I hope that someone out there is getting ready to form a big heart or flag or something, to show support for all of us out here on the West Coast, and our tsunami! Is someone coordinating this? Because I'd really like a picture, once it happens.

Well, by now everyone knows there was no actual tsunami, but there WAS a tsunami warning, and to me, that's almost as good. Or bad.

I was out driving around, doing errands and changing lanes, when Lorelei called to tell me there had been a big earthquake up north, and a subsequent tsunami warning. She was trying her best not to alarm me, but the word "tsunami" doesn't sit well with a boat dweller, which I am. I immediately thought of the Keelhauler, currently out to sea, and my cousin Honest Hal, who lives in Eureka, right near the earthquake. Lorelei and her husband were planning to get off their boat and head downtown, and since I was already downtown, I decided to drive right back down to the harbor, to get my computer before it got washed away. I tried Honest Hal, but the circuits were busy and I couldn't get through. I called some fellow dock residents and sheepishly told them the news, feeling highly self-conscious. "Probably, nothing will happen," I said, hedging. I'd called the Keelhauler and woken him up, and he was text-messaging me reports as he heard them on the VHF radio, sounding unconcerned overall, but suggesting nonetheless that I might want to stay away from the harbor for the next hour or so.

I was envisioning a giant wave stretching from northern California to Mexico, and suddenly, the world felt very small and my position in it, very vulnerable.

Nothing happened, of course. By the time I got my computer and my Important Jewelry, the Keelhauler had text-messaged me that the tsunami warning had been canceled, and sent a little picture of two cartoon people dancing, with little wavy lines to indicate motion. People were milling around on the dock, nervously laughing about insurance coverage and speculating how far the water might rise, were there a tsunami, and where all our boats might end up. (Strawberry field across the road, we surmised.)

The neighbors' little dogs bounded around, joyous at their unexpected freedom. I stood on the dock and eyed the dark water nervously. I didn't want to admit it, but I didn't think I could get back in the boat, turn a blind eye to the sea, and sleep.

I talked to my aunt, one town inland, about my harbor's relative safety, protected as it is under Point Conception, and I felt somewhat better. "But you can come here," she added, "if you still feel scared." I thought for a moment and said, "Yeah, I still feel scared."

My little vulnerable place in the world felt a lot more vulnerable tonight, and in my mind's eye, I pictured an enormous wave slipping across the face of the ocean, rushing toward the sand beneath my feet.

Star of the day. . .Duke Kahanamoku