Tuesday, July 22, 2014


I had just come back from a trip to the city.  (I have decided to start calling Prescott Valley "the city" and Prescott "the town", partially in deference to Prescott's claim to be Everybody's Home Town and partially in reference to Prescott Valley passing Prescott in population.) Anyway, I had just come back from the city and Judy asked me if it was hot out there.  I said "well, it's not cool."  Then I headed for the door to check the outside temperature when my phone rang.

It was my buddy, Steve, who said "If I can wangle some better seats would you come down for a baseball game?"  (I've been going to games with Steve for several years but his seats are up in what is not so courteously referred to as "the nosebleed section".  The higher up you go in a ballpark the steeper are the rows of seats and in my declining years I had found that I suffered from vertigo up in his regular seating area and had told him I would have to refrain from attending any more games unless he could get some lower tier seats.)

Well, that's kind of rude considering that I get the game for nothing except I pay for parking.  But facts is facts as someone (Pogo?) once said.  So today Steve said he was working on some lower seats and said I had to make a commitment to come or he wouldn't do it.  (He must have won the Powerball or something.)  So I did and said I'd see him tomorrow.

That done, I went out the front door, checked the thermometer and returned inside to tell Judy it was 85 degrees but it smelled like rain. She asked if it was going to rain and I said there wasn't any such thing in the forecast.  That conversation occurred as I was walking to the back patio door.  "Well I'll be darned!  It just started raining," I said.

Now you must realize.  Here in Arizona, rain can mean either a torrential downpour (rare) or a few light drops that start and stop in a couple of minutes (or seconds).  The latter was what we got this time so you can stop envying me now.

If you've got really good vision you can see the few drops on my window that are the leftovers from that "rain".  (Dang!  Looks like I need to wash that window.)

Last week the skies looked much more promising and I took a picture of them, in hopes of provoking the rain god (Tlaloc, the Aztecs called him.  But I prefer the name the Hopis gave him: Shotokunungwa.  I can't pronounce it but it's got that kind of rolling thunder look to it.)

Whatever the god, or gods, were not provoked this time and the skies were soon blue again.

By the way, I have a former colleague who talks about the naked rain dance he does out in the street.  But he lives in "the town" and that's another story.