On the day Christ was born, I felt starved. No creature sturred on the Carlsbad City streets. Why even Wal Mart was closed. I drove to another store to buy a package of bacon-bits and it to was closed.
Across the Motel Six parking lot, the cleaners had opened. At least I could get my whites cleaned today and get my mind off of food. I returned to my motel room and loaded the car's trunk with my dirty clothes. I felt good to be busy and get my life organized. After all, I would be a recognized author one day,and needed to look well-dressed and clean.
After 12 quarters well spent in the laundry room , I returned to the Motel Six on Carlsbad Village Drive climbed the steps to my room. I remembered what Ron had told me about Keno's, an old eatery off of P.C.H. The eatery offered a free lunch each Xmas. At about twelve o'clock I drove first to Ralph's in Carlsbad. In no way would two major markets be closed, Christmas Day. It was!
My stomach growled. I needed to appease it and left for Keno's off of Highway 101 and arrived about eleven. The free lance turkey meal with cranberries, stuffing, mashed potatoes and a jam smothered my stomach with good cheer and love, and a bit too much gravy...would have to wait for twelve to arrive. I settled for a turkey sandwich and mashed potatoes. My stomach always paid the price if I ate too much fat.
Satisfied now, I drove a few blocks to the Moonlight Beach upper lot with a unblemished view. Below, many beach goers took advantage of the clear westerly breezes. The new children's area was packed with tots pushing swings or climbing slides.
The ocean waves appeared angry, splashing suds in every-which-way. I could even make out the strong undertows.I walked down the curved path to the beach. A motor-driven small car almost ran over me. A kid tried out his present while a skate-boarder jumped over a trash can. I still made it to the sand and found a corner white picket fence next to a house. It would provide me with just enough shade to keep the two o'clock rays off of me.
I kicked back in my chair and fell asleep. The ocean breeze had pacified my mind. My connection with HIM became tighter. An errant volleyball hit me in the noggin and woke me from a deep slumber. An entire family was playing volleyball. It appeared they had never played the game and were probably visiting from the Midwest judging from their white skin. They did not wear bathing suits and their skin looked too white for a Californian.
Heartburn from the sandwich upset me. I drank a quart from the fountain. I knew my hunger had been quenched but I what i needed of Christmas cheer. I decided to go to Keno's for my feast. Already a large number were inside waiting to be served.
I saw my buddy Ronny who had parked his three-wheeled-bike outside of Keno's. Ropes attached to his bike carried the 75 year old's possessions. Like always, he seemed hungry. Trays of smashed jam, sliced turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries, cut carrots, and lots of pie topped with whipped cream.
Ron is called Houdini from a friend of mine. He is one of a hand-full of homeless that has avoided the police by disappearing in the night. The tall whiskered gentleman had biked into 47 different states. With frequent-peddle-miles, he could have biked in the sky for free.
Back in Minnesota, seventy seven year old Ron had waited for seven years before leaving his past behind. His wife and seven children had never called. Of course had it coming as drink-with-the-ladies don't mix for a for a blissful marriage.
Excuse the interruption, but speaking about the homeless. A tall, grey whiskered man at commuter station number 806 is snorting and sneezing. at the San Diego Library. The cold Santa Anna winds keep the meet trucks handy all-day. He probably has a cold tent waiting for him on Park Blvd.
These outsiders look good one week and are picked up by San Diego's meat trucks another. There he goes again, snorting and sneezing. The cold Santa Anna make it tough on Santa Claus to bring gifts to these drifters. And I should talk.
Well Houdini's plate of turkey with the trimmings disappeared soon after he sat down. Why just maybe that turkey had wings and flew the coop. His second plate of Christmas cheer took longer to engage. We washed the pheasant down with three glasses of coke and said our good-by's.
I didn't have good luck buying reading glasses. Every shop in Encinitas was closed. The only place open was a new theater in Oceanside. Thank God it was open, but one problem. The movie Unbroken had been sold out.
