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Day 31 - Just A Little Shakey

3/7/2012

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:120307: My cell is firmly established on solid ground. Early Monday morning, two strong earthquakes awakened the Bay Area. At 5:33 am, a magnitude 3.5 quake, followed immediately by a magnitude 4.0 quake shook approximately 5.5 miles below the surface in El Cerrito, CA. Another mild aftershock was felt a half hour later.

Though the quakes served as a rude awakening and were felt as far away as Santa Cruz, they were relatively minor. Police dispatchers in the surrounding cities received no reports of injuries or major damage. Nearby transit systems and bridges were inspected and given the all-clear.

My friend, Mac (below) was less than 2.5 miles from the epicenter that morning, and his important job of keeping my mother's feet warm while she sleeps was interrupted by the jolt.
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Earthquakes are a constant threat in the vicinity of the seismically active San Andreas Fault, but individual minor quakes are only as significant as something like a nearby tornado: sure you pay attention to it, but if it doesn't destroy your house or community, you can forget about it pretty quickly. Here it is just a few days later and I bet most people have forgotten it already.

Every once in a while, though, an earthquake is a big deal. Longtime residents of the Bay Area will certainly remember the Loma Prieta earthquake (a.k.a. the Quake of '89 or the World Series Earthquake) as vividly as others remember 9/11 or the assassination of JFK.

The Loma Prieta Quake measured 6.9 on the Richter Magnitude Scale. The Richter Scale is logarithmic in nature, so each whole number is 10 times as powerful as the preceding number. That makes the '89 quake roughly 1000 times as powerful as Monday's quake.

Because of the timing of the event, the earthquake happened during the warm-up of a World Series game, making it the first major quake to have live, national coverage on television. It was also the event that triggered more long-distance phone calls than any other date in history up to that point. Everyone wanted to know if their Bay Area loved ones were OK.

As, of course, did I. My mother (the one whose feet are warmed by Mac) was unable to cross the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge because of the collapsed section, and took a circuitous route around the bay on public transportation to get home from work that night, along with everyone else in the same boat. A commute that normally took about an hour on the bus ended up taking her closer to seven hours.

Before cell phones, there was really no way for me to know if she was going to be able to come home at all that night. As a ten-year-old who had just experienced a major earthquake, it was pretty scary. I stayed at a friend's house that night, as did my brother. We didn't leave a note for Mom, mostly because we didn't want to remain in the high-rise apartment building longer than necessary, but she knew exactly where to find us anyway. She called our respective friends' houses around midnight when she finally got home.

Twenty-two years later, I can still remember exactly what I was eating just a moment before the shaking started. I can remember the underside of the heavy wooden table under which we took cover. I can remember exactly what the shaking felt like. I can remember the color of my friend's socks as we ran down eleven flights of stairs without stopping to put on our shoes. I can remember debating whether to continue walking to my friend's (one story) house in just our socks, or to risk going back inside for shoes (ultimately, we decided to go back inside for shoes and to rescue the cat). I can remember the exact clothing items I had to borrow from my friend to wear to school the next morning. I can remember looking around at the empty desks of my classmates the next day, and hoping that nothing terrible had happened to them.

And I can remember swapping where-where-you-when? stories for years afterward.
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Day 19 - Catch Rays on the Dock

3/5/2011

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:110305: My captors asked for a photograph taken with actual film. I dug deep into the archives for this one, taken with a 35mm film point and shoot, and a broken one at that.
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I didn't know it when I took this shot, or the rest of that roll, that there was something wrong with the camera. I think there was a slowly increasing light leak somewhere. This was one of the first shots on the roll, and subsequent shots included ever-increasing strangely over-exposed shapes on the final prints.

This one escaped with only a mildly hazy over-exposed feel to it. I like it because it gives the shot a dream-like quality (matching my memory of the place) that I probably couldn't have done on purpose if I tried. This is a completely un-edited shot, and you can see dust specks from when it was scanned who knows how long ago, and a scratch on the print.

