The La Jolla Cove

  Today was the last day of fall. It is the 22nd of September. My car had alignment troubles so I left the roach infested Y and headed to the Santa Fe Station. Since the Coaster has a limited scheduled this  weekend, I decided to take the Green Line to the Old Town Transit station.
   The most gorgeous view in the world beckoned me. My second grand daughter, Allison had been born yesterday,  and I needed time to relax. For eight months, my daughter's laborious labor became mine! I also needed to end my relationship with my girl friend Gloria.
    I arrived at Old Town and followed the many Mexican laborers under a freeway bridge west to the number 30 bus. The buses run every fifteen minutes during the week but every thirty minutes on the weekends. I found a seat, and removed my Charles Dickens book from my nap sack to read.
   Many of the patrons dosed off. It is amazing how the many domestics could open their eyes just when their stop arrived.  Two white homeless chatted, while a heavy lady spread her wings over her seat half of the aisle. I  focused on Charles Dickens. My wish was go visit the very places he wrote about. Just maybe next year I can make it  since I wish to visit England next year and revisit the many villages he traversed.
   The bus exited the depot and weaved to the 5 freeway north. Its exit was Grand Avenue. We took this street a few miles until Mission took over. The bus driver made a right and went north towards our destination. I knew we hit La Jolla by the roundabouts in the middle of the street. He needed to slow down to maneuver these islands.

  The sea breezes and clearness of the blue sky and ocean changed my mood from blue to a rosy red. Most of the Mexicans had left long ago. My exit station was Silberado and Girard. I walked west up Girard to the best pastry shop this side of the Atlantic Ocean. The owner greeted me at her cafe Girard's Pasty but had to go for a wedding.
   I read a lonely paper while indulging in a raisin Danish and small hot chocolate. The thought of the second grand child consumed my thoughts until I read the discarded Union Tribune paper. A few radicalized Moslems had infiltrated a busy spot in Kenya and killed too many. I could not finish my Danish when the article read the killers focused on Westerners
  It was ten and I felt like attacking the day. Girard Street spills into cove area of La Jolla. A crowd gathered around Cody's restaurant for breakfast. So crowed it was, I needed to jay walk on the street until I got to my cozy cove spot.  Union towards the ocean on Girard. The street flows eventually into the world famous La Jolla Coves. I stopped for a hot chocolate and chat with Diana. Her  pastry shop uses fruits from her Julian farm. Everything is home grown.
   I peered into a busy hat shop, and then the cutest toy store took me by surprise. I slid into Gippetto's toy store and bought Pinocchio for my grandchild. I proceded towards the famous La Jolla Cove area. I sat on a bench at a large park with the name of  browning a removed a tuna sandwich. After the break,   .  I decided to trek it one of my fa
    It was a perfect clear day, and everything was going my way. My nostrils needed chap stick as did my lips. I spread an ample supply of sun screen on my ears and face and meandered on the famous cove. Several touring buses arrived with the usual, Asians holding cameras with a few holding flashy umbrellas. They had bused in from Alhambra California and most held cameras. And what is a Asian without their camera.


I stopped at the Elene Browning Scripp' s Park to enjoy my tuna sandwich and dring another swig of water. I felt like a kid again and wished to see the Sea Lions and black nicked birds on the cliff.  I needed to see the sea lions again. Troops of people were everywhere grabbing souvenirs or just having a breakfast with a view.
It was a perfect day in La Jolla, not a cloud in the sky and a light ocean breeze. My lungs waltzed down Girard Stree to the Browning park. I sat on a bench to rest my weary legs. Cars were everywhere trying to find a parking space. Not me. I watched the tourist eye balling the best looking view in my world.

I walked further to a staircase which led to some big rocks and a view of the tide pools, black rocks, and sea lions playing a roll-over-game. I ease-dropped on lions lions rolling over an Albino sea lion. "Arf, arf, arf..." I imitated their sound to placate my hunger to be one of them.

A sea of Japanese, Chinese, and those from Hong Kong eagerly pictured the scene below. A gull dropped a present on my head. I tried to find one fat Asian but couldn't. I could see they ate nothing but fish, noodles and rice. For me, my tuna sandwich was enough.