But I did not give a hoot. My two daughters and two grand-daughters were doing just fine. And that is the blessing God has given me this year. Every day is Christmas for me. . Just might make a song out of it.
Friday, December 26, 2014
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
The San Diego Jazz Festival Sweetheart
I telephone Taxi Man Sam from my Motel Six line phone. About one year ago, I had warned him to lose weight. The scales read about two hundred and twenty pounds then, and he had felt discomfort in his chest. He shredded about twenty in three months.
Later the same year, he took my advise and visited the Scripps Mercy Hospital. Ex-rays revealed two leg blockages and an issue with a heart muscle. The leg surgeries proved successful and a doctor told him his heart could wait. Unfortunately, two truck accidents inside of Mexico caused two more surgeries He became somewhat immobile for two months but lived. In fact he spent more time inside the hospital than the world outside. No doubt his Jewish prayers had been answered.
"Good morning Sam, how are you doing?"
"How are you celebrating Christmas. Do you wish to hang out with me?"
, "Already have. You see Larry, each day is Christmas. I unwrap a different gift each day. Tell you what. I will be returning to San Diego on Sunday. I can meet you after church service or before my dancing lessons."
Tuesday morning at the Carlsbad Dove Library, a famous author confirmed what I knew: "George, you will become a famous author one day. Unlike other writers, you are transparent and live a diversified life. Most writers only write. Why you play the piano by ear, dance, and most of all, you have enormous confidence as a comedian."
. I took another look at myself inside the mirrored room and saw a different me. Why I even think I had a halo covering me head. Now after Tuesday's meeting with an author of fourteen books, I have caught up with the new George. With a strong Godly foundation, my life has only one way to go, and that is to the top. Just watch me. I play the piano at the Encinitas Senior Center and now wish to polish my key-board talents playing in a jazz band.
The Balboa dancing lessons had paid dividends. Like my Mom had said, "George, with your lisp, you better learn to dance and play the piano. That way you will get the girls without needing to speak." Well my Mom Edith was party right.. My thirteen-year-old braces gave me the ability to speak without a lisp. Excitement fills my own life. And the combination of music with dance has bedazzled my new life inside San Diego's fish bowl.
The highlight of last year occurred during the Thanksgiving weekend, and it cost only $25 dollars to listen to several of the one hundred bands brought to the Town and Country hotel. I usually focused on the piano players but a face in the crowd unnerved me.
It was a silver-haired-blond. Yes it was the smiling blond that got my attention. Never in my life have I seen such a gorgeous angelic face. I just knew she had to be married to the hunched-over man who was her life's dancing partner. Darn, it I saw her too late! I walked over to the charming couple.
You are the most-in-love couple I have ever witnessed on the dance floor. Would With my camera, I walked over to the charming couple and asked them if I could take their picture. They smiled and agreed. Susanne looked even more beautiful up close. Susanne confided it was their second marriage, and they had been married for 27 years.
Later the same year, he took my advise and visited the Scripps Mercy Hospital. Ex-rays revealed two leg blockages and an issue with a heart muscle. The leg surgeries proved successful and a doctor told him his heart could wait. Unfortunately, two truck accidents inside of Mexico caused two more surgeries He became somewhat immobile for two months but lived. In fact he spent more time inside the hospital than the world outside. No doubt his Jewish prayers had been answered.
"Good morning Sam, how are you doing?"
"How are you celebrating Christmas. Do you wish to hang out with me?"
, "Already have. You see Larry, each day is Christmas. I unwrap a different gift each day. Tell you what. I will be returning to San Diego on Sunday. I can meet you after church service or before my dancing lessons."
Tuesday morning at the Carlsbad Dove Library, a famous author confirmed what I knew: "George, you will become a famous author one day. Unlike other writers, you are transparent and live a diversified life. Most writers only write. Why you play the piano by ear, dance, and most of all, you have enormous confidence as a comedian."
