Proof

While relaxing over our daily coffee/newspaper ritual this morning and enjoying lower seventy degree temperatures on the back patio, I lamented to

David

the fact that Bill Kelly, perky local weatherman, said that this weekend will most likely mark the end of the monsoon season.  I’ve truly enjoyed the recent rains and the lower temperatures they bring and frankly I’m not ready for them to end. 

“If the monsoon is going to end this weekend,” I said, “I’d like it to go out with a deluge.”

When I said this, the skies were blue with a few clouds in the distance.

Less than two hours later, skies blacker than I recall ever seeing here rolled low overhead.  Heavy rain, reminiscent of the east coast showers of my youth, poured and poured, and soon the washes ran.  Then they really ran.

I am beginning to think that someone up there is trying to prove his or her presence to me.  After 119 degree chicken-killing temperatures, I asked for a rope and received a longer than expected one.  I got a made-for-me job and the water district has been defeated (hooray!)  I even broke open a double-yolked egg.  Knock on wood, things are going very well.  Now if I can just fix those troublesome in-law health issues and pesky financial snags and things will be better than good.  Wow.

  Back to that rushing river 12 feet from our bedroom door.  Ordinarily a dry sandy creek bed, in a relatively short time period, it filled with rapidly tumbling muddy water mid-calf to knee high.  Ours was not the only one.  Down

160^th Street

, the main dirt thoroughfare for entering and exiting the neighborhood, at least five deeper washes crossed the road.  The noise of it all filled the air, giving the distinct impression of waterfalls in the distance.  On each end of the street, trucks and cars were lined up waiting for a let up so that they could either get home or go some place.  On one wash in particular, four foot waves rolled over the street, preventing all but the highest all-terrain vehicles from passing.  Of course, living on the rural side of things, we\have more than a few neighbors who own these beasts of travel.  Several were taking turns running through the mud and water mixture at the highest speeds they dared.  Filled to capacity with grown “men” who quickly resembled the mud they were crossing, they rode through over and over, their passengers hoops and hollers competing with the sounds of the washes for dominance.    Finally and regrettably , the rains ended, the washes subsided, and residents were able to get to their prospective destinations. 

Of course, I know all this because I was part of the fray, if only because party boy Robert insisted on checking things out and was gone longer than my comfort level allowed.  A neighbor in an ancient ATV was riding back and forth from his house, mixing and then dispensing Bloody Marys to the soaked bystanders.  It was all great fun, even when I decided to see if I could cross one of the tamer washes on foot and fell on my rear. 

If this is truly the end to the monsoon season, it was indeed a memorable one.  As far as that proof of someone up there, call me convinced.  Aren’t you pleased, Bon?

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[Jess]

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