From the Mountains to the Sea

Mother Nature gifted us with rain, wind, hail, snow, and surf.

Yesterday was so windy, it almost knocked me over. Trees and power lines were down all along the coast.

I think it’s astonishing that I can see these mountains sixty to eighty miles away when I stand in the middle of my street right in front of my house. I live exactly three miles away from the Pacific Ocean. It’s a bit hazy and the camera lens is trying as hard as it can to capture the snow capped hills.

After walking up nearly fifty steps to the very top of my garden, this is the view facing east to either Palomar Mountain or Mount Laguna (I can’t tell the difference) where they had about a foot of snow.

The power lines are actually quite far away; they seem closer than they actually are.

These apartments are an ugly blight on the landscape, ruining the mountain pic. This city has zero sense about the value of open space.

I would love to drive up to Mammoth Mountain to ski ‘cos I hear they received eight to ten feet of new snow in the Sierra Nevada, but I had a bad experience driving to Snow Summit and have never been able to shake the fear. I had taken my son skiing for his thirteenth birthday and we had a really fun day together but on the way back home, my brakes went out and we almost crashed. REALLY! Actually, we ran off the road at a Ranger’s Station and we’re lucky to be alive. Highway Patrol arrived and we were towed to San Bernadino and the shop was able to repair whatever brake issue caused the malfunction and we drove home. Ever since then, I’ve been too afraid to drive to the mountains. That was about the closest to death I’ve ever been and it traumatized me. Not my Angel Boy though; he’s fearless, and that’s the way it should be.

After the rain, our beautiful ocean is still a little agitated, and the next storm’s clouds loom on the horizon…

Thank you, Mother Nature.

Wild Times: Sex, Drugs, and Mammoth Mountain

I have a friend who wrote a book, which in and of itself is an amazing accomplishment since my own book is stuck in limbo somewhere between my head and a few notes in this computer, but this isn’t even his first foray into publishing-he authored Zen and the Art of Surfing, too.

Greg Gutierrez is an amazing human for many reasons. He’s an artist, an educator, a vocal supporter of the environment, and a powerful local community activist.

Also a surfer. Also a skier.

When I first started to read Mammoth Mountain, I was immediately transported back to my own college years when I split my time between San Diego State University and Mammoth, where I lived part of the year on Lupin St. For me, those were spectacular days with tons of snow, skiing from first light to dark. If I didn’t have a ride up to the mountain, I’d start walking and someone would always pick me up. It was a great little community before the whole mountain exploded in condos and timeshares and tourism.

I never met Greg back then–our paths never crossed–two ships in the night and all that, and my own experiences in Mammoth were TAME compared to his, that’s for sure!

The subtitle of Mammoth Mountain is “Follow the 1980’s life of Drew, a pot smoking, thieving, womanizer…”

Now I don’t have PROOF that Drew is Greg…but I’m kinda sorta connecting the dots, if you know what I mean.

I don’t want to give away the storyline or the ending, but this is way more than a journal that chronicles one debauchery after another…there’s serious substance here, a coming of age, a rite of passage, painful growth, self examination, and enlightenment.

He lost his way, his life went off course, but what did he find?

He found himself.

There’s love, there’s a lot of love here, and at the end of the day, that’s all we have. That’s all that really matters. To love and be loved.

And if we don’t love ourselves, we can never truly know love.

P.S. Who should read this book? EVERYONE.