As a general rule, thinking about your funeral — who’d show up, what kind of music would fill the chapel, whether to serve a full meal or just Cheetos — is a good idea sometimes. If you’re Irish like me, this is probably second nature. Many millennia of potatoes, thick beer and gloomy clouds running in the blood can mess with your noodle.
Still, it seems a good way to stay humble. When you’re thinking about the Big Nap all the time, and how your brittle bones will someday be garden mulch (if your’re an Irish hypochondriac, that will be ANY DAY NOW), perspective comes naturally.
Which brings us to the 2018 Arizona monsoon. Sort of. Not really. Anyway.
Last night’s storm (August 23) that partied hardy all over the midsection of the state was especially nasty in my neighborhood. Around the corner this morning I saw at least three homes that had an unwelcome mesquite tree pay a visit inside. There was legit dime-sized hail coming down almost horizontally, and enough rain to keep my lawn sprinklers off through Labor Day.
While we’re on the subject of Arizona storms, it sounds like some people get their undies in a bundle when they hear the word “haboob” to describe a dust storm. Apparently they have a personal connection to “dust storm” because this is how it was always described in their younger days. Same is true for me. “Haboob” is recent, and I think it came into fashion a couple decades ago when some Arizona TV weather people thought it sounded cool and exotic, but who knows for sure?
So it was “dust storm” back in the day, and is mostly “haboob” now. This kind of thing happens. “Haboob” is a bit more colorful, and describes the same thing as “dust storm” with the same amount of syllables, but one less word. Saves a little time. Doesn’t seem like anything to fret about much.
So what’s the funeral connection, meatball? Glad you asked.
Because for about three minutes in the heart of the storm, the wind made me think maybe I’d be hitting the final finish line by having a glass window explode in my face and cut me into bite-sized pieces. Seriously, that was some serious blowing. Honestly I’ve never been afraid before in weather — it’s Arizona, so we mostly don’t have any — but that puckered me up.
And if you show up for my funeral someday, it’s a good bet there’ll at least be some sandwiches on a folding table. But I won’t have much say in the matter, so you never know.