Some long black necked bird skimmed the ocean for Mackerel or Sardines. A flock of gulls played the game Tops on the branches of a flat fir tree. Some kids had climbed to the top. I saw my buddy Floyd returning from the shack besides the overhang. He and his wife Mildred drive their disabled car, park, and cook a breafast for the early birds.  .

It was two:o'clock and my body told me it was time to return the way I had come. I told my stomach to wait until we arrived home. I still  had a can of Cosco Tuna in the Fridge.

I met an es Director of the United Way. She told me why she and her husband enjoy La Jolla. "My husband and I enjoy visiting the beautiful beaches on the coast. Here in La Jolla, we have independent shops. We don't allow Seven Eleven or other fast buck shops to live here. George, I had been told that Dr. Seuss wrote his books here, and the British Prmie Minister Thatcher had a book signng here.

I walked down the stairs afterwards to take a ten minute nap. A little hidden cave is where I dropped my nap sack for a much needed nap. Was I dreaming? I awoke to two Sealions making love not far from me. The 'arf sound became lowder.

Well, it is time to return to Girard and Silverspur and catch the number 30 bus, I need to look at my favorite tree, the locquats in Old Town and watch the concord grapes evolve.


I make it a point to visit the La Jolla Caves each Sunday. I leave the driving to bus number 30. Climbing aboard is a  Sunday's crop of Mexican cleaners, old residens, students, and a "Michmach" of psycotics and the homeless with nothing better to do. I am one of them. The number 30 jumps on the 5 freeway and spills out on Grand Blvd. From Grand, it mianders to Mission Blvd and then on to La Jolla.
It is my time to edit one of my stories on the bus today. The ocean breeze provides a newborn energy for me, and a change from the every day hurdles of life. The bus ambles along to Pacfic, Mission and finally La Jolla. It les along toward Pacific, Mission, and then La Jolla. It is, at least, a forty minute trip. The salty air invigorates my creative juices and my thoughts spill out effortlessly.

The Mexican maids spill out one stop at a time. It is like they have been cloned to do this. Some of the men leave to visit their favorite beach. I stumble out at Girard and Silverado. I march up to my favorite pastry shop, Girards. I endulge in a cinnemon raison roll and a hot chocolate to wash it down. I edit some more. I take a few pictures of Mary, teh owner and walk across the street.

Warwicks book store is about to open its doors at ten. I need a Mother's Day card for my ex and wish to look at sports book. "It is the best book and gift store" we have ever seen. I needed to confirm with my own eyes the validity of their statement...I needed to wait in line just to buy a card. After poking in at a few sports books, I saw one on 'Silent Calvin Cooledge, an ex president. Every book or gift said, "Take me home". 

From there I said hello to Gippetto's toy store and made it to the Ellen Browning Scripps Park's bench. I ate my first Costco's tuna sandwich and gleefully watched the many cars praying for a place to park. I felt happy the fog had rolled in and stepped down a staircase to my favorite hideaway.

I drank some water and placed my knapsack against a rock. It became my seat for the afternoon. I read from a local paper and enjoyed the view. More Asians had discovered this little cove. Cameras were out as the large hat Asians enjoyed the tidepools, black rocks and the sea lions. Next to me a middle aged kid plopped down with an enormous bucket filled with a scuba gear and a wet suit.

A father and his two teenagers joined him. "We need to wait for the fog to lift," he said. "We need a clear view of the fish acquarium. So you see all of the scuba divers over there. Teh sea acuarium had a shark and several fish. None of tehm bite."

He mentioned a gold fish called a geribaldi, but did not know how to spell it. They went into the water and I made up my mind to buy a wet suit and join them next month. I took a fiew pictures for my Blog and returned to Girard and Silverado. The number 30 came on the half hour. Thank God I had a watch to time his arrival.

On this hot Mother's Day, I made the error of going to Old Town again. I had to pay the price with a stay in bed the next day.

Encinitas Senior Center

The super bowl of billiards is held at the Encinitas Senior Center every three months. The big event brought the most agile fiftiesh hands from all over the North County.
"Pam, I noticed you are calling out for a pizza. Can I give you money for those in the computer room? 'No! It is only for the pool room!"
  Marvin stole some pizzas from the billiard room, and Pam called the Encinitas police.
"Hey, I thought the pizzas were for everyone. And besides, I am disabled ever since a Mexican truck driver ran over my wife in Tiajuana, Mexico. I l was in a coma for three months and have an irregular brain."
  "Well don't let it happen again!"

