Today was going to be the first day of my renewed devotion to “Thoughtful Thursdays”—politics and opinions and punditry! Oh my! Instead I am bleary-eyed and fuzzy-headed at 6:30 p.m. Wednesday night and the only thing keeping me from keeling over is typing this post.
Tuesday night, moments after I had drifted off to sleep (at an hour that causes my entire family to mock me), I was awakened by a good, old-fashioned California earthquake. We were rockin’ and rollin’ for long enough for me to leap out of bed and run downstairs—but not long enough to make it out of doors. Then, of course, I had to wait until the internets could provide me with the answers to the questions all of us California girls ask at times like this—magnitude? epicenter? Turns out it was a 5.7 centered in Ocotillo (about 70 miles away). It was an aftershock to the Mexicali Easter quake.
Even a seasoned earthquake veteran such as myself (Sylmar ‘71) gets a little adrenaline going during a quake, so Tuesday night’s sleep was considerably shortened from my normal (as in I’m a zealot about getting it) eight hours.
Then last night our security system had a little problem. The little problem was that it went off three separate times in the middle of the night—about every 2 hours--and nobody was trying to break in. (Though they would have found it easy—the kids didn’t lock the front door before they went to bed). This afternoon Bob, a very helpful and patient Indian man who works for ADT, helped me diagnose a low battery in a motion sensor. Of course this didn’t happen until I’d tried to fix the problem myself by unscrewing the transformer from the outlet behind the water heater (contortionist who?). I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to cut the power to a security alarm—next time I’ll call Bob first.
We did discover, during the course of the conversation, that neither I or Mr. Fix-it remember the master code. Grownup Girl is the mathematician in the family and is working out all permutations from the possibilities given the couplet of numbers assigned to the buttons on the outside panel (the inside panel has separate numbers for each button). When we get that figured out I’m calling Bob back.
At one point during my conversation with Bob I was on another phone asking Mr. Fix-it if he remembered the code (he’s in Salt Lake City). He did not and wouldn’t have been able to tell me anyway because his bluetooth was knocked from his ear when he was rear-ended, pushed into the intersection and then clipped by someone jumping the green light. Thank goodness he was in a big ol’ work truck.
He should have been a Twitterer—I got minute-by-minute play-by-play complete with photos and commentary via iPhone. I particularly liked the one titled “Guilty-Looking.”
All of which is to say that I’m going to save my deep thoughts on the BP oil spill and its highlighting the need for all of us regular American citizens to reexamine our general gluttony when it comes to oil and gas usage (myself included) for next week.
See you tomorrow for Full Confessional Friday!