We had a 3.8 earthquake here last night. When I say “here” I mean a few miles away from where I actually live. And I don’t live in a place where we have earthquakes.

Our bedroom is at/below ground level, with the windows above our bed facing onto a street that gets plowed a lot when it snows. The plows shake our bedroom. And it’s been snowing, so we had plowing action last night, too.

When it happened, at about 4:00am, I thought…plow? No, building shaking. A snowplow must have hit our building.

Then I rolled over and went back to sleep. That’s right: I thought a snowplow hit my building and I went back to sleep.

Checking in with other folks this morning, many of them had the good sense to hop out of bed and look out their windows, or check on their children and other breakables.

I would like to attribute my calm to having been raised by a man who grew up in Southern California and told us about earthquakes is if they were no particularly big deal, the small ones at least.

But, it might just be that I like my sleep.