It has only snowed twice in San Francisco in nineteen years, and then it only remained on the ground long enough to astonish the children, and set them to wondering what the feathery stuff was.
During eight months of the year, straight along, the skies are bright and cloudless, and never a drop of rain falls.

But when the other four months come along, you will need to go and steal an umbrella.

Because you will require it.

Not just one day, but one hundred and twenty days in hardly varying succession.

When you want to go visiting, or attend church, or the theatre, you never look up at the clouds to see whether it is likely to rain or not--you look at the almanac.