Boom Shakalaka

The morning of 3 Kings Day (aka Epiphany, Jan 6) found me in Caguas, in the condo, swaying somewhere between gently and concertedly. It's not the first time I've felt a tremble beneath my feet. The Caribbean tectonic plate does her slow spin, sliding by and over the much larger plates in her vicinity. This tectonic plate is the reason I cannot - ever - agree with the majority of my Latino brethren that North and South America are one single continent. Sorry, but that idea fails in every single geological regard and only ever serves to stop there being an invisible wall between Central America - most of which lies on the North American plate, but some of which lies on the Caribbean plate - and South America, which lies on its own plate. And this is just the science upholding what are quite obviously two profoundly distinct and seperate land masses.

Two continents. Not one. Geology does not answer to socio-political interests.

3 Kings Day is Puerto Rican Christmas. December 25 here is a church holiday. The giving of gifts is on the 6th of January (often on the eve of) where children fill boxes with grass and leave them beneath the bed for the 3 wise men to give to their mounts, leaving gifts for the children in exchange. I'm certainly no one's definition of a Christian, but I like the way the Puerto Rican way of doing things is less riven by deeply confusing, northern European pagan accoutrements and regalia. I mean, seriously, the nativity is pretty much an afterthought when one regards the whole little pine tree alter (admit it, it's an alter) we set up in the corner of our respective living rooms.

And then I drove back to Moca, to the house in the hills.

4:24 the next morning found me in bed, that bed about three feet away from where it typically resides, cockeyed to the room. And the house was still kicking back and forth beneath me. Did I mention my bed has a wooden frame with solid wooden feet? No metal frame or wheels for me, thank you. And still, three feet across the room and cockeyed. And still shaking. A 6.4.

It's the strongest seismic event to which I've been witness since the Loma Prieta quake in 1989 when I was receiving language instruction at the DLIFLC in Monterey, California. A 6.9 adjusted to a 7.1.

There have been eleven seismic events since last night, two of which had me reaching for a wall to steady myself, one of which had me grabbing the dog as she whined and we ran outside and since the start of all this, eleven events with only two that made me wobbly and only one that had me running outside is a slow day. There've been literally thousands of events since it started at the end of December. Thousands. I've felt as many events here, now, as I did in the whole year I lived in California.

What's the old curse?

May you live to see interesting times...