OK, since the wind won't stop, I'll keep writing about it.
After a weekend of gale-force winds and now the nasty zephyr is blowing snow – SNOW! – along with the trash, dirt and hairpieces.
About the snow, I'll just admit right now that it's my fault and say I'm sorry.
What I did was this: I planted flowers.
Lured by the sunshine and warmth, two weeks ago I spent a small fortune ($36.45) on flowers and potting soil, took my treasures home and planted some flowers.
I knew full well that every year it freezes one last time in April and anyone who plants before May 1 is asking for it.
But I did it anyway and here we are, shivering in the snow.
Back to the wind.
Despite my pleas, it did not stop blowing and in fact, got stronger.
I guess I'm lucky that I used up my lifetime allotment of hairspray in the 80s since it would take a lot of Aqua Net to keep a hairdo in place around here these days.
But I maxxed out on hairspray in the 80s while participating in the big hair culture that is thankfully a thing of the past.
I warmed up in the 70s with big feathered hair and then graduated on to the teased mountain of tresses inexplicably popular in the 80s.
Aqua Net was my best friend.
This brings me to another admission: The whole ozone layer thing is my fault, too.
I didn't know aerosol sprays could burn holes in the ozone threatening the very future of life on Earth.
Plus, I had to go to the Spandau Ballet concert (if you miss this classical reference thank your lucky stars) and frankly global warming was less important than perfect hair.
So spray away, spray away I did and now look at the mess we're in.
Luckily for the health of the planet (not so lucky for coworkers and family who have to see me every day) I stopped worrying about my appearance altogether.
In addition to hairdos, skirts are also a very real danger on these windy days.
I read once that the Queen of England has tiny weights sewn into the hem of her dresses to avoid any wind-borne embarrassment.
But sans tiny weights, skirts are out here when the wind gets frisky.
But really now, back to the wind, last week I wrote that I wanted to name this monster.
I needed a name to curse and blame for these sleepless nights and agitated days when it blows incessantly.
Happily, a couple of creative readers came up with some wonderful suggestions that I'll pass along.
Here they are: One Golden Valley reader had suggestions including El Toro (because, she said, it comes up her wash like a herd of bulls), Wigsaway (which suggests a wonderful visual.
I see an older woman pumping gas at the Maverick, her pink wig lifted off a fuzzy head by the invisible wind.
Her skirt is fine, though, because she's the Queen of England on a state visit to Golden Valley.), and Devil's Breath, this better for the hot months when living here is, to quote the brilliant Husband, "like living under a blow-dryer." Another reader had a more poetic, melodic suggestion.
Her idea is to call the wind Cerpai because it blows between the Cerbat and Hualapai mountains.
I haven't decided which one is my favorite.
The Golden Valley reader also brought up a pertinent issue: who gets to decide what the wind is called.
Is there an International Registry of Wind Names that we can go to and apply for a name? Will we have to come up with some convoluted official name, like purebred dogs and race horses, and then use a nickname.
Maybe we'll have to register as No.
1 Imperial Sir Devil's Breath III so we can just say "Thar she blows, the Devil's Breath is coming down the mountain again; batten down the hatches, sew in the weights and glue on the wig."
Anyway, sorry about the snow and the global warming thing.
The wind, however, is not my fault.