This past weekend Carolann’s brother and his wife came for a visit from their home in San Diego. We took them to the usual places: Dealey Plaza, the Ballpark, Cowboys Stadium. We took pictures of them in fields of bluebonnets and astride the five dollar longhorn in Stockyards Station.
But you know what they couldn’t stop talking about? The weather. Coming from San Diego they seemed to think that 80 degrees and 37% humidity was a typical sweltering day in Texas.
If you’ve never been to San Diego you can’t appreciate our amusement at their expense.
San Diego has straight, white teeth. It’s a wholesome youngster of a city where gentle ocean breezes dab away the occasional drop of moisture from your brow. The air is sweet of sea and cocoa butter. All seasons are the same, temperatures rarely straying above or below 70-something.
Jimmy Buffet is ever present on the wind. Nobody cares about the Chargers.
We took our San Diego family out to dinner at a good Texas steakhouse. It was a nice evening so we sat outside where we could watch the gathering storm.
A great, round mound of lenticular clouds rumbled in on thunder. The setting sun grew eerie in its orange and charcoal frame. And then, the rain: grapefruit size splashes blown in our faces by the zephyr that sprang up in the parking lot.
With nervous laughter we gathered our drinks and eating irons and followed the amused young waitress indoors. It began to rain hard when our brisket burnt ends arrived and then stopped before dessert.
Got a note from my brother-in-law today telling me what a wonderful visit it was and saying how he’d like to do it again soon.
Just not during the stormy season.
Dave Williams