. I took another look at myself inside the mirrored room and saw a different me. Why I even think I had a halo covering me head. Now after Tuesday's meeting with an author of fourteen books, I have caught up with the new George. With a strong Godly foundation, my life has only one way to go, and that is to the top. Just watch me. I play the piano at the Encinitas Senior Center and now wish to polish my key-board talents playing in a jazz band.
The Balboa dancing lessons had paid dividends. Like my Mom had said, "George, with your lisp, you better learn to dance and play the piano. That way you will get the girls without needing to speak." Well my Mom Edith was party right.. My thirteen-year-old braces gave me the ability to speak without a lisp. Excitement fills my own life. And the combination of music with dance has bedazzled my new life inside San Diego's fish bowl.
The highlight of last year occurred during the Thanksgiving weekend, and it cost only $25 dollars to listen to several of the one hundred bands brought to the Town and Country hotel. I usually focused on the piano players but a face in the crowd unnerved me.
It was a silver-haired-blond. Yes it was the smiling blond that got my attention. Never in my life have I seen such a gorgeous angelic face. I just knew she had to be married to the hunched-over man who was her life's dancing partner. Darn, it I saw her too late! I walked over to the charming couple.
You are the most-in-love couple I have ever witnessed on the dance floor. Would With my camera, I walked over to the charming couple and asked them if I could take their picture. They smiled and agreed. Susanne looked even more beautiful up close. Susanne confided it was their second marriage, and they had been married for 27 years.
"Do you mind if I take your picture?" David and Susie smiled and told Sue I could guess her age. "I'll bet your are 65 years old." "Wrong George. I am 66." "Where did you meet?" "We met at a dance. While I was dancing, he came up and pushed away my partner. I found out later they were best friends. I really did not care for this engineer at first but found out later that he had the right moves and had a wonderful personality. We try to go dancing twice a week. Our marriage is so strong honey is no longer needed inside our coffee. I left the couple from Virginia but did get their phone number. I felt sorry not to have a Susanne- in-tow but just maybe next year - God will send an angel from heaven for me.
As you can see, I love to mingle with people. I find it most exciting. Next year I will pay the one hundred dollars for the entire Thanksgiving weekend. But most of all, I love being the Grandfather of Summer and Spring. One is one and the other is four.
My act has a long-long way to go, so try to keep up with me or better yet, meet me at Balboa Park where I take dancing lessons. You will find me not only a fine dancer but handsome for one in his middle seventies.
"No, I never watch Dancing with the Stars, since it is I am the star - at least in my own eyes.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
The Tip Top restaurant
"Mam...I prefer to be called 'sweety or sir' is you please. Only maidens over sixty may call me sweaty. Since I am 75 years of age, I deserve to be called I believe my I think my 75 years on earth deserves more respect. Only my two daughters and those I bed down with have permission to call me any name they wish, but not waitresses.
"I apologize. We are in the habit of calling old people 'Sweetie'. Are you ready to order?"
"Yes, I want what I had yesterday. sweaty. Let's see. Give me toast, hard boiled eggs, hash browns and the turkey bacon. Thank you."
It costs only a bit less than eight dollars with tip, but the cost is within my budget. Today would be festive like any-other-day. My Rabbis words two years back told his congregation to treat each day like it would be your last...And I sure do. Today from the Carlsbad train station, I would hop on the 11:10 going north to San Diego's Santa Fe Station.
I love to read, write, speak, and devour the beautiful scenery after a good rain. And with my Compass card it is free. The monthly pass cost seniors forty one dollars and a quarter. I am miserable if I don't train or bus it each day.My breakfast would begin my day before heading to the Carlsbad downtown library.
Across the street from the Motel Six is the Carlsbad Tip Top restaurant. I need to get my Schindler story readied for publication on Kindle, in hopes that St. Nick would arrive with a publisher.
