It’s funny.  I’ve lived in Los Angeles fof three and a half years now, and this is the first time I think I’ll remember the weather.

For much of my life, milestones have been remembered by the weather.  Remember that birthday, "Oh, it snowed." Remeber that graduation, "Ah, it was terribly hot."

What do I remember of Los Angeles so far?  Well, nothing much.  When talking to people, I can’t ever remember if something happened two weeks or two months ago.  My first thought is to reference, what was the weather like — and most times, I come up empty.  It was, well, sunny and warm.

I’ve heard about the rains of 1992 and the earthquake of 1994.  And now I have my own memory.  "Remember when we sold that house in the flats and moved to a house the hills?" 

"Yes, it rained for days and I saw my first mudslides."

This morning as I went to walk the dogs in the rain, I was greeted by the lovely sedimentary bedrock holding up my house, washing down the street along with five inch thick branches, and a large volume of mud.

The newly arrived neighbors, like myself, have never seen this before.  Those here longer, say it last happened when the home were first built, probably in 1992.

So, if you ask me months from now, "How was the new house?"  My answer will include a story about rain.

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