Do you remember what you were doing when Mount St. Helen’s dropped in 30 years ago?

I do.

My little brother and I were playing on my Grandma’s front porch in the West Central neighborhood. It started getting really dark, so Scotty and I decided we’d surprise Mom by going in and getting ready for bed without her having to drag us in from the yard. (I’m sure we’d been little tyrants that morning and were trying to earn points by being extra good.) We were jammied-up and brushed-up, waiting on the sofa for her to come tuck us in before she noticed what we were up to.

At this point I remember wondering how on earth we’d missed dinner, (and probably lunch, too, now that I think of it … but as a kid I prefered playing over eating… oh how things change) and secretly hoped Mom would feel guilty about not feeding us and give us ice cream before bed.

But instead of corralling us into the kitchen she asked, in a perfect exasperated mother tone, why we were in our pajamas in the middle of the day.

We pointed outside and told her it was dark. That’s when we got a little freaked out and turned on the TV.