After breakfast I drive to the Carlsbad library and read the L.A Times before sitting on a computer. Would you believe that Obama wishes Sony to apologize to North Korea., and their humpty-dumpty dictator. Since when has this puppet become my father. And why does our so-called- president wish to become friends with Cuba. Has he forgotten our bill of rights? I may be only seventy five, but bet your ass I am smarter than this guy in Washington.
To use his own words, 'The fact of the matter is that he never would have made it as President if he had not promised citizenship to illegals. Yes he is a great speaker but ethically, he rivals Pinocchio on a bad day.
Obama reminds me my Mom when I was a toddler. "George, now wipe your ass real good and wear nice clean underwear." It is time for Obama to learn to listen and keep his mouth shut for the next two years. On a more pleasant thought, the Xmas tree lot next to my motel did a humming business selling its trees.
Tomorrow night I take waltz and Western Two Step lessons at the Balboa Bay Club. My passion is dancing, piano playing, and taking long cold showers.
"I apologize. We are in the habit of calling old people 'Sweetie'. Are you ready to order?"
"Yes, I want what I had yesterday. sweaty. Let's see. Give me toast, hard boiled eggs, hash browns and the turkey bacon. Thank you."
It costs only a bit less than eight dollars with tip, but the cost is within my budget. Today would be festive like any-other-day. My Rabbis words two years back told his congregation to treat each day like it would be your last...And I sure do. Today from the Carlsbad train station, I would hop on the 11:10 going north to San Diego's Santa Fe Station.
I love to read, write, speak, and devour the beautiful scenery after a good rain. And with my Compass card it is free. The monthly pass cost seniors forty one dollars and a quarter. I am miserable if I don't train or bus it each day.My breakfast would begin my day before heading to the Carlsbad downtown library.
Across the street from the Motel Six is the Carlsbad Tip Top restaurant. I need to get my Schindler story readied for publication on Kindle, in hopes that St. Nick would arrive with a publisher.
After breakfast I drive to the Carlsbad library and read the L.A Times before sitting on a computer. Would you believe that Obama wishes Sony to apologize to North Korea., and their humpty-dumpty dictator. Since when has this puppet become my father. And why does our so-called- president wish to become friends with Cuba. Has he forgotten our bill of rights? I may be only seventy five, but bet your ass I am smarter than this guy in Washington.
To use his own words, 'The fact of the matter is that he never would have made it as President if he had not promised citizenship to illegals. Yes he is a great speaker but ethically, he rivals Pinocchio on a bad day.
Obama reminds me my Mom when I was a toddler. "George, now wipe your ass real good and wear nice clean underwear." It is time for Obama to learn to listen and keep his mouth shut for the next two years. On a more pleasant thought, the Xmas tree lot next to my motel did a humming business selling its trees.
Tomorrow night I take waltz and Western Two Step lessons at the Balboa Bay Club. My passion is dancing, piano playing, and taking long cold showers.
Friday, December 19, 2014
The Immaculate Conception Church.
My Sundays begin at the Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town, San Diego. Fate brought me to Father Ecker's flock of church-goers over a year ago.
The church had been built in the 1800's, a block or two from the first one that Father Serra built. I took a chance after a meager meal at the Hungry restaurant across the street. There was something magical about a church with pictures of Mary and her son Jesus painted on pictures and a figurine of Christ on a cross in the front of the church.
I returned two months later and took up a seat. I sat in the back as other seats had been taken. A tall, thin man wearing the garb of a priest smiled and looked right at his congregation. Whatever came out of his mouth seemed to touch the souls of this Sunday crowd.
This ex navy chaplain earned his stripes taking care of the wounded during the Vietnam War. At once his stories massaged my soul. He spoke as if he was speaking to me. No Doubt he had a great connection with God.
He has become my Sunday soulmate . After the one hour sermon, some entered the rectory for donuts, coffee and good cheer. Now my mind felt great and soon I just sat in front of the Old Town adobe cigar store and people watched. My unclogged mind now is synchronized with my dancing feet.
But first things first. I had forgotten my dentures and needed to train it back to Carlsbad and the Motel Six. Check out time was at one o'clock and it was important to get there before the cleaners threw everything out.
