Yes, we are spoiled in SoCal. This week of deluges brings our season total to a sopping sum of ten inches, more than double the norm. I believe they issued a high surf advisory for downtown Los Angeles. The season is officially July 1 to June 30, but most years ninety-plus percent moisturizes us January-March.
But here's the rub, PJ wants to retire in the Northwest, you know that part of the country where residents have to grow webfeet. (Can you surf the web better with webfeet?) In doing some city-by-city research on Google, the lowest annual rainfall I have found is thirty-five inches. Thirty-five inches is the one-year record rainfall for SoCal since I moved here forty years ago. I remember that year, a massive El Nino temper tantrum. Cranky was my middle name.
Move inland, you say? Not an option. PJ's first criteria is to live within an hour of the water, and that doesn't mean a river.
After this week I don't need a flu shot, I need a shot of Norman Vincent Peale. That, or watching the entire collection of Victor Borge tapes.
Score near the end of the fourth quarter, Storms 5, Sun 1.
The sump pump did its duty. Oh yes, despite wallowing in the mud securing trashcan liners on the vulnerable side of the house, PJ bought twenty sand bags anyway. Twenty! Our Honda Hybrid's butt was dragging when she pulled into the driveway. So guess who got to wallow some more in the mud? She says she'll sleep better at night. I'm still trying to work the wrench out of my back. I could probably use someone with webfeet.
Today is foodstuffs procurement day, assuming I can make my runs without a boat. Trying a new recipe tonight found at www.thepioneerwoman.com/cooks. It is called Italian Meatball Soup. This is one of my favorite cooking websites. Seems like the perfect way to end a soggy, dreary week. I'll be speaking to PJ again by Sunday.