On shaky ground

Wellington, where I live, has been knocked around by earthquakes lately. Midnight is not a nice time to be woken up by shivers that turn into rattles that morph rapidly into very frightening shaking. The first one was the biggest earthquake I’ve ever been through – 7.5, and subsequently upgraded to 7.8 by the American Geological Survey. This has provided me with a whole new job experience.

This is me in the life I lead when I’m not writing. My husband and I have a curtain installation company and spend our time up ladders playing with interesting metalwork and sumptuous fabrics. On this occasion though, we’re working in a condemned apartment block rescuing curtains for use elsewhere. I’ve just taken down the curtains from behind all those helpful boxes. We’re working our way through many, many, windows. We’re tired and scratchy and hot (and in my case looking very stout and far from beautiful.) That’s my very own hard–hat, with a special sticker saying I’m allowed on site. The building still shakes. Hopefully not with anything close to another 7.8 while we’re inside. We’ve had more than four thousand aftershocks, ranging from trembly to terrifying.