Rain in the Desert

The golf gods were kind today. They held off the rain until Bonnie and I finished eighteen holes. They did not, however, hold off the humidity, and we soldiered around dripping, clubs slipping in our hands, through the 30% haze. At one point, I think it was on fifteen, I looked down to address the ball and a big pool of perspiration flowed down into the backside cup of my sunglass lens, turning the grass into a viridian sea and the ball to jetsom. We desert rats are not used to such conditions.

When I returned home, I knew that it was going to rain for real because the pest control people arrived and sprayed all around the perimeter of the house. The rain is now washing all the pesticide away so the crickets should be happy. They always sound happy, but, then, how can you really tell with a cricket? Of course, there was that Jiminy Cricket guy, who just bubbled over with song all the time, but he was a natty dresser and had a steady job with Disney. He was happy because he had an agent.

Next came the heating and air conditioning expert to tell me what has gone wrong with two of my four units. Ah-ha, the report's just in; one has lost all its freon and the other's digital thermostat has gone to that great circuit board heap in the sky. The technician has been here for two hours and has begun humming. He's not as on key as Jiminy, but he told me he worked at an airport in his younger days. I think he has lost the upper register. Despite the occupational problems, he seems happy. I am beginning to think he has an agent too. He doesn't even mind going outside to look at the equipment in the drizzle. The meter is running. $ $ $

Do agents work in the rain? Or are they like taxi cabs? Poofffffff. Okay, it was a rhetorical question. I know, as a lowly scribbler, I don't deserve an answer.

The best thing that will happen today is that my solar panels will get a good cleansing. Tomorrow, assuming the sun returns to the desert, my little energy meters will be spinning at an accelerated pace. Not enough to pay for the technician's visit, mind you, but twirling in a positive direction. The number won't be as stratospheric as my handicap, but one wouldn't expect it to be, because that's at the level of the national debt.