   The Senior Center houses more than a billiard tables. A Yamaha piano sits in the corner. My mind filters songs from the  50's and even more. Why even Simon asked "Who the concert  player is?"
   A couple of days ago, I met Bob who had been the orchestra manager of the New York Philharmonic rmonic Orchestra. He had studied piano since the age of three and knew Leonard Bernstein. His wife will soon be proving me with Piano lessons. I wish to become another Mozart before I trade my soul to the company store. 
   The Center even fine tunes the piano for me. Any music I can hum I can play by ear, and did God provide big ones for my large big nosed head.   I over one thousand tunes on it In the corner is a  I use the fine tuned piano to plant some 30's and 40 tunes in my head.
  There is also a lunch for the seniors in another room and art, dance, bingo, bridge on different days.  I have even played Pickle Ball but quit when and old wind bag screamed, "It was my ball! 
   Wait just a minute. I returned with Round Table pizza for Marvin and the gang. The twenty sausage and peperoni slices were finished in a few minutes.
  The Encinitas Senior sits on a hill with a view of  the Ocean. You can see parts of the Southbay from  most of the outside concrete benches outside.  Today is a Red Flag warning: The winds are up and with it the seasonal pollen. The cool air-conditioned building is just what my doctor Dudley ordered for me.
 The Senior Center offeres free lunches for those over 62, but you can always donate a few bucks into the kitty. Besides Thursday bridge, there is stamp club and even a big dance once a month on Friday. The average age is a bit over eighty years, so bring dark sun glasses so you won't get over exposed to aging.
  We must not forget ping pong.
   No matter what my mood, I leave relaxed and laughing. My computer tutor has also helped me with my own blog and hope to be a billionaire one day. Oh yes, it offers free coffee and once a month there is the senior center dance. I hear Benny Goodman is leaving heaven for another performance.
  It is only five dollars and its includes food and drink. There is always a back up ambulance in case someone breaks their legs or forgets their name.

  "Printer number four is printing now!!!!" A red headed lady stands up and runs to the printer to get her copy. Each follows new rules sent down by the downtown Encinitas City Counsel.
  We are now in the updated Computer Room. The Parks and Recreation supervisor made new rules. We need to go to the office each time we print. Also, we can't uses more than twenty pages.
   "Why isn't the computer working!" He did not know the computer does not work without paper.
   You can't use vulgar language, laugh too hard, smoke, drink or take ectacy, or even get married in the room. No eating, drinking, or socializing is desired or suspension follows.

The San Diego Harbor Marina

   Every other weekend, I take the Green Line Trolley to the  Old Town covered garage.  My little Cavalier is sometimes garaged there. Parking  is free, and I don't need to move it for 24 hours. It is also safe. from there I can take any one of three buses to several beach cities like Pacific, Ocean or Mission Beach. Old Town is a major transit center. There are no bathroom facilities so come prepared. San Diego is a city with no restrooms--or almost none. 
    After a breakfast at Perry's on Rosecrans and Pacific, I drive two miles south on Pacific until it links up with Laurel. There is a gas station to your left. Make a right onto Laurel till it becomes Harbor Drive and the airport area.  I keep to the far left lane and make my left turn onto Harbor Island. I swerve around the hotel keeping to my right till it feeds into the Marina Parking lot. During the week, it is free parking up until ten o'clock. A Deli sign tells the driver when to make a right into the lot. To the right are spots owned by boat owners. You will see a fountain with a seal when you enter. 
   For a bathroom break, there is a restroom key at the deli. They serve good breakfasts and are open till six o'clock. On the weekend, they barbecue hamburgers for about seven and change. You can talk to Livingston, a seagull who hangs out on the patio. The view of the harbor, airport and San Diego is breathtaking.
   The first time I met Livingston it was poking its bill into a Smucker's jelly package.  It's bill acted like a straw in removing the sweetness from the package. Little sparrows joined in and fed the floor crumbs. You can enjoy a three dollar ice cream cone and watch the planes take off from Lindbergh Field. Tell them you own a boat and one scoop is two seventy.
   You can walk to the big Sheraton Hotel to the east and have a drink and watch a football game on T.V. There is a Starbucks and cool clean air to give your singed lungs a break on bad ozone days. there are many conventioneers usually present and a large warm pool with a ping pong table for exercise. It is a family hotel.
  Off season prices begin at one hundred and fifty dollars a day. It changes with the day, season and availability. On your way back to your car, you may wish a breathtaking view of North Island and its Navy Field. Hidden is Coronado Bay. A sea coast view of the San Diego buildings is to your right.
   Two fisherman had their hooks in the harbor. One pole looked bent and a Chinese fisherman hooked onto something. He asked for his buddy for help.  help him. I came over to see the catch. It was big. After a few contested tries, the net brought up a Halibut, a lot larger than I expected. The little Chinese displayed a few teeth while his face grinned from ear to ear. They measured the fish and told me in broken English it measured twenty one inches.
   For another Harbor Day, you don't need your car. Keep it tucked away at Old Town on Taylor and Pacific.No longer tired, I head back to the Old Town Garage and parked my car. I just missed Greeny going back to downtown but got on the next trolley. I wished to end my day at Old Town since it made an Old Man feel young. .

