When I first drove across America to a new reporting job in Tucumcari, N.M., I remember that the Southwest was caught up in a drought.
For years the country had been without rain. The sides of Route 66, America's sweetheart highway, were piled with mounds of blowing dust. Tumbleweeds rolled across the highway and jackrabbits huddled in the shade of yucca plants and Joshua trees.
Everywhere you looked, there was dust. When the skies clouded over, it wasn't because of rain. It was because of a pending dust storm.
After I got settled in Tucumcari, I remember the day the skies darkened. Only this time it was not a dust storm. Lightning crackled across the dark skies and rain began falling. It fell faster and faster until the roads were puddles of mud. The long drought had ended and the ranchers and farmers along with the townspeople cheered.
This is similar to what happens when a gambler gets on a losing streak. No matter what you do, it doesn't seem to work. You keep losing and your bankroll grows smaller and smaller.
I know some people who have stopped gambling because of their losses. Their downward spiral grew out of control and in desperation they turned to AA or a family friend and simply stopped risking their money.
I have no quarrel with these individuals who quit. Some people have addictive personalities and simply should not gamble.
But for the majority of gamblers, the drought does end. The sun is hidden behind the dark clouds but then it emerges and everything explodes in sunshine and glory. The drought is over and it's time to enjoy life -- and win.
One of my good friends was a rancher who lived near Tucumcari. I would see him almost on a daily basis at the Cattleman's Café in town. He would be eating his mile-high stack of hotcakes with a slab of ham and drinking black coffee, cowboy style.
The first time I shared breakfast with him, I went back to my Eastern ways and poured cream in my coffee. One of the cowboys sitting at the counter guffawed and remarked to his friends, making his voice loud enough for me to hear, 'Seems to me if a fellow wants to drink milk, he should use a nipple.'
That shamed me into drinking my coffee black, a habit that I am addicted to today.
I asked my rancher friend how he was coping with the drought.
'Just living, doing my chores around the ranch, and praying,' he said, taking a sip of coffee. 'That's all you can do. I'm trying to keep my cattle alive. The drought's gonna end. It's just a matter of time.'