At the Old Town Train Station stood a herd of orange jerseys. The name of Elway was on one of them. The Denver fanatical football fans were going on the Green Line to the stadium. But me, I had to take the train back to Carlsbad. you see I had forgotten my teeth.
Since the Amtrak train was late due to track maintenance, I needed to run down Carlsbad Village Drive before twelve o'clock. I needed to beat the maids to my room. I did and found my teeth inside a paper cup. My desert was the Balboa Bay dancing class that met that Sunday. I didn't feel like going but my feet kicked me out-the-door anyway.
I returned with teeth firmly planted inside my mouth after a ride on the two o'clock Coaster. After a senior nap, I spilled out of the Mission Valley Motel Six and took the 8 freeway east and took the 163 south to the downtown Park Blvd. exit. It took all of ten minutes from downtown. a few people already were up and dancing before the first lesson. Cup Cake, a charming lad with a bountiful smile quaked at seven.
"Tonight we are teaching the Waltz and Western Swing. Will the intermediates go over there and the advanced go to my left. Those who are beginning stick-right-here with me."
I go to the intermediate class where Rainbow Socks gives his lessons. He is a gas with a wonderful personality to boot. His class begins after he lifts his trousers. Sexy multicolored socks adorn his feet. It might excite the ladies but not I. It is the blond gal across the room who lathers me up.
Mr. Socks tells us men to go to one side of the room. His one hour lesson begins. "One, two, touch left turn....I try to concentrate but find it impossible. My computerized mind changes them to young teenagers. They become gorgeous...After seven thirty we have a short intermission and then the second class begins. Tonight it is the Western Swing.
When the two lessons are over at about eight thirty, we have a free time where we practice our routines. Out of the corner of my eye I discover the smiling blond has two lovely legs. I wonder if she has a mind to boot. Yet it is her smile that emboldens me to ask for a dance. I all her my California Dream.
I had first seen this dream-gal about one year ago. My mind made her a future pick at Del Mar. Her blond hair and indelible smile remained inside my mind. I just could not get over her smile. And her face, why what a face! Why a plaster of it could have been placed in the Guggenheim Museum. She was sitting besides the wall along with two others.
But the time is now. Yes it is now time. I look down at her. How brazenly confident I have become, ever since I found out I would soon become a celebrity. Her Hazel eyes say yes before her mouth follows. I lead her to the dance floor and peek at my prize. She looks up and her eyes swivel to the right. I try to keep in time with the Western Two Step Swing number.
"Hey sailor boy. Do you always kick so high? I have never seen such a high-kick-routine."
"Do you remember me. I told you about California Chrome coming to the Del Mar Race Track. The only time my legs show excitement is when they are dazzled with a hazel-eyed-blond-with-such-a-smile.
"Well Sailor Boy, you should know that I love the ponies and we hold half interest in several."
We danced a few more before my eyes begged me to return to the Motel Six in Hotel Circle. I felt so-excited that it took me a long, long time to get into a sleeping pattern.
This Monday, there will be a live swing band performing on the roof of the New San Diego Library. It begins at dusk and ends at about eight o'clock. So dance under the hazy damp mist with me.
The church had been built in the 1800's, a block or two from the first one that Father Serra built. I took a chance after a meager meal at the Hungry restaurant across the street. There was something magical about a church with pictures of Mary and her son Jesus painted on pictures and a figurine of Christ on a cross in the front of the church.
I returned two months later and took up a seat. I sat in the back as other seats had been taken. A tall, thin man wearing the garb of a priest smiled and looked right at his congregation. Whatever came out of his mouth seemed to touch the souls of this Sunday crowd.
This ex navy chaplain earned his stripes taking care of the wounded during the Vietnam War. At once his stories massaged my soul. He spoke as if he was speaking to me. No Doubt he had a great connection with God.
