When North is South

As dinner finished up, Mom’s favorite news segment was starting… the weather. On the screen was a colorful Arizona map that contained superimposed blobs of varying shades of blue and purple and pink that the weather lady pointed at to show where the next monsoon rain might fall – down south, where colorful blobs were gathering around Casa Grande and in the east, towards Apache Junction and the Superstition Mountains.

“Once again, nothing for Phoenix,” I commented, stacking Mom’s empty plate on mine.

“Just north and west like always,” she replied.

“North? West?” I said incredulously. “North of what? Tucson? West of Albuquerque?”

“Probably there too,” she said calmly. “I suppose even they get rained on once in a while.”

“But, but, but…” I sputtered before clamping my mouth shut and walking into the kitchen where I handed Bill the dishes. He placed the empty plates on the counter, then wrapped his arms around me and gave me a reassuring hug.

“But, but, but…” I continued to whisper into his shoulder.

“That’s okay honey,” he said softly as he patted me gently on the back. “Remember, into every life a little rain…”

“Shut up,” I mumbled.

“Must fall to the north and the west and maybe to the south and the east. But never in Sun City.”

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