Shake, Rattle and Roll

We had a minor earthquake Chez Watson & BeBop the other night. 

And by ‘minor earthquake’ I mean we actually had an earthquake, not that BeBop and I got into an argument or anything.  And by ‘argument’ I would normally mean that I was screaming and yelling and he was calm and composed in his Happy Place not hearing a word I was saying but since that didn’t happen that’s neither here nor there.

[And THAT should give you an idea of what it’s like to hang out with me:  I am furiously using air quotes and back tracking and blathering on and on and aren’t you SO glad we’re blog friends and I can’t call you up and beg you to meet me at Starbuck’s?  Aren’t you?  I know you are.]

So…this earthquake.  It was a little startling.  My biggest fear is that I will feel a relatively small shake, then relax and think it’s over but soon realize with horror that it was only a pre-shock and BLAM, down goes the house around us, and BeBop and Bosco and I are left standing in a door jam in our bare feet (and bare paws).

But thankfully, this was only a small quake and not a pre-shock.  And most normal people in this situation would, oh, perhaps recollect other earthquakes they’ve experienced while living in California.  Most normal people would, for example, remember that while in college, the huge 7.1 Loma Prieta quake hit and terrified anyone within a 500 radius of the epicenter.  They might think of how traumatic it was that a portion of the Bay Bridge collapsed or that a huge piece of a freeway overpass fell on several cars, killing several people just trying to get home from work that day. Or, how weird it was that the A’s and the Giants were playing in the World Series that year and how the quake sent thousands of fans scurrying from the ballpark.  But those would be the thoughts of a NORMAL person.

When I realized we were having an earthquake, I immediately thought of one of my Mother’s friends, I’ll call him Mack.  According to my Mother, Mack invented a machine years ago which could predict earthquakes.  I can’t tell you what kind of machine this was, because my Mother is notoriously scant on the details of these kinds of things:

Me:  Well, what does it do exactly?

Her: Oh, I don’t know…reads the sound waves in the ground or something.

Me:  The wha….??

Her:  Well what do you CARE as long as he’s right?

Me:  But he’s NOT right.  He predicts earthquakes all the time, and you make us take down all the paintings and tape the cabinets closed and then nothing happens.

Her:  Well, YOU JUST WAIT. One of these days he’ll be right on and then you’ll ALL be happy we saved the furniture.

My Dad piping in:  As long as he keeps predicting quakes each week, he’s bound to be right at some point!

Her:  SHUT UP. All of you.

So, anyway, Mack did indeed predict earthquakes about once a week.  And, because we live in California for crissakes, sometimes he would be right.  And we spent hours taking artwork off the walls, making sure the glassware was secured and re-filling the ginormous barrels of water my Mother keeps in the garage for just this purpose.  Along with the regulation Army meals which can apparently last for decades.  And the generator, which she finally convinced my Father to buy her just before Y2K when she was POSITIVE all hell would break loose and we’d have to live ‘off the grid.’

Me:  GREAT.  We’re going to be known as the Branch Dividians in the neighborhood.  All we need is an FBI raid on our bunker and we’ll be all set.

Her:  SHUT UP.  All of you.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, Mack and his miraculous earthQUACK machine.

Her:  Don’t call it THAT. One day you’ll thank GOD he gave us fair warning.  We’ll be prepared while the rest of our friends are starving and dehydrated.

Me:  That’s a delightful thought.

This story took an odd turn a few years ago. 

WAIT.  We thought it started OUT weird, Watson.  You mean it gets weirder? Oh yes, my little chickadees. Hang on to your hardhats.

Mack was sent to jail.  For predicting earthquakes, you ask?  No, silly bear, for some kind of molestation charge.  YES.  How charming.

But. My Mother was convinced that the charges were trumped up!  Because he could predict earthquakes and THEY didn’t want US to have that information.  So THEY drummed up false charges and he was sent to jail because THEY didn’t want US to have access to this important knowledge. He was INNOCENT and this was a TRAVESTY of justice!!!

Despite the somewhat gruesome nature of this case, my Mother continued to support him and believed that it was all part of a CONSPIRACY.  And get THIS:  he called her — from jail — all of the time, to warn her about earthquakes!  Because somehow, despite all the odds, his machine was still working and someone on the outside could take the readings (or whatever they were) and he could analyze these readings, from JAIL!  He would not be beaten down by The Man!

We would routinely get collect calls from the prison.  My Dad and I would roll our eyes and, through clenched teeth, accept the charges so that my Mom could talk to Mack and hear about this and that conspiracy against him and oh yeah, how there will definitely be an earthquake in the next two weeks.

And as if THIS was not bad enough?  My Mom would make up care packages and send them to Mack.  In PRISON!  She would go to Costco and stock up on items that were apparently quite popular with the incarcerated, and put together a huge box to send to him.

I would gnash my teeth and complain how she never sent ME care packages when I was in college, for crissakes.  But she would just laugh and ask me to pass the cartons of cigarettes, since she was running late for UPS.

And THAT, my friends, that is the sort of thing that the abnormal among us think of when the little earthquakes come.