Can’t sleep–again. It’s 2:00 a.m. and tomorrow (today) will be Wednesday. The day I have to get up at 6:00 to turn on the automatic sprinkler system.
Happy Grass
“Automatic”, you say? What does it not turn itself on? And a perfectly reasonable question. It has a lovely timer that works perfectly. For hours of the day only. When the house was built, everyone watered briefly and daily, so no timer was needed to segregate days of the week–or so it was explained to me. (Or, maybe the timer is just broken? Who knows?) Today with rationing, you are allowed to water only two days a week.
Why 6:00 a.m., you ask?
Because here, you cannot water after 8:00. Too much waste from the sun’s evaporation. And you cannot water at night, I learned by killing most of my grass, lest everything rot from mildew.
Okay, so I finally hear both alarms. I stumble outside in the almost-total darkness, look up at the sky to check for clouds (because why water if a hurricane’s on the way?). A gorgeous clear sky. I pause a moment to enjoy it, flip on the sprinkler system, stumble inside, set a timer for half an hour (yes, we water deeply here, watering only twice a week) and start up the stairs back to bed.
But–what’s this I hear? The clear blue skies open up and an ocean of water crashes down! Waves surge up against the sides of the house! Back I stumble toward the outside. It’s raining so hard I literally cannot see out my door.
Even In All That Rain, This Nice Young Man Stopped By–He Must Have Been a Jehovah
I first grab an umbrella before I push through the now hip-high lagoon, flip the “off” switch, slosh my way back inside, wring out my clothes, try to dry off, make a cup of coffee, and then, hear two things simultaneously:
The rain stopping, as sharply as it began, and the alarm beeping. It’s time to go outside to turn off the sprinkler.
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The Last Half 