Twenty Years

I don't know what's crazier to think about: that today is the twentieth anniversary of the Northridge Earthquake or that it's been 20 years since I was a SENIOR in high school! Nevertheless, it was 20 years ago that I awoke with a jolt in my bedroom as the windows rattled and the furniture flipped over. It was the most violent earthquake our community, Santa Clarita, had ever known, and I sure hope it's never surpassed in that dark distinction.

The quake changed everything about my senior year at Hart High School. The gymnasium was destroyed. Our band room was a heap of broken trophies. We had to hold our graduation ceremonies at the Saugus Speedway since the local college's stadium was damaged. Some families disappeared, heading to other states in the wake of...well, too much to deal with and too much damage. My family lived in our broken house for half a year before having it repaired and remodeled the following summer. I never appreciated the stress my parents must have been under dealing with such destruction in their home and having to organize insurance, contractors, and temporary housing.

Because I was a senior in high school, I was completely self-absorbed, and also probably didn't admire and appreciate the work my grandfather George Pederson did starting that very morning. He was mayor of our city and he immediately went to City Hall to spearhead the recovery. Our city needed money--lots of it--for our schools and roadways. And because of him, we got it. I can only imagine the stress he felt during those days and months following the quake, too. It's a kind of responsibility I've never known. I know my grandpa probably doesn't realize what this day is, but there are many who still remember what he did here.

So, the clock. That's my parents' grandfather clock. My dad built it himself many years ago. It toppled over and broke in the earthquake, as so many things did. My dad propped it up against the wall and held it up with a bungee cord for quite a while. It had stopped at 4:31, the moment the quake struck. Take that, Titanic! Anyway, at some point, it went into the garage, where it stayed for years. Eventually he fixed it (amazing, I know). And today it works great. He reminded me at Christmas (when I took that photo) that originally the clock had Roman numerals, but he replaced them with Arabic ones (I had to look up the name of non-Roman numerals. I haven't been to high school in TWENTY YEARS, after all.) The clock was our "earthquake symbol," and I'm so glad Dad was able to fix it up again.

I think all the time about another earthquake striking. And, no, I'm not really prepared. If nothing else, the anniversary will be a kick in the pants for me to talk to the boys about what to do and to make sure I'm ready...as ready as any of us can be. Or we'll win the lottery and move to Hawaii. Wait...are there earthquakes in Hawaii? OK, fine. Earthquake preparedness it is!