I always laugh when some five or ten year transplant to Arizona starts running his or her mouth about how much worse the weather is “back home” and how they are all gods among men for their abilities to navigate in snow, sleet and hail.

I laugh because I know that they will undoubtedly be one of the first to get startled like a rabbit and run their car into an embankment at the first sign of that rare miracle that we natives like to call, “rain.”