La Jolla

    Two weeks ago I needed a change My sponsor had driven me too hard on my football story. The big break came when I decided to take a bus trip to La Jolla. I needed a relaxant. I decided to spend Sunday on a date with me.
    A half rain fell on San Diego in the morning. I left the 500 Hotel crossed a dumpster to the Seven Eleven on C and Kettner Streets.. I stepped over a few homeless and bought a small $3.95  Chef Salad from the Seven Eleven. The Santa Fe Station was my next stop. The Green-line trolley would be arriving soon. At nine thirty I got on and snuggled next to many Latinos going to work. A lone African American lady scolded her little daughter. Her voice was the only one heard on the train.
    Since there are no bathrooms at the Old Town stop except at the Deli under the round clock that was one hour off.  . I took his advise and went to a small deli in back of the big clock with the wrong time. It was a quarter well spent. After my senior citizen pit stop, I went to my parked car and unlocked the trunk. I needed to get sun glasses and sun tan lotion. Just in time I climbed aboard the number 30 bus. It felt good to leave the driving to somebody else. I could work on my football story, look out the window, or listen in to some of the other patrons.
   The bus weaved down Grand, Mission, and finally La Jolla Blvd. I spilled out on Girard and Silverspur and began walked up the street when something sweet swept me off my feet. It was the Girard Coffee Shop.  I ordered a cinnamon raisin roll to go with a hot chocolate. I sat down to edit some of my football stories. There were tables outside but with a rather cold  half-rain, I felt warm again enjoying the tasty treat with hot chocolate. I felt like a sailor eating his first fill after a long trip. My legs had a chance to re-energize themselves.
   I lovely lady made her entrance from the back. Since she smiled and looked serene, I knew she must be the owner. Diane came over and spoke about the DNA of her eatery. "We began the Girard Gourmet about twenty two years ago. My husband learned the art of bakery in Belgium.
   He is sixty nine but remembers only one story about World War Two. His family had a farm in Belgium and the Germans took off with our only horse at the end of the war. Since the horse knew it belonged to us, it escaped  back to our farm a day or two later.
   She also spoke about a time when the Super Bowl landed in San Diego.  "My husband made cookies to resemble the football players with numbers on them. He sold out of the first batch and some officials from the NFL walked into the store. They told us we needed permission to make the cookies. My husband made another five batches and sold out of them the next day.

George at the Cove 

   I left Diane and walked up Girard Street on my way to the famous La Jolla Caves. The unseasonably cold weather brought another half rain to the Village. I huddled under the canopy of a Sushi Bar and Joined folks from  Louisiana. . Afterwards I walked down to the La Jolla's caves.

On Top of Cove 

   I imagined myself Tom Sawyer in one of Mark Twain's adventures when he hid in a cafe to escape a pirate.  A bug crack in the walls gave me a place to rest and remove my knapsack. I ate another tuna sandwich and watched the kids go into the tide pools. The outpost cave looked like a big arch with tiny pools inside of it. A dad scoured for rocks or shells while the kids played a game called Pirates.

