Living On The Faultline

A 5.4 earthquake back home and I missed it.

When I was young I would have spent the whole day freaked out. I was 11 years old in June of 1992 when I experienced my defining earthquake moment(s).

The Landers earthquake (earthquakes are always named after their epicenters) struck at 5 a.m. on Sunday. It was a 7.3. For my friends who don't know from earthquakes, that is a monster. In fact, it was the most powerful earthquake in the contiguous states in 40 years.

I remember hearing my dog barking and then I felt the jolt. It hit hard and just started rolling. I'm not sure why, but my family all convened under the heaviest piece of furniture we had that we could fit under: the dining room table. It felt like it shook forever and when it stopped we all lay there huddled and a little stunned. We'd experienced plenty of temblors, but this was completely different. When we'd gathered ourselves, my sister and I brought our sheets and blankets into our parents' room. I don't recall how, but I think we all got back to sleep.

The first aftershock struck at 8 a.m. was centered in Big Bear and was measured at 6.4. I think my mom was getting ready for church. We all dove under the table again and waited it out, not knowing if the roof was going to collapse and kill us all. We are less than an hour's driving distance from Big Bear and Landers, and, considering the Landers quake was felt all the way in Idaho and Colorado, we got rocked. Our ceiling had some visible cracks and a small eagle sculpture was rattled off the entertainment center and broke.

When the shaking was over — and church was canceled — we trekked outside and sat in the old Ford Escort. I felt safer outside because I thought I could handle a tree falling on me better than a roof. Big Bear is nestled in the San Gorgornio Mountains in San Bernardino County. Yucaipa, my hometown, abuts the San Gs and on a rare, clear day you can see Big Bear from my front yard. That morning, and throughout the day, we watched landslides cascade down the mountainside. Needless to say, it was a tad eerie.

In the following days, experts from the U.S. Geological Survey kept appearing on TV talking about the chances for more aftershocks. Everybody was talking about the "Big One." One geologist I remember (because I was scared out of my mind) said that the region should be on high alert for a significant event for the next five years. I couldn't wait for 1997.

In 1994 the Northridge earthquake struck. Although I had to ride this out as well (it was a few miles farther away from us), I don't remember being affected as much. The media made a bigger deal out of it because it was L.A., but at this point I had learned to accept it — with a few reservations. After 1992 I always slept halfway out of my blankets in case I needed to make a quick escape. I also slept in my parents room for a spell and then on my sister's floor. I felt like sleeping on the floor would make me feel it sooner. My room had been an add on, so I didn't think it had the strength of the rest of the house. Also, I was pretty chicken.

After moving to the South, specifically tornado alley, I have reassessed my childhood nemesis. I figured that if I had to live with natural disasters, I would rather deal with earthquakes. I made this decision after the third consecutive day of tornado warnings this year. Who needs the trouble of worrying about death when it can just strike out of nowhere?

Also, if I'm ever really homesick for earthquakes, I live on maybe the most overdue fault in the world (the New Madrid). When it hits, it's going to rock.

Hopefully it's not during a tornado.

Fun Dip

The Fun Dip Lik-A-Stik maybe the greatest tool invented by man.

I discovered as much along the first-base line of the southeastern-most Little League field at Yucaipa Elementary School when I was a lad of 10. I was in minor league ball, and I had real stirrups on my socks and the number 8 on my back.

And a couple of quarters in my paw.

Not enough for a rainbow snow cone, but enough for a bag of Shock Tarts or Bottlecaps, maybe a carton of Nerds (as long as I ate them before I got in the car). Good options all, but with a wrinkle-free blue sky, a double-header sweep and the promise of an afternoon of the brothers Mario, today was a day for taking chances.

"One of these," said I. "Please."

My first foray into Fun-Dippin'.

I must have sat there for an hour until I realized that, short of dumping the packet of candy powder into my mouth, I had to give the Lik-A-Stik an initial lik to begin successful candy-mining enjoyment.

In my memories, Fun Dip (or Lik-M-Aid) came with only one Lik-A-Stik (read: lick a stick). This made it the perfect candy for a cautious kid who hated to share food for fear of germs. The only way you were getting any of my treat was to beg for the the nasty spit-glued clumps clinging to the bottom folds of the pouch.

Somewhere along the line, or maybe they always had it, a second stik was added, along with another pouch of candy blow (maybe this was the 75-cent premium version). Kids were always trying to swipe that second stik. I told them in no uncertain terms that were they to place one grubby, glue covered finger on my Lik-A-Stik it would only be after wresting it from my cold, dead hand.

See, I found early on that the Lik-A-Stik was the true piece de resistance of the Fun Dip concoction. I would scrape all my candy powder with one stik (three pouches, senor) and then savor the last unadulterated stik. There was something magical about that chalky, pregnancy test-looking (not that I'd know) candy stik. It was earth-shattering to my elementary school self. The candy stik was the Milk-Bone to my dog. It was the exclamation point to my rudimentary between-meals. It was the delicious hyphen of my "pre-teen" years.

An hour ago I ambled downstairs to the student center mini-mart. I sought a drink but gained a childhood staple. I took my now-99 cent package, folded it into thirds, dumped it in my pocket and nonchalantly walked to the office.

I fished out the first stik and deftly exhausted pouch one: Grape-YUMPTIOUS Dip. In my impatience for the next flavor I left a thin line of purple-colored sugar in the bottom of the pouch. Carefully, deliberately I ripped open pouch two. Tunneling deeply, I unearthed a mountain of Cherry-YUM-Diddly Dip that cascaded onto my lap in transit from pouch to mouth. Only crumbles a deeper shade of red remained in the pouch. RazzApple MAGIC Dip beckoned.

And there it still sits, pregnant with a blue candy powder that apparently changes flavor post dip. I'd moved to focus on my old friend Lik-A-Stik. One side was greatly diminished from the wear and tear of Fun Dippin', but the holding side was full and warm. Delicious.

And I've still got another to go.