The rain wasn't dousing the fire inside our charcoal grill. Steam bullets glanced and popped off the sides. Rain and a bit of hail fell all around, creating hazards for everything except those red hot coals in the bowels of the beast. And, on top, ribs and brats hissed and spat.

An hour or so before, it was hot and muggy. There were glimmers of clouds circling the area, but the heat seemed to say there would be time to cook. If the rain fell at all.

We got the veggies and shrimp done, and gorged on their loveliness while the sprinkles turned to blotches turned to hail turned to full on rain squall.

Living in a desert, this kind of rain (and length of storm) is unusual. Considering that until a few weeks ago, it hadn't really rained in over a year, this was almost completely improbable. We were inches below our average for the year. Everything and everywhere was under fire watch. Recreational areas all around the state were restricted in one way or another. Some towns in the north were on extreme rationing of water. Pools were drained. Watering was discouraged and could only happen during the cool parts of the evening or morning.

And then, well, the rains started to come through, bursting their sacks of water all over the city. All over the state. On Wednesday, there was a flood watch--over three-fourths of the state. And, interestingly, it didn't rain on Wednesday. This water is needed, even if it gets rough for an hour or so. Or runs off without soaking in as much as we like. Rain is good. This town hadn't been washed for a long time.

Of course, after a few days of this, some people seemed to lose their heads. As I waited for new tires to get put on my car, the noon newspeople bemoaned the deluge (0.69 inches in the early hours of Thursday!). They sympathized with non-existent viewers who were tired of all this wetness. Of the flash floods. Of the sudden need for roof work. And after this silliness, mind-numbing soap operas followed. I wasn't sure which sentiment was faker: the bad acting or the "news" talkers.

I've gotten wet lately. Not just from showers or sweat. I was legitimately soaked during our rain grilling. My hair slicked and shirt stuck to my back. Most of my band ended up at our practice space last night, which had a few leaks, to check on our electronics. The entire complex was having the same problem, and our landlord was freaking out a bit since he was going to have to fix the roofs. All of them. But not in horrible spirits because the rain isn't bad.

Deserts are like this. We will experience a bloom of sorts. Not just the desert plants and cacti, but weeds and vines and anything that's been waiting for a dose of the old drip drip.

We'll hear from experts telling us this isn't enough rain. We'll hear more from idiot newscasters who will rail against the rain--even though this is the best news for them in the world. Gives them use for those super dooper doppler graphics they love to preview during every commercial break. "The safest place for you to be is inside, in front of your television, lobotomized."

And the rest of us? We'll keep doing what we usually do. And, in those bits of time when it's raining cats and dogs, we'll open up the doors and let the natural showers make us clean.

Matt Worley has nothing bad to say about the armies of water circling his city.