This week, Californians saw something they rarely see around here.
Gobs of it. And wind, hail, thunder and lightning, too. The rain came in droves. We’re talking buckets of cold, miserable heavy downpours that chill you to the bone. Unforgiving, pounding rain, bringing floods, mudslides and famine. Okay, maybe not the latter, but you get the picture.
Plus, it snowed in the mountains. Which means, it’s time to give a warm welcome to the one, the only, the incomparable young boy who wreaks havoc wherever he goes. The kid everyone knows as,
Yes sir! The little menace—or “El Chapo Number 2” as I call him, is in the house, and trust me, you don’t want to mess with him.
He brings brutal force and killer wind gusts wherever he goes. I can’t remember the last time I saw such blinding, hammering downpours and freezing temps in my neck of the woods. But frankly, I love it!
For El Niño knows how much we in California need rain to get us out of the debilitating drought we’ve been in. Which is why, I assume, he went gangbusters, doing his part like nobody’s business, and in the process he caused massive headaches and property damage. But because we need the rain, we ‘re willing to put up with his shenanigans.
I’ll be honest with you. San Diegans are total wimps when it comes to rain. I should know. I’ve become one myself, having completely forgotten what it’s like to live in a climate where rain is a regular occurrence and snow is pretty much an annual thing.
First sign of rain and San Diegans want to hunker down and stay inside until it lets up. Schools here have been known to close because of rain. Heck, my gym closed on account of rain.
What’s more, people cancel appointments and leave work early when it rains, for fear of getting caught in it, and worse–for fear of having to drive in it. After all, San Diegans don’t know how to drive in the rain, which leads to hundreds—maybe thousands—of fender benders all over town.
My windshield was pummeled by sheets of rain–even with my wipers on their highest speed–and I couldn’t see a thing as I headed home from work on the freeway. So I closed my eyes and crossed my fingers, hoping that I’d make it to my destination without crashing into anyone.
The fire stations saw a run on the most popular item that just about everyone needs: sandbags.
Sandbags come in handy for keeping water from flooding your house or mud from burying you and everything in its path. I’ve never needed sandbags in the past, so I didn’t get any. Though maybe I should have.
Rainwater filled my patio and the walkway in front of my townhouse. It also lapped at the side of my unit, too. Suddenly I was living on waterfront property!
But since I didn’t have sandbags and worried that the water might find its way inside my home, I did what any sensible woman would do: I grabbed the turkey baster from a kitchen drawer and used it to remove the water—one squeeze of the baster at a time. But with the rain coming down all around me, my cause seemed hopelessly helpless at best.
Friday saw sporadic rainfall, as did Saturday. Sunday brought nothing more than mist. In between, we saw patches of sun. Bright, shiny, beautifully warm sun.
But fear not. El Niño isn’t finished with us yet. El Chapo Number 2 has more havoc to wreak and we’re counting the days until the next big storm.
In the meantime, would somebody please throw me a life preserver? I’m not sure how much more of this I can handle.