I live in a desert but despise watering systems.

Go figure.

It all started three weeks ago on a Sunday morning while talking with Mom on the phone. We’re in conversation when all of a sudden I notice this burgeoning pool of water gathering at the north end of my backyard lawn. ‘Hmm, I thought, that’s strange. The only time on Sunday that water and grass are supposed to comingle is at 8:30 AM, and then only for all of two minutes. But here it is, 11:30 AM, and I have water appearing where it shouldn’t and in a quantity it shouldn’t. Isn’t that so very odd?’

(Of course, that’s what I might have thought to myself; the words I used were more like “Holy $#@% where the $#@% is that coming from???”)

So for the next two weeks, every day I’d take a peek out back around 11 AM to see what was going on. Monday – nothing. Tuesday – nothing. Wednesday – I’se got me a flood. Thursday – nothing. Friday – nothing. Saturday – nothing. Sunday – the flood returns.

But this time I was ready, so I rush out to the watering system box and open it up to see what watering program is being displayed. I’m expecting a rogue event made operational by mistake – perhaps that crazy landscaper Carmelo up to his old tricks. But what do I see? Nothing. Nada. No program currently operating. And yet, there it is, a flood of water once again. On schedule.

The following Tuesday I ask Carmelo what he thought. After all, while he wasn’t the one who installed the system he knows a little bit of everything. So I tell him my problem and he smiles and says something in Spanish I don’t comprehend. But he’s smiling and shaking his head – the universal language for “You’re on your own, dude.” OK, I get it. I’m alone in a desperate world.

The next day is Wednesday, and there’s a new flood. Thank you God, I say to myself – at least now we have something predictable going on.

This past Saturday night I spent a restless night in bed, wondering if the flood would return the following morning. Thoughts were flooding my brain and cascading through my head. What if the flood doesn’t return? What if it does, but at an entirely different time? What if the water is not from my system, but from one of the neighbors on the other side of the wall? All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall, right? Say, that’s a pretty damned good song…

OK, I’ll admit, my thoughts were wandering. But in this Pleasant Valley Sunday existence where rows of houses that are all the same, with charcoal (actually gas grills) burning everywhere this is nothing short of a calamity. OK, well maybe not a calamity, but a mystery for sure. And when you live in a desert and that mystery involves the waste of water, well that approaches calamity stage.

Sunday comes. It’s 10:30 AM, and the water is beginning its now bi-weekly ritual. I mark its progress carefully with a stick, then head out the front door to the control box and shut it off. I then proceed to pour myself a cup of real coffee, check a few e-mails, contemplate whether its surf music or Hawaiian music on the stereo today, and wonder if the Aqua Velvets’ “Slow Dance With a Fast Girl” from their “Guitar Noir” CD isn’t the most romantic surf tune ever composed. Weighty thoughts, I know. I look at the clock and see that twenty minutes have passed. OK it’s time. Taking a deep breath, I head out back for a peek…

To be continued