake we were on, with the mountain a few miles away, but I'll keep listening to the radio to find out.