[passage from my journal, 27/28 February 2001]
12:20 n PST—Well, for what it is worth, I’m still alive. I went through an earthquake about an hour ago, but although it scared the hell out of me, nothing serious happened here. The main effects were up more in the Seattle area, actually. I was reading my new Skeptical Inquirer in the green chair down here and stuff started rocking back and forth—things like those heavy equipment racks—and while my first thoughts were that the dogs were up to something, I quickly realized that there were no dogs and there was an earthquake. I moved fairly quickly at that point. First I stood in the doorway between the music room and the kitchen, but as the shaking went on I decided to take a chance and get the hell out of here. I was outside practically before I had finished thinking that particular thought, and things seemed so dull and ordinary there I wondered for a moment whether I had imagined it somehow, but then I heard people shouting things like “Did you feel that?” and I concluded that yes, there was something going on. I stayed outside for a bit, in all honesty, as my nerves were twitching, and I didn’t want to walk back in just as the big shock hit, but after a bit I went inside and then called my mother and brother (in that order) to see if everybody was okay.
As far as the main part of the day is concerned, I worked on the New York Tribune stuff for April 1873. And my new Skeptical Inquirer and my copy of Rejected Addresses came. And there you have it.