Dust Breezes

“Guess what I heard?” Mom quipped.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I responded.  “A meteor is headed for earth and we’re all going to die?”

“What?  No.  Is that really going to happen?”

“No, Mom, I was just kidding.  What did you hear?”

“You’ll never guess,” she replied.

“You’re right, I’ll never guess.  So what is it?”

“Phoenix isn’t the hottest city in American,” she answered with a big grin.

“Really?  So where is the hottest city in American?”

“You’ll never guess.”

“Okay,” I said with a sigh of resignation.  “I’ll play.  Bullhead City?  Yuma?”

“Nope, nope.  It isn’t even in Arizona.”

“Really?  I find that hard to believe.  Okay, how about Palm Springs?”

“No, and it isn’t over there either.”

“Do you mean California?  It isn’t in California?”

“Yes.  Palm Springs, California.  That’s where Bob Hope lives, you know.”

“Or at least his mummified remains,” I muttered.  “Well, I give up. Where’s the hottest city?”

“In Miami!”

“Florida?” I responded, somewhat surprised.

“No, it’s another Miami I think.  Maybe Ohio.  Florida wouldn’t be hotter because it’s got oceans to keep it cooled off.”

“Oh, okay.  And I guess we’ve got the shadows of big Saguaros to keep us cool,” I laughed.

“Maybe so,” she smiled.  “Or maybe it’s all the dust breezes.”

“Dust breezes?” I replied.  “Like the haboobs?  You mean those dust breezes?”

“Yes those ones.  And the other ones too,” she said, picking up her TV guide and the remote.

“Other ones?  Are you thinking of monsoons?”

“No.  The other ones that come from the golf courses.”

“I think you mean the Gulf of California.”

“Whatever.  California golf courses or Arizona golf courses, they all bring in the dust breezes,” she answered as she turned on the TV and settled in for a visit with Drew Carey and his hair color of the day.

7-4-14 Haboob

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