It finally happened.  I felt my first earthquake this morning.  It was 7 am and Audrey, Jack and I were downstairs making breakfast and getting ready for school.  Kate was still in bed.  I’m standing by the kitchen counter and then suddenly it sounds like a train goes by our house.  The dogs are barking, pictures and glasses are rattling.  It didn’t last long, 3-4 seconds maybe.  I look at Audrey and ask, “what was that?”  We decide it must have been an earthquake, but I text some local friends to double check.  Kate steps to the landing at the top of the stairs, looks down and says, “I think we just had an earthquake.”

Sure enough, it was.  The epicenter was 3 miles from our house and it was categorized a 4.6.  I’ve lived through hurricanes, tropical storms, tornadoes and hail storms, but until today, I’ve never felt an earthquake.  Now, I have to admit, I was somewhat looking forward to experiencing my first earthquake.  Of course, I normally tried to squash those feelings; my train of thought being, if I want to feel one, we’ll end up having some monster 8.3 quake.  Goodness knows that wasn’t what I wanted to experience.  I’ll take the somewhat intriguing 4.6 quakes.  I’d still rather avoid anything of Hollywood action movie proportions.