Sunday's begun with prayer. I needed to thank God for his blessings the last year. There had been a few ripples, but Mom had provided me with swimming lessons.
I left my Y cell off of Broadway at six thirty Sunday morning. It was crispy cold but I knew that the Old Town restaurant would provide me with warmth. Two homeless rats crossed my path as I entered the America Plaza station on my way to the Santa Fe.. One told me to say, "cheese". They scurried back to the empty lot beside the street.
My nose told me many homeless had pissed away this Thanksgiving. Cold and empty train stations serve as San Diego toilets at night. San Diego owns no public bathrooms. The smell of urine permeates the train station. I heard the clang of my trolley. It was about six thirty.
This Sunday morning the Green Line Trolley was packed. It comes every thirty minutes on Sundays. Most were Mexican who had taken the Blue Line Trolley from the border. Many had dozed off, that is all except one. She kept jabbering away with her Spanish dialect. The others nodded with closed eyes but opened ears. Many came to work. I was one of three whites on this car. In the middle sat a wheel chaired black. His wheel chair clutched his crutches, and the arm rests his household treasures. His wheel chair took up most of the entrance and I needed to walk jump over his protruding leg.
Most of the train spilled out at Old Town. From the main artery of the trains, many ran to pick up a bus to forward their sleepy remains to their job. But not me. Since I am a Godaholic, I desired to go to the Immaculate Conception Church across from O'Hungry's.
At O'Hungry's, I ate a small breakfast and deiced my body with two cups of coffee. It was rather chilly. At about seven forty five, I walked across the street to the very spot our Father Serra used for his house of worship. I sat in a back bench against the wall. I felt safe in the back.
The Mass took about one and one half hours. The Organ music and speech of the Reverend made mesmerized me. I did not eat the cookie at the end of the service since I still a Jew but did indulge in coffee and donuts in the reception hall.
There I met a man who managed the Wrigley Spearmint gum factory in Chicago before he retired after 28 years. He was in charge of 400 and monitored the gum and the paper department. He had majored in Mechanical Engineering at Purdue. His quarterly dividends from were great. The other gentleman, in his nineties, lived next to the Ted Williams family. He knew the Williams brothers quite well. He spoke more about his brother
The remains of the four-day weekend I spent at the Jazz Festival in the Town and Country hotel. I took the Green Line Trolley to the Mission valley Fashion Transit stop. It was two stops from Old Town. Since the Trolleys ran on the second level, I needed to take the elevator to the bottom floor and then cross a street and bridge to the back entrance of the largest hotel in a circle of hotels.
The Dixieland music was just what i needed to end a perfect Thanksgiving weekend. There must have been over 50 bands at this Jazz Festival. Of course I didn't pay. I used my charm and blog to get a seat. One of two tall twins asked me to dance.
The tall one groped me on the dance floor, and planted a large kiss on my lips. I tried to disengage but Mary would not allow it
It took about thirty minutes to cool off. I took in several bands and loved the 20 piece jam session Sunday afternoon. Somebody mentioned the Charger football score but all I could think of was all that jazz. I focused on the piano players. Now I knew what I wanted to be besides a writer, a great musician. Next year, I hope to be playing in one of the bands with a harmonica as my second instrument. (This Thursday, I will be attending Balboa's senior citizen dance. Every other Thursday, there is dancing there.)
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