I’m cheering for the monsoon

S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s.

The first raindrops to survive the monstrous heat — and land on the summertime skillet we live in — announce the arrival of our monsoon storms.

It’s the time of year when we jump for joy and run for cover.

Dark, brooding storms gather above the mountain heights, then roam the sky uneasily. Somewhere in that growling, murky cloudbank there’s a refreshing shower.

But it usually arrives with a crash and a bang.

Thunder rattles our windows and our teeth. Tall trees toss back and forth in a crazy wind, like those windshield wipers Bobby McGee sang about, “slapping time.”

Lightning crackles through the sky and we scramble madly for shelter. Where’s that stupid cat? Are the dogs OK? Are the lawn chairs on the patio?

Then the rain beats down on us as if from God’s fire hose. It’s sudden, it’s scary, it can be dangerous.

And we welcome it.

We look forward to the monsoons the way we anticipate Christmas, almost, although the thunder-boomers are a lot more unnerving that what we buy Aunt Martha or how much eggnog we need.

Last year the National Weather Service took it upon itself to decide when the monsoons officially arrive. I’m happy to tell you the scary season is already here.

Our dedicated meteorologists announced in 2008 that henceforth, June 15 is the first day of the monsoon.

Oh, and you can leave the pets in the backyard and not worry about the lawn furniture after Sept. 30.

That’s the official end of the monsoons. Rain or shine. Lightning and wind, or peace and calm. Quit chewing on the doorknob, Fido, it’s Oct. 1 -— the monsoons are over!

Seriously, the Weather Service chose the “official” monsoon dates simply to place more attention on safety rather than giving a name to a storm.

The season has been known as Summer Storm, Southwest Storm, Mexican or Arizona Monsoon. It has also been called the Mojave Monsoon, Desert and Sonoran Monsoon. Many other names are as interesting as they are unprintable in a family publication.

But any other name, the monsoons must be respected.

Nothing is quite as ominous as a black sky roiling across this valley, swooping in like a bad dream threatening to kick our behinds. . . .which it sometimes does.

The monsoons can knock out power, snap trees, break things and scare the daylights out of us.

But they bring showers to this thirsty part of the world and we welcome them.

They alarm us, intimidate, terrorize, menace and scare us stiff. Monsoons are a pain in the neck and lower regions. They are one big horror show.

So, bring ’em on, baby. We need the rain.

— CORKY SIMPSON