  Some large mounds of rocks were to my right. Many sea lions long black necked birds shared the rocky ledges together. I was told that about one thousand seals had washed up on shore this summer. . The Heron were skimming the ocean and  returning with small fish.
Soon after I left and worked my way up the steps and up a hill. Some kids played on top of a giant fir. I joined a few others on the #30 bus and too soon reality showed its ugly head.

San Diego Weather

 
   Today is the 25th of September. The overhead clouds brought the downtown temperatures down a bit. yet we have another gust of Santa Ana's due this weekend. Remember when the heat hits the dirty air particles, ozone is the product. Lower the temperatures and lower the ozone.  Los Angeles does not hold a monopoly on the famous Santa Ana winds. The off ocean breezes make allergy sufferers run to their medicine cabinet.  Wednesday morning of the tenth of April a gusty wind greeted me. I forgot to place my mask over my nose.  Like a dirty car air filter, my motor shut off. I spent the day in bed. This is how the weather story began.
  We had an unusual cold winter in San Diego this year of 2013. At the 'Y' in San Diego, the wall furnace didn't work. I carried a portable one to my room. I kept it on low most nights. The YMCA probably wanted to save money.
  Most of the oldest hotels don't offer air conditioning, even with Global warning. This year alone, we've had a part of New Jersey go down in a horrific hurricane, a thousand year flood in Boulder, Colorado, and a Yosemite fire in California that a powerful sneeze couldn't put it out.   he state of New Jersey getting so wet, it had to
  San Diego has the seventh worst air quality in the United States, and the pollen count bumps up breathing problems for those with allergies.  Cars, trucks, and buses belch their dirt into my room. The many tall downtown buildings restrict  air flow. Furthermore, planes fly over head  at night sending a dose of more Black Death over me. We can always change our cars air filter, but God has given us only one, bronchial tube to filter the air we breathe. Now at 74, they can't operate in fowl air. .

 The San Diego City Fathers replaced electric street cars with buses. How could we say no to the big money of Goodyear Tires or the many oil companies. Black Death filters into our hotel rooms and we wake up with a clogged nose and congested bronchial tubes. I am in luck when a westerly wind blows off of the Harbor. The heavier the wind, the better for allergies and I can think again.
   I asked a visiting student from Shanghai what he enjoyed the most about the city of San Diego. We met at the Santa Fe Train Depot a couple weeks back in August.
   " I love the weather, people, and what is the name of that?
   "That is a Palm Tree."
   "My they are lovely. I am now going on Amtrak for Los Angeles. I wish to see Dodger Stadium and then go to Santa Monica. I have four days left on my vacation.
   He left for Los Angeles on Amtrak.

   One year ago in October, San Diego had several hot days. My YMCA room registered over eighty degrees at night. I needed to stay at Lindbergh Field two nights and used my puffer too much. I also drove to the Harbor Sheraton Hotel for air. On hot days, lines form at Starbucks for colder energy drinks. The patrons don't understand that is is only a quick fix. The buses trains and trolleys are air conditioned. Many of the homeless stay on buses or trolleys all day and until ten at night to keep cool during Red Flag Alert days. The morning weather report tells me what to wear.
   My hotel manager refused to place a air conditioner outside my window. I am sure he felt scared the YMCA owners would get wind of it and fire him. The air has no where to run to. When my pockets become full, I will stay at a hotel with Central Air Conditioning.
  The air filter I bought from Target helps filter out Black Death. But I must change the filter every three months or give it a long bath. The winter temperatures can plummet after five in winter. It is wise to have a sweater or coat handy.

   I just returned from Los Angeles by car. I took my daughter to Costco, and parked my little Cavalier in her spot. The number 7 Big Blue Bus deposited me at the beach. I said "hello" to my buddies and noticed after one hour, the heavenly westerly dry winds gave my bronchial tubes to kick out Black Death. Now with breathing clean air, I could think and enjoy the day visiting my blind brother in Huntington Beach.  I am going to play two man volleyball again, not in San Diego, but Santa Monica where the winds, dry sand and pick up games will boot my life up a notch.
  Black Death eventually causes our immune system to bog down. Car engines need a replacement air and oil filter to run. Our hearts are the engines of life. When the heart engine needs to push harder, we place ourselves in danger of a heart attack or stroke. Just that one day in Santa Monica filtered out Black Death.
 