I spent 9 summers on this lake, and this image certainly brings back memories. I can hear in my mind the sounds of paddles gently tapping and scraping the sides of those plastic kayaks as kids tooled around in them exploring the lake. I can remember where every large rock is in that swimming area, and exactly where the deepest and shallowest parts are. I can smell those Ponderosa Pines, and I can feel the texture of the "grass" (not really grass, but it served the same purpose) in the meadow on my fingertips. The flavor of the juice we always requested whenever we cooked meals over an open fire is unlike any other, and the image of the stars we would gaze at as we fell asleep each night, framed by the starburst-shaped clusters of pine needles sticks with me to this very day.

I could go on, nearly indefinitely, but these are my memories, and probably not as interesting to you as your own. Leave a comment and tell me about a time in your past when you can remember with all five of your senses, with your whole being, every detail of an experience. What was your favorite part (if you can choose)? Which tiny detail had you forgotten about completely, but through the process of remembering the whole picture, came back to you as clearly as though you were there yesterday?
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Day 6 - Back When

2/10/2006

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:060210: My captors keep talking about the good old days. There is something to be said for living in the now. There is more to be said for enjoying the now. I listen to people recounting days of yore with nostalgia and longing, and I understand that hearts can be warmed by fond memories – I quite enjoy my fair share of cardio-toasting recollections of my past – but the pedestal is what worries me.

My father is a high school teacher. In the high drama of your typical teenager’s life, the big picture is easy to lose. My father reminds his students, “If high school is the high point of your life, you’re doing it wrong.” Meaning Life. You’re doing Life wrong. High school should not be the best time you ever had. It should not be the greatest, most glorious four years that will ever be. If it is, that means the entire, long, rest of your life never got any better than high school. Think about that. Nothing in your life was ever any better than high school.

It’s not just high school. It could be anything in your life. If you can pick a point in your past that was the best time you ever had, then you should change something in your present or your future. Right now should be the best time you ever had. Make it a never-ending goal to outdo yourself. That doesn’t mean you have to go to dangerous extremes, you just have to find something that fulfills you as much as or more so than whatever you were doing in the past.

Life can always get better than it used to be. If you cling to your past with the conviction that no part of your future can top that time, then no part of your future ever will. You will have become older without having grown.

This past-clingage makes me saddest when it involves me. An old friend will want to reminisce about times gone by. Again, I enjoy the reminiscing, to a point, but when it becomes clear that that person’s life never got any better than that, that’s when I start to become uncomfortable. It’s the pedestal thing, I think. I was a part of something, some time in their life that was truly great. Those were the days. The Greatest Days. When they see me, they are reminded of those, the Greatest of Days. I am a part of their Greatest of Days. Their life has just been a continuation, plodding on with only a memory to sustain them.

But I moved on. I had more great days, even some greater days after that. Those new experiences did not involve that other person. I put that person on no pedestal. Sure, we had some good times together. And sure, I’ll always remember them with a warm-hearted fond glow. But my greatest days are still to come, and they may or may not involve that person. Should I feel bad about that? To me, the other person is a fond memory of my past. To them, I am a pivotal piece of their Long Lost Greatest Time.

This is where my discomfort comes in. Being a part of someone’s Greatest Time Ever is a lot of pressure. They want to talk about it. They want validation that those were the good old days. They want me to agree. “Weren’t those just the best days ever?” “Don’t you wish we could relive those days?” “Doesn’t life suck now that we’re not in that time anymore?” …What am I, as a good friend, supposed to say? Do I lie and say, “yes?” Do I tell them the brutal truth, that the time in their life they believe will top no other was, to me, not all that great in comparison to the things I have done since then?

