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On June 26, 1990 it was 122 degrees in Phoenix Az. I lived there at that time, I remember getting of work in the late afternoon and thinking “It seems even more freakin’ hot than usual”. When I watched the news that evening I found out I was more than correct. They even closed the airport due to heat that day.

My worst Phoenix summer weather experience was in August of 1997, when a “microburst” from a monsoon thunderstorm tore the roof off my house. I was home alone with my black lab Chelsea. The sky turned bluish black, electric power failed (a regular thing in monsoon season), torrential rain fell. Then I heard a howling angry wind like a freight train. The windows rattled, the house started to shake. Tornado? I had never been in one before. Chelsea and I ran into the office in a small downstairs bedroom where the big gun safe was. I sat with my back to it and held the dog, thinking if the house collapsed that big safe should provide some protection from falling debris. We heard a sound like velcro being separated, and then the roof peeled off the house, hung in mid-air for a moment, and then it landed in the street in front of the house and shattered. Shingles, chunks of wood, insulation flew off into another zip code. Scared the you-know-what out of me. I got wet, but not injured. It was then that I seriously started considering relocating out of that area.

I don’t miss Phoenix at all.

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