   I have just survived the September Monsoon season in San Diego. The Monsoons put a blanket on our ability to breathe. The poured heavy rain on Los Vegas and later another storm dropped 14 inches on Boulder Colorado. The tropical moisture comes from Africa, down across Mexico and says hello to San Diego.
   The Balboa Centennial Exposition is still two years away. It is hoped all hotels in San Diego will treat Black Death with window air conditioners  

La Jolla

Sunday was spent in La Jolla. I had been there over two years ago with a throbbing tooth ache. The tooth had been pulled so I set my throttle towards the coastline. I took the Number 30 bus out of Old town. It meanders around the beach cities of Pacific, and La Jolla.

I wished to visit the sea lions and enjoy the children playing inside a large cave. I remembered when I taugtht English and we read Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. Some of the passengers got off to work in homes. I called them Mexican cleaners. Others were the homeless. They were too easy to spot. They wore a two or three day growth, baggy mismached clothing, and whiskered tennis shoes. I got off on Pearl Street and walked up the hill towards Starbucks. A friendly sidewalk bench told me to sit and grab the Seven Eleven  chef salad package and nuts.

Reengized and I continued on my way. I looked with envy to several joggers who ran by and finally saw my prize. Prospect Blvd turned to La Jolla. There seemed to be a car show going on. I stopped to write and grab a hot chocolate. A young gal told a guy to but her a pastery inside. Many asked questions about her pedigree. I turned right and saw the park overladen with vintaged cars....I heard some thirtees music. I ears took me to a car show. It was forty dollars to get in. I sat my sore limbs down on a folding chair in front of a Austen Healy.

My ears consumed me with music. Several people mistook me for the owner, and I allowed it. My legs then took me to the gateway to the Cove and caves below. I had a gal take a picture of me with a man in the background. He was feeding pigeons that roosted on his shoulders.  led with Street turned to La Jolla Blvd. Several birds flew off of a the shoulder of large rocks. They shared the rocks with sea lions. The tall black birds flew and skimmed the ocean before diving a coming up with a small mackeral.

A group of swimmers joined two seals playing with each other and making a deep tuba sound. Kids were playing in the tidepools outside the caves. Now my hot sun backed face told me it was time to return to the good old number 30 bus.

I walked up Fay Street towards Pearl. On the left of my was Jonathon's Market just in front of a Von's. Lines of people to my right wanted to ener two cafe's eating a brunch.

Now I knew where ex presidents came to die, and me with them.

Means of Transport

No longer do I park my car in San Diego. Unless you wish to pay the salaries of San Diego's city employees, leave the driving not to Hertz but to buses, trains, and even Metro Link and the Coaster. San Diego offers you a different picture every day. I've ridden the Coaster over four hundred times and each time the view of the many marshes, hills and sea water changes.
I garage my car either at the Encinitas Train communter lot or the one at Old Town. Think of them as your arteries with trains, trollys and trains the veins. Each bus takes you to a different destination. I took the number 30 bus the first time I visited san Diego. Everyone spoke about the gorgeous beach scenery in La Jolla. The La Jolla seals were in a good mood. I ate a picknick lunch and meandered down a staircase beside a large cave. The kids swam in a small pool with several variety of birds looking on. The Hotel Circle Bus I use to go to the Town and Country. The hotel offers dancng on Friday and Saturday evenings.

Like a football coach with four quarterbacks, you need to find the best way to get to your destination. The buses, trains and trollies link up at Old Town. Since today I am too tired to write. A authentic Mexican meal is my desire. I climb aboart the Green Trolly to to Old Town. The sound of Maria achi music fills my mind with salsa. I sit and listen to a trio who strum their guitars while the violinist is sinking.  I begin to smile and then take in an authentic lunch. After I tap my compass card on a machine.

Once a month I take the Coaster to the Metlink Station at Oceanside. The Link has had a special lately. Ten dollars for all weekends beginnng on Friday Evenings. I check the schedules and arrive for the eleven o'clock emarking time. A sandwich and books accompany me on a half empty train. My fruits looming ahead are San Clemente, San Juan Capistrano... Once a baseball hit by an Angel hit my car when we entered Orange...I hit the Grand Centra Station a little after one o'clock and spent much of my day at the Riordan Library before i visited my daughter. The 720 bus took me to West Los Angeles.

