As one of the many New Englanders who have fled the harsh winters to live in beautiful San Diego, I know I have nothing to complain about when it comes to the weather. In the nearly four years I've spent living in Southern California, I have never had the need to pick up a snow shovel. I own two sweaters, neither of which has seen the light of day. I have scraped ice off my windshield the same number of times that my nose has gone numb from the cold, which is none.

The climate is so predictable that I don't have to watch the weather report to know what to wear. Month after month, week after week, day after day, it's sunshine and more sunshine. You might even say that it's too predictable - maybe even boring. Yes, boring!

And like a true New Englander, I've found something to complain about.

The weather here in area code 619 is much too boring! It's the same every day! I know you folks in 617 might think that sounds wonderful, but it gets to the point where I actually miss seeing the rain. I dream about crisp fall evenings. I yearn for a thunderstorm. I'm starting to forget what it looks like to wake up and see the back yard dusted in snow. Why can't I get just a little variety?

Fortunately, all it takes is one weekend back in New England to stop my whining and appreciate the monotony. Flying into Providence last Memorial Day weekend, I was loaded down with twice the luggage I'd planned on bringing. I'm usually a light packer, but the darn weather report kept changing and I didn't know what to bring - so I brought everything.

It's a good thing, too. Saturday morning, heading west on the Pike to get to a graduation party in Albany, my windshield was streaked with drizzle. According to AM 1030, the temperature in Boston was an icy 56 degrees, and it was expected to dip even lower. Good thing I had three layers on and the heat blasting. Forecast for tomorrow: 80 degrees and sunny.

Later that afternoon I'd already peeled off two of my layers and changed into shorts. The sun blazed over Albany. I dug into my overnight bag - pass the hat and mittens - and found some sunblock. Updated forecast for tomorrow: 64 with a chance of rain.

By nightfall I was looking for those mittens again. How the wind howled. Forecast for tomorrow: who the heck knows.

Sunday mid-day, thanking the traffic gods for keeping the Mass. Pike clear, I caught the first inning of the Red Sox-Mets game on the radio. It was sunny and warm over Western Massachusetts, but storm clouds gathered over Fenway. Raindrops began to fall, and then things got weird. In true New England fashion, the game was delayed, not for rain, but for hail. "This may be the strangest thing I've ever seen," someone said on the radio. Strange, indeed.

I didn't encounter any hail first-hand that weekend, but I'd gotten about all the variability I needed; I was missing the monotony of the San Diego sun. May I never complain about sunshine again - and if I do, may a hailstorm knock some sense into me.

BILL ZUCK, a Foxboro native now living in San Diego, will definitely find something else to complain about. You can reach him at wcz78@yahoo.com.