Clearly I cannot invalidate their Greatest Time, so like a good friend, I lie. I agree that their Greatest Time was also my Greatest Time. I can tell, though, that the most persistent reminiscers do not believe the lie. They want details. They want me to explain precisely how the Greatest Time came to be the Greatest Time, and why it is still the Greatest Time. I cannot provide details because I have none. It isn’t true. It was a good time, but I have no evidence at all that it was the Greatest Time. I don’t believe it. If I did believe it, it would be a depressing Truth to behold. Never any better than that? For all time? I hope I have a good 60 or 70 years left in me. I hope I didn’t waste my Greatest Time Ever already. That would be a whole lot of nothing to look forward to.

Remember the good times. Remember the Great Times. Reserve judgment of the Greatest Time Ever for your deathbed. Hopefully, it will be difficult to choose.
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Day 3 - Epilogue

1/20/2006

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:060120: News from the outside. My Great Grandmother passed away today. Last week I was sorting through some old schoolwork, and I found an interview I had done with her about the 1920s. She was 11 years old at the beginning of the 20s, and this is what she remembered. Her answers were paraphrased when I did the assignment, so these are not her original words, but they are close.

Interview from January 30, 1995
We had electric heat, but before that we had the regular coal oil lamps. We had to get up early to make the fire every day and fire up the wood stove, which we had until the 30s. We would make oatmeal, and we would have pancakes every morning. In the late 20s we got a Model T Ford. My mom tried to learn to drive one day but she crashed into a tree and never tried it again.

I didn't finish high school; I'm kind of ashamed that I never did. I didn't go past the 10th grade because we had a large family, and I was ashamed of the clothes I wore. I babysat a lot and I worked in a dress shop for $15 a week. I also sold soap door to door. It was Rinsol, I think. I made $3 a day and I thought I was so rich. One summer I picked strawberries, and it was so hot that I nearly had a sun-stroke so they put me in a shed which wasn't much cooler than it was outside. I've never liked the heat since then. I also picked cucumbers one year and picked up potatoes with my brother. Working in the dress shop gave me confidence because I didn't have very nice clothes of my own. I wore plain dresses most of the time, with a print or something on them. We didn't wear slacks or anything back then, just dresses, unless you were playing or something, in which case you wore jeans, but I never did. I had one dress that I just loved. It was a white eyelet dress with a black ribbon around it just above the waist. My mother bought it for $5.

We had a large family and Dad was the head of the household. You always passed the meat to him first. Dad had his own special chair that no one else was allowed to sit in. Well if Dad wasn't there, why you could sit in it just fine, but if he was there, then you had to move. We walked a lot. It was a long way to our grade school, well, 9 or 10 blocks, so we walked a lot. I always came home for lunch because Dad always came home for lunch, and we had a full hour to eat.

Spring vacation was a lot different than it is today. Back then they called it Clean Up Week. The kids cleaned, raking up yards and making the yard all nice, and if we were good then on the last day we would get to have a bonfire. We would roast potatoes and sometimes marshmallows after the coals died down.

Every Saturday morning, my brother and I would go to watch a movie. It was 5¢ to get in, or maybe it was a dime, but I seem to remember it being more like a nickel. It was always a continuing story, so you had to come back every week. They gave out candy and stuff. They were always cowboy movies. I watched so many cowboy movies that I would have dreams that some man on a horse was chasing me and I was trying to get away, and I would thrash around so much that I would fall out of bed.

I can't remember which was my favorite movie but I will never forget one of them was called "Montana Moon," and I just loved that movie so much, and I wish that they would release it again sometime. I didn't ever see "The Jazz Singer," but I did go to the Vaudeville one time in Spokane. My parents couldn't afford to take me most of the time, but I went with a friend of mine one time. Her parents took us and it was just beautiful. I remember there was a painting of a ship on the stage. Afterward we went out for ice cream and I had an ice cream sundae. It was the first ice cream sundae I had ever had. We usually made our own ice cream a gallon at a time because our freezer couldn't keep it cold. We had an ice chest type thing that was about half the size of a normal refrigerator. We just kept a 25lb. chunk of ice in it to keep things cold. We couldn't shop for the whole week, we just kept the butter and the milk and maybe some meat in there. We didn't have real fancy meals.