He has become my Sunday soulmate . After the one hour sermon, some entered the rectory for donuts, coffee and good cheer. Now my mind felt great and soon I just sat in front of the Old Town adobe cigar store and people watched. My unclogged mind now is synchronized with my dancing feet.
But first things first. I had forgotten my dentures and needed to train it back to Carlsbad and the Motel Six. Check out time was at one o'clock and it was important to get there before the cleaners threw everything out.
At the Old Town Train Station stood a herd of orange jerseys. The name of Elway was on one of them. The Denver fanatical football fans were going on the Green Line to the stadium. But me, I had to take the train back to Carlsbad. you see I had forgotten my teeth.
Since the Amtrak train was late due to track maintenance, I needed to run down Carlsbad Village Drive before twelve o'clock. I needed to beat the maids to my room. I did and found my teeth inside a paper cup. My desert was the Balboa Bay dancing class that met that Sunday. I didn't feel like going but my feet kicked me out-the-door anyway.
I returned with teeth firmly planted inside my mouth after a ride on the two o'clock Coaster. After a senior nap, I spilled out of the Mission Valley Motel Six and took the 8 freeway east and took the 163 south to the downtown Park Blvd. exit. It took all of ten minutes from downtown. a few people already were up and dancing before the first lesson. Cup Cake, a charming lad with a bountiful smile quaked at seven.
"Tonight we are teaching the Waltz and Western Swing. Will the intermediates go over there and the advanced go to my left. Those who are beginning stick-right-here with me."
I go to the intermediate class where Rainbow Socks gives his lessons. He is a gas with a wonderful personality to boot. His class begins after he lifts his trousers. Sexy multicolored socks adorn his feet. It might excite the ladies but not I. It is the blond gal across the room who lathers me up.
Mr. Socks tells us men to go to one side of the room. His one hour lesson begins. "One, two, touch left turn....I try to concentrate but find it impossible. My computerized mind changes them to young teenagers. They become gorgeous...After seven thirty we have a short intermission and then the second class begins. Tonight it is the Western Swing.
When the two lessons are over at about eight thirty, we have a free time where we practice our routines. Out of the corner of my eye I discover the smiling blond has two lovely legs. I wonder if she has a mind to boot. Yet it is her smile that emboldens me to ask for a dance. I all her my California Dream.
I had first seen this dream-gal about one year ago. My mind made her a future pick at Del Mar. Her blond hair and indelible smile remained inside my mind. I just could not get over her smile. And her face, why what a face! Why a plaster of it could have been placed in the Guggenheim Museum. She was sitting besides the wall along with two others.
But the time is now. Yes it is now time. I look down at her. How brazenly confident I have become, ever since I found out I would soon become a celebrity. Her Hazel eyes say yes before her mouth follows. I lead her to the dance floor and peek at my prize. She looks up and her eyes swivel to the right. I try to keep in time with the Western Two Step Swing number.
"Hey sailor boy. Do you always kick so high? I have never seen such a high-kick-routine."
"Do you remember me. I told you about California Chrome coming to the Del Mar Race Track. The only time my legs show excitement is when they are dazzled with a hazel-eyed-blond-with-such-a-smile.
"Well Sailor Boy, you should know that I love the ponies and we hold half interest in several."
We danced a few more before my eyes begged me to return to the Motel Six in Hotel Circle. I felt so-excited that it took me a long, long time to get into a sleeping pattern.
This Monday, there will be a live swing band performing on the roof of the New San Diego Library. It begins at dusk and ends at about eight o'clock. So dance under the hazy damp mist with me.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Meet Paul, a Fighting Marine
I met Paul, a 32 year Marine, during breakfast at Dennis, across the way from the Motel Six and next to the 5 freeway. It was Saturday morning at the popular restaurant. While reading my football story, He sauntered over and stared at the book.
"Working on a story about Amby Schindler, who played football for U.S.C. in the 30's. He ordered pancakes without butter and looked over at some material I had been writing
"Well George, I did play football for the Marine team while at the Quantico Base 1952. The city is just outside Washington D.C. My would you believe my quarterback was non-other than Eddie La Baron. I played guard for the Marine team then and met lots of football players during World War Two.We played other colleges during 1952 just before the Korean War.
