Yesterday’s earthquake rattled my office a bit, though I assumed it was someone doing the Heavy Machinery Hokey-Pokey one or two doors down; the eventual news alert contained the truth of the matter, along with the number everyone wanted to hear: 4.5. For Oklahoma, that’s one heck of a temblor.
And then it wasn’t 4.5 anymore, but 5.1. I opined at the shop that maybe this was due to folks emigrating from California; like Tom Joad in reverse, they brought everything they could, including a fault line or two.
But I couldn’t remember a five-point-anything here in Soonerland, and apparently I was right: the majorest major quake in the state struck in 1952, a time at which I hadn’t even been thought of. (Amateur grammarians are welcome to reword that in such a way as to avoid ending the sentence with a preposition.) I remember a larger quake from a brief stay in California, mostly because of where I was when it started: standing next to a two-story plate-glass window. Such things tend to stick in the mind.
Update: Back to a 4.7.