I guess it wasn't just a loopy dream. At some point in the middle of the night, I had a vague, near-waking sense that I was feeling an earthquake. I didn't quite wake up, though.
As it turns out, we had three, the largest of which was 3.5 on the Richter scale, all of them between 1:51 and 2:16 in the morning. The earthquakes are described as 5 miles west of Danville. What the reports don't say is that the quakes were 4 miles from where my head rolled around on my pillow in Moraga. It's been awhile since I have been that close to an earthquake. Li'l bitty ones like this are nothing to worry about, though.
I have long maintained that I would much rather live in an earthquake zone, where the likelihood of a catastrophic quake is limited to once every couple of decades or more, than someplace where widespread disaster is a seasonal certainty (see, e.g., Oklahoma (tornados); Florida (hurricanes)).
I'm sure my Oregon readership would say that they don't have to deal with any of that. Fine. But I like sunshine, too. In particular, I like sunshine in November. And December. And January ...