"During World War Two, I had the fortune to meet Ted Williams, George Halas, Alvin Dark and other famous athletes who doubled as Marines. I even met Joe Coleman, the announcer for Padre games. In the picture below, Paul Stephenson holds of his picture of Eddie La Baron He had the fortune to meet many football players during World War 2, the Korean War and also the Vietnam War.
Well that sure wet my appetite and the more we chatted, the more information I received about the war years and of course Eddie La Baron. 'Amby' Schindler coached the future Washington Redskin star while he played quarterback at Stockton High School in the forties.
Schindler along with another coach taught La Baron the hidden ball trick. The quarterback would fake a hand-off to a back and hide it under his belly. With the other team going after the wrong man, he would take off and run with it
I took his phone number down and this would be our third breakfast meal. The 89 year old was fascinated with my Schindler story. And since the Motel Six now has phone hook-ups everywhere in the U.S.A I can make a date with Mr. Stephenson at any time, as long as it is early since he takes care of his lovely wife Mary, a invalid.
I am overwhelmed at his memory and good health even though he needs to bathe himself everyday and go to the VA for Agent Orange treatments. He and his wife live on a hill a block from the library, and with a good view of the Pacific.
Today, Tuesday the sixteenth of December, I met him again at seven o'clock at Dennis. The shell of his story is presented here. I decided to write his story since he knew a lot about Marine football during World War 2, the Korean War, and Vietnam debacle. He served for 32 years.
His old 52 Mercury, in-mint condition, was parked outside. He remembered, not bad for a 88 year old. And there he sat in the back against the window. It had rained and his home was only one block away on a hill overlooking the ocean.
"George do you wish to sit here or over there."
"Nice to see you. Rather sit over there, where it is roomier. What are you having?"
"The Pancakes and eggs. It is my treat."
I didn't argue with Paul since his $8,200 a month Marine retirement check made mine look anemic. I told the waitress the same. To save time and make it more exciting, I have edited out me and the trifles and regrouped what he told me. So those who need to buy a pop corn or licorice stick at the candy counter do it now during our intermission. And charge it to me.
"Last time you spoke about enlisting at 15 years of age. Why did you?"
He laughs and swallows the last of his pancakes minus the butter. His large warm face is covered by a Marine cap. He had told the waitress to hold the butter do to a health problem.
"We played soldiers on my block in Akron, Ohio. We marched in line everywhere. A member made fake rifles out of the old discarded two-by-fours. To get into our club, you needed to take orders and once in never to leave. In other words, once a regiment member it was forever."
"My Dad suffered from Epilepsy and he shook in the early morning hours. Mom had to put a piece of wood inside his mouth and we had to hold him down. He worked for the railroad and we didn't have much...In Akron, we made a dollar to hold the ropes when the blimps went and retrieved them when the blimp came down."
"In Vietnam, one of my jobs was watching our bombers, particularly in Da Nang. I learned later agent orange had been placed on them since somebody screamed for us to get away when they placed the poison onto the planes. were used to spread agent orange into the foliage to make it easier to find the enemy."
"I needed to wear metal underwear. It was uncomfortable but necessary. A good buddy in my regiment hit a booby-trap and lost all of his limbs. What a shame. We called him Clark Gable since he was handsome. I waved to an helicopter and they dropped down and removed him from the battle field. . They saved his life minus legs, arms and a penis. He died a day after I had seen him in Victorville."
At that juncture I asked him for the formation his team used. He mentioned the name of a Stanford coach whose name I can't spell. He initiated the T formation with the quarterback under center and two blocking backs and a fullback He drew the formation down on a napkin for me.
Of course above was his T formation with the Quarterback under center. "The fullback did the blocking for one of the two backs and the guard would lead the sweep to one side. Usually the ball would be handed to a back and the sweep would go around end.