Over labor day, we didn't ever go on any vacations, but Dad always got labor day off because of the union; it was the four Ls ... Loyal Loggers of Lumber ... anyway it was four Ls so on Labor day we would all go to the lake for a picnic. My mother would fill a basket like a clothes basket full of food for the lunch and we would take the electric train to the lake. There were always races and things there and it was something I always looked forward to. Sometimes my mother would bundle us up and she couldn't afford to take us to the circus but she would bundle us up anyway so we could see the parade. Us kids never really felt neglected or deprived.

We used to play cut the pie out in the snow with all the neighborhood children. The auditorium park had rides in the summer and they would shoot fireworks on the fourth of July. We would sit in the gully near the river, where we could sit up and see and look down on them. In the winter we would slide down the hill on sleds. Dad made a sled for me and my brother. It couldn't have been more than 18 inches long. We would go to a big hill. I would lie down on the sled and my brother would lie down on top of me because he was my younger brother. People thought we were sliding down with no sled because it was so small. I wish I still had that sled. I don't know what happened to it.

I didn't watch any sports until high school, when I watched football. Sports are so big business lately that they don't even seem like sports anymore. I played baseball and volleyball and tennis, and I went swimming in the summer at parks. During the Great Depression, Claude and I would get together with friends from the post office every other week on a Saturday afternoon. We would have a potluck supper and then we would play baseball and then pinochle.

I used to love Coney Islands. Sometimes Claude and I would splurge and we would go to a movie and then we would go to a Coney Island place. Coney island places are like chili dog places, like chili dog stands. They were 2 for 15¢ if you can believe that. And beer was 5¢ each. There was also this little man with a hamburger wagon and he would make little hamburgers for 5¢ each.

Something I didn't like about the 1920s was the dark wallpaper. It always made the room seem so dark. The style came back a while later but I never wanted to see it again. That was something that made an impression on me. Nowadays, everything is improved, the style of living is improved and comforts and such. I was never uncomfortable but there were 7 children in my family. We always had 3 meals a day and Mom baked. We would come home from school and you can't slice bread when it's fresh baked, so we would always get a loaf that we could just break hunks off of and spread butter in, and it was so good.
Ninety-six years, five months, and one day. She went from not having any electricity, or movies with sound, to watching video clips on a laptop computer. Who knows what's waiting for me in 70 years?

For the record, both my father and I tried for years to find "Montana Moon" on video or DVD for her to see again. As far as I can tell, they never released it outside of theaters.
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    "A human being is part of a whole, called by us the 'Universe,' a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something sepa- rated from the rest—a kind of optical delu- sion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widen- ing our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty."
                                                         - Albert Einstein


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    Day 32 - Olympic Design
    Day 31 - Just a Little Shak
    Day 30 - Neil DeGrasse Tys
    Day 29 - State of Design
    Day 28 - No Human Being I
    Day 27 - The Glass Is...
    Day 26 - Apparently I'm An
    Day 25 - You Know You Sh
    Day 24 - As Luck Would Ha
    Day 23 - Hassle Free Holid
    Day 22 - 9 Weeks Away
    Day 21 - The Catfish Know
    Day 20 - Divided by Two
    Day 19 - Catch Rays on the
    Day 18 - The Power of the
    Day 17 - Stuck to the Glass
    Day 16 - Stay for the Georg
    Day 15 - A Place to Put His
    Day 14 - The View From Be
    Day 13 - Color Geek
    Day 12 - Minor Celebrity
    Day 11 - We've Been Waiti
    Day 10 - Obtuseness Abou
    Day 9 - From the List
    Day 8 - Wearing the Right
    Day 7 - I Heart the Olympic
    Day 6 - Back When
    Day 5 - Natural Selection a
    Day 4 - Priorities
    Day 3 - Epilogue
    Day 2 - Freefall
    Day 1 - Secret Treasure
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