The following is based on events that occurred on June 1 through June 5.
The Spider
We're leaving and I'm out of the house when the sweetheart goes back for something and then shouts at me to come back in. I come back in and this is on the wall:
It's easily bigger than my hand. Covered in dust.
The sweetheart says, "It's not that big, really."
The Earthquake Museum
We go to the 9-21 Earthquake Museum, a place where they don't just show you a bunch of pictures. You walk around on the site of a school that collapsed. You look through the classrooms that don't have any walls left. You see the running track and its smooth curve interrupted by the earthquake's fault line.
You also get to experience very participatory exhibits, like the one where you stand in a sound-proof bubble and yell as hard as you can (to see if you can yell loud enough to get help if you are ever trapped in an earthquake). I didn't try my hardest, but I measured at 106 decibels. Is that loud enough? I hope so.
The Flight Home
The sweetheart takes me to the airport and I mention that I didn't get to see the ocean from the plane, since during my previous flight, it was completely dark. And I have a precious aisle seat going back, so I probably won't see much of it, still.
When I get to my seat on the plane, my neighbor says, "Would you be interested in taking a window seat so that my mother can sit with us?"
I say, "For your mother, I will do that."
I'm sad to give up the aisle, but, I think, at least I'll get to see the ocean, right?
When I get to the seat, I find out it's an emergency escape aisle - spacious and wonderful, and so spacious that anyone can get out of their seat at any time without bugging the other two passengers.
Perfect.
The Spider
We're leaving and I'm out of the house when the sweetheart goes back for something and then shouts at me to come back in. I come back in and this is on the wall:
It's easily bigger than my hand. Covered in dust.
The sweetheart says, "It's not that big, really."
The Earthquake Museum
We go to the 9-21 Earthquake Museum, a place where they don't just show you a bunch of pictures. You walk around on the site of a school that collapsed. You look through the classrooms that don't have any walls left. You see the running track and its smooth curve interrupted by the earthquake's fault line.
You also get to experience very participatory exhibits, like the one where you stand in a sound-proof bubble and yell as hard as you can (to see if you can yell loud enough to get help if you are ever trapped in an earthquake). I didn't try my hardest, but I measured at 106 decibels. Is that loud enough? I hope so.
The Flight Home
The sweetheart takes me to the airport and I mention that I didn't get to see the ocean from the plane, since during my previous flight, it was completely dark. And I have a precious aisle seat going back, so I probably won't see much of it, still.
When I get to my seat on the plane, my neighbor says, "Would you be interested in taking a window seat so that my mother can sit with us?"
I say, "For your mother, I will do that."
I'm sad to give up the aisle, but, I think, at least I'll get to see the ocean, right?
When I get to the seat, I find out it's an emergency escape aisle - spacious and wonderful, and so spacious that anyone can get out of their seat at any time without bugging the other two passengers.
Perfect.
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