Remember each bus has a special attraction. The number seven takes me to Balboa Park. The 901 to the Coronado Bridge. The 922 to the airport and the 923 to Pacific Beach or OB as they call it.

   Today is the 24th day of September. It is another clear an sunny day. There is a slight off Santa Ana breeze.  I decide to go to the Encinitas Senior Center. It is about twenty miles north from San Diego. My car Dolly has a bad case of turf toe. In car's lingo, she needs an alignment and two new tires. i leave my YMCA Hotel at six o'clock and visit the 7/11 to buy two ripe bananas. I cross the C Street Trolley tracks and Kettner to the Santa Fe Station.
   The Coaster train leaves at six thirty every weekday. In the distance I see two blinking white lights. The lights take turns. My ears hear the "clang, clang, clang" sound. It is closing in on track three. The incoming train is full. The passengers spill out and stumble over one another to catch a trolley, bus or simply walk to their place of work.
   Fewer new passengers begin to enter the Coaster. Many hold a Mr. Starbucks in one hand and a cell phone in the other. There is not one happy face in the lot. A few Mexicans from Tijuana enter and take turns for one of the bathrooms. They speak no English, but work hard as domestics. They have made sure they have paid there fare.
 
   Yesterday, a conductor warned a passenger about the need to pay before entering the Coaster. I will try to paraphrase what he told the misinformed.
      "You will go to court and be fined $500 for riding without paying. A warrant for your arrest
       will be sent if you don't pay...This is a warning!"
  This conductor is nice. He did not write him up.

  I remove my two eggs and banana and indulge. The others are reading the UT or engrossed in their cell phone messages. Passengers get on at Old Town and we take the twenty minute ride to Sorrento Valley. The valleys, gorges, gullies and hills have various trees like the Oak or the many fir trees standing guard. I take out my Charles Dickens book and begin to read after disposing my trash.
   I feel proud to be a grandfather again. I wish to become an American Charles Dickens, so I have been enveloped in all of his books. I am relaxed knowing not driving has helped to lower my blood pressure. Most of the passengers sit on the ocean side or west side of the train. My stop is coming up in Encinitas.
  I empty my trash inside a receptacle  and descend the train. The 309 bus in waiting. I climb aboard at five minutes later. I tap my Compass card in the bus and enjoy the ride up Encinitas Blvd to my destination. I dond't have a care in the world today, my compass card takes care of that. The bus drives up Encinitas Blvd to my destination.  and sp receptacle
 

Old Town

Yesterday on Easter Sunday, I found my Easter Egg at Old Town, San Diego. Earlier in the day, I felt alone and depressed. I thought about taking dancing lessons in Pacific Beach, but decided to take a contrary action.

The Green Line Trolly stopped at the Old Town Transit Center. I garage my car there for free. It is too much of a hastle to find a parking spot downtown. Also, you need to drive onto the freeway to your destination. You also need money to park your car so you won't be bludgened by ticket.

I left the train about three o'clock and walked to the town laid waste by a fire in the late eighteen hundred's. With too much Starbuck's coffee in my system, I needed to sit and relax. Some mariachi music came from a rectangular center of stores. On the platform were three musicians. The singer wore a bandana on his head and plucked a mean violin. It was up tempo, exactly what I needed today.

Those in the audience sang along with him. My throat became dry and parched. I felt an overwhelming need for water, and a nearby restaurant's smell enticed me to sit there.

"Miss, I will take the tamale and enchilada meal. Please bring me a large cold glass of water." She returned a few minutes later with the water and a bowl of chips with salsa and some other sauce. I drank the entire glass of water and got a refill. A young boy server returned with my hot plate. I had alreay filled myself with the chips but managed to eat most of my Mexican meal.

I forgot my troubles and had enough time to hear more music and visit the stores. One made olive oil; Another sold cards; still another sold jewelery and another cards and books...There were more stores to see but my mood now had changed.

Old Town is a good spot to park your car. The many buses and trolly can take you just about anywhere. You can go to the seashores of Mission, Pacific, or La Jolla to name of few. You might wish to take the Coaster train to Del Mar, the Serrento Valley or Oceanside...My favorite is to take the Mission hotel bus which circles Hotel Circle and eat over the San Diego River.

The CD's are just 15 dollars and you'll love to watch your kids do the chicken dance or the Mexican Hat Dance.