entry120
The other night.. uhhh.. it was two nights ago I realized fully why I drink. See, I have been consuming alcoholic beverages every night for eight straight years – maybe nine. Although I did have a dry month about three years ago, one to three drinks a night has been the norm for a very long time. at least half of the time it has been two drinks a night. Here is the break down of why I drink:
No. 1 I must have sugary and alcoholic beverages in the house. If not, I have anxiety attacks.
No. 2 I must consume a sugary beverage at night.
No. 3 I must consume an alcoholic beverage at night.
No. 4 I must consume some liquid at night (such as water).
That’s the breakdown. As you see, the primary addiction is with sugar, not alcohol.
The most beautiful place I have seen is the Sierra Nevada Mountains. About three weeks ago Tara and two friends of ours went gold prospecting in the Mohave near the southeastern end of this range. We did not leave Vegas until seven pm so we didn’t arrive in Ridgecrest, CA until 11pm. I woke up early around five am and headed out into the mountains. Ridgecrest is located in the desert. The Mohave and Great Basin desert together comprise over 220000 square miles. These two deserts were created do to the cloud blocking height of the Sierra Nevada Range. Clouds forming over the pacific ocean that pass east through California become caught in the high peaks and drop nearly all of their moisture on the damp slopes of the Sierra Nevadas. This persistant and excessive rainfall allows some trees to grow to gargantuan size. These trees are called the Sequoias or Sierra Redwoods. In contrast, the east of the range is bone dry desert.
This mountain range increases in height gradually from the west slope to the highest peaks on the eastern ridge (which features the highest mountain in the contiguous United States – Mt. Whitney). Then there is a dramatic drop down to the desert floor of Owens Valley. The southeast side of the Sierra Nevada range is literally a massive wall of granite rising nearly three miles up from the desert into the clouds.
The sun was rising in the cloudless sky. Searing rays began the daily torment of the harsh desert. I drove for an hour through the dry, dusty desert filled with small creatures ever looking for their next drink of water. I drove west through endless brown, cracked land of withered plants and life that fears the sun toward a ubiquitous wall of gray, a known haven for life. As I drove the sun disappeared behind a veil of stone cold grey, rain began to fall and the air grew colder. Where the mountains, whose size was unreal, rising like a massive fin of a creature lied half buried beneath the earth, met the clouds hovering around this fin like a swarm of insects was indistinguishable – it was all gray, the color of stone for as far as the eye can see…
The rain fell steadily as I drove north along the edge of this massive fin of granite. Here is where the desert merged with a new life zone. Grass and flowers were everywhere. Strange new plants eked out an existence in the borderline desert state that experiences more rainfall than it should. A flock of ducks flew overhead.
I turned left onto a road that led in a snaky path up onto this serpents back. Chimney Peak road it was called. The clouds hung so low I was unable to see if snow lay on the slopes. As I meandered sharply up through this valley road, it was as if I drove not into the mountains, not up a serpants back, but into a painting whose fine brush strokes covered the ugly, the unsightly and the dull with beautiful touches of yellow, green and purple. I pulled over into the dirt from this one lane road and stood in the rain. The smell of damp earth hung in the air. Rain pattered on my hat. Windshield wippers rhthymicly whooshed back and forth. I staired in astonishment at fields of yellow and purple spread about the landscape like blotches of paint ever upward the steep slopes of green. As I stood a morning bird whistled in the distance.