Windsong

As Bill and I were getting dinner ready, we glanced out the kitchen window at the Mesquite tree in the front yard because it was whipping back and forth like a frenzied pole dancer.

“Looks like something’s blowing in,” I commented as I returned to my dinner task of pouring Mom’s nightly glass of raspberry iced tea.  “Maybe we’ll get some rain.”

“Hah!” Bill spat out, dishing spaghetti onto Mom’s plate.  “It never rains here.  The moisture gets sucked out of the air as soon as it hits Sun City.”

I brought Mom her dinner and, as I set it on her lap tray, I mentioned that the wind was kicking up.

“I know,” she said.  “The weather report says it’s getting really windy in Mesa.”

“That may be,” I said.  “But it’s pretty windy right here in Sun City.”

“No it isn’t,” she argued, with an emphatic shake of her head.  “They said the wind was only in Mesa.”

“Okay then.  I guess if a weatherman 25 miles away in downtown Phoenix says it’s only windy 50 miles west of us, then it must be true,” I exclaimed as I left the room.

“Well he has weather tools and computers and stuff, so he should know,” she called after me.

A little while later as Bill and I settled in to watch some evening TV, Mom called me back into the living room.

“It’s really getting windy outside,” she announced as I walked into the room.

“Mom, it’s been windy outside,” I countered.  “I told you that at dinner.”

“Well I know what you told me,” she huffed.  “But it finally got here from Mesa, that’s all I wanted to tell you.”

“Well, good, thanks for the update,” I replied.  “I obviously misconstrued the hurricane-force gale in our front yard a half an hour ago.  I’m sure it was just a Mr. Dirt truck come to clean the streets and blow dust off the trees!”

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