Saturday morning.

I usually loll in bed with a cup of tea, listening to RadioLive’s Kitchen & Garden Show. People phone in asking which type of the potato is the best to plant in Spring, or to give out their recipe for Coconut Macaroon Slice.

I love it.

Instead, I hear that an earthquake hit Christchurch at 4.35am; 7.1 on the Richter Scale. People are phoning in, telling their stories. Some of them on the verge of tears, still obviously upset, reliving the moment in their recalling of it.

Buildings destroyed. Roads buckling. Sewage lines overflowing. No power, no water.

My heart goes out to them. Amazingly, nobody lost their lives.

I got up, and the Other Harf and I did the typical Saturday routine.

We cleaned the house.

Then I did some weeding.

He cut wood.

Miss 9.11 played with her cousins.

The chickens did some free ranging. Rodney did a bit of sunbathing. Freckles played Queen of the Castle in her little corrugated-iron hut. The dogs finally got the walk they’ve been dreaming about all day.

And I was very, very appreciative of how normal it all was…