Yeah, so, Los Angeles people overreact to rain. Ha ha!
Ha ha my ass. Sometimes, smug sarcastic humor comes back to haunt you. Last night, after writing yesterday's post and hearing John and Ken talk about it on the air, mocking the weatherman for his panic-inducing forecast, I went to sleep, secure in the knowledge that, hey, it's just rain. No big deal.
It was about 2 am.
What the hell was THAT?
Thunder, Fran whispered. Just thunder.
But it sounded like the roof just caved in!
And so it was. The rain had picked up into a torrent, the lightning and thunder were... well, you know, we don't get lightning and thunder in Los Angeles like you do almost anywhere else. I hadn't heard nor seen that kind of thunderboomer since a couple of Midwestern trips over a decade ago. And they were close- I was doing the count-the-seconds-between-the-flash-and-the-boom thing, and the two were simultaneous. Direct hits.
Ella the World's Most Famous Cat was born in Long Beach. She's never been outside of the LBC and South Bay. She had no experience with this kind of thing, and she was terrified. After running under the bed and spending a couple of hours there, she decided to try and come back out. She scrambled onto the bed at my feet, teetered on the edge, then tried to walk across the bed, planting one paw on my leg, wobbling, testing the ground (my leg) with her other paw, satisfied, then, just as she began to walk over me...
And like a shot, she was back under the bed. It's about 12 hours later and she's still shaky.
The next inkling that this was bigger than we'd thought came when my sister and I went to get a little walk/run exercise in between the raindrops. There'd been some dirt in the pool, some standing mud/water on the edge of the patio, but nothing too bad when we went out, but after we got rained on a lot, we returned and a neighbor was bailing water out of his garage with trash cans. Poor guy, I thought, and then I came back, took a shower, changed, walked into the living room, looked out the glass doors to the yard, and saw that the patio was underwater. The whole thing, right up to the house. Water and dirt and mud. After a while, it subsided, and we all figured it was over and time for lunch. We drove up the street and had to turn around- a fire truck and utility crews were there, and there were hoses and mud everywhere. Down at the end of the block, a fleet of trucks had appeared, with several workers and sandbags. Up the next street, we got onto the main road, which was now covered with mud and rocks, and after a quarter mile, we were turned back because rockslides had closed the road. We went the long way around, and in our lunch travels, we saw power outages, mudslides, utility crews, sewer trucks, and blinking or dead traffic lights everywhere. Finally back home, we discovered our street had become Mud River.
And that's what it's like now. Looking up the street:
And down the street:
And right at the street:
The shiny stuff's mud. It's flowing. It's worse in person.
And now comes the promise: I will never make fun of people who panic over minor weather emergencies again. Never.
Until next time. I can't help myself.