We'll skip the attitude one for now. That is way overdue. And is by my account the real culprit. Not enough energy to tackle that issue on this gorgeous sunny morning on the southern coast of Maine. Save that topic for later. Not.
No. I'm talking about getting planet earth to a chiropractor. And not just any ol' one will do. I am referring to an honest to god, god of chiropractic medicine. A DC. We have a subluxation dysfunction going on here.
Question to self: What's with all that jargon? D. C. = District of Columbia. The primo topic I am steering clear of on this mild spring day. I see a stroll on the beach in my very near future. If I can publish this post in the next 30 minutes. Not in the least on point.
The one whose office is equipped with the requisite ergo-dynamically designed leather upholstered table. You know the one I mean. Yes that one. The original one. The one that does a full tilt to 180° so you can hobble in folded over like the Hunch Back of Notre Dame, painfully pull your screeching with pain self over to the smiling man behind the screen, align yourself with the fully vertical wall. And, with the flip of a crank be lowered into position. Might even work for other things! You know what I am saying. Right? But hey, this is PG rated day for god's sake. My neighbors three children are playing frisbee across the street.
So where was I? Oh yes. In the first four months of 2010 840 quakes have been registered around the globe. Eight hundred and forty with magnitudes greater than 5. We know the big ones. But knowing the others makes me a bit more than nervous. Major activity recorded all over: Japan, Chile, Haiti, Southern California, Mexico's Baja Peninsula. And to wreak more havoc with my nerves, it was announced this week that New England is on a major, kinda inactive fault line. And, we're due. Scary.
Plus there are nine active volcanoes. All at the same time. Four in Russia. One of which erupted this week sending a 22,000 foot plume of ash into the skies. Not that I'd ever book a trip on Aeroflot. One in Hawaii. Another on Montserrat off the coast of South America. Indonesia. An island in the South Pacific. And we all know about the one in Iceland.
The Teutonic plates holding this fragile home of ours in play. No wonder we are in a heightened orange level all the time. The big guy is pissed. We should change it to red.
To ice on the cake ... wild and woolly weather is screaming across Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Colorado. Thirty-one tornadoes ... big freakin' twisters ... touched down. The storm chasers didn't know which way to turn. And I thank my lucky stars not to be hovering in the tiny, claustrophobic laundry room next to the empty double garage which would suck me into the whirling vortex from my cellarless house on the edge of the prairie.
Earth to Alice. Come in, please. I get it. The message is loud and clear. Mother Nature has her panties in a wad. Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.
Glad I prefer my martinis shaken, not stirred. Maybe there is a silver lining to those green-black swirling funnel clouds after all. Cheers!