"Eddie La Baron Played for the Redskins and we got to know each other in 1952. Nobody could scramble the way he did...There were hundreds of Marine teams that took on colleges, or other teams."
Our exchange began at seven and ended at eight o'clock. No I did not need a recorder or stenographer. My mind recalled every word.
Now I know why HE wishes me to be homeless. You are forced to run-into people who will surely change your life.
"George, ain't ya going to finish your eggs?"
"No Paul, my energy soaked up your story, and I have no energy left to pick up a fork."
"Working on a story about Amby Schindler, who played football for U.S.C. in the 30's. He ordered pancakes without butter and looked over at some material I had been writing
"Well George, I did play football for the Marine team while at the Quantico Base 1952. The city is just outside Washington D.C. My would you believe my quarterback was non-other than Eddie La Baron. I played guard for the Marine team then and met lots of football players during World War Two.We played other colleges during 1952 just before the Korean War.
"During World War Two, I had the fortune to meet Ted Williams, George Halas, Alvin Dark and other famous athletes who doubled as Marines. I even met Joe Coleman, the announcer for Padre games. In the picture below, Paul Stephenson holds of his picture of Eddie La Baron He had the fortune to meet many football players during World War 2, the Korean War and also the Vietnam War.
Schindler along with another coach taught La Baron the hidden ball trick. The quarterback would fake a hand-off to a back and hide it under his belly. With the other team going after the wrong man, he would take off and run with it
I took his phone number down and this would be our third breakfast meal. The 89 year old was fascinated with my Schindler story. And since the Motel Six now has phone hook-ups everywhere in the U.S.A I can make a date with Mr. Stephenson at any time, as long as it is early since he takes care of his lovely wife Mary, a invalid.
I am overwhelmed at his memory and good health even though he needs to bathe himself everyday and go to the VA for Agent Orange treatments. He and his wife live on a hill a block from the library, and with a good view of the Pacific.
Today, Tuesday the sixteenth of December, I met him again at seven o'clock at Dennis. The shell of his story is presented here. I decided to write his story since he knew a lot about Marine football during World War 2, the Korean War, and Vietnam debacle. He served for 32 years.
His old 52 Mercury, in-mint condition, was parked outside. He remembered, not bad for a 88 year old. And there he sat in the back against the window. It had rained and his home was only one block away on a hill overlooking the ocean.
"George do you wish to sit here or over there."
"Nice to see you. Rather sit over there, where it is roomier. What are you having?"
"The Pancakes and eggs. It is my treat."
I didn't argue with Paul since his $8,200 a month Marine retirement check made mine look anemic. I told the waitress the same. To save time and make it more exciting, I have edited out me and the trifles and regrouped what he told me. So those who need to buy a pop corn or licorice stick at the candy counter do it now during our intermission. And charge it to me.
"Last time you spoke about enlisting at 15 years of age. Why did you?"
He laughs and swallows the last of his pancakes minus the butter. His large warm face is covered by a Marine cap. He had told the waitress to hold the butter do to a health problem.
"We played soldiers on my block in Akron, Ohio. We marched in line everywhere. A member made fake rifles out of the old discarded two-by-fours. To get into our club, you needed to take orders and once in never to leave. In other words, once a regiment member it was forever."
"My Dad suffered from Epilepsy and he shook in the early morning hours. Mom had to put a piece of wood inside his mouth and we had to hold him down. He worked for the railroad and we didn't have much...In Akron, we made a dollar to hold the ropes when the blimps went and retrieved them when the blimp came down."
"I enlisted when fifteen. My brother was one year ahead of me. I ended up at Elliot Field in San Diego before I shipped out. The one battle I will never forget was the one at Bougainvillea. It must must have been over one hundred and twenty degrees with high humidity. I will never forget the mosquitoes. I constantly tried to keep the buggers off of me without any effect.
"The Japanese used to plant cigarettes on the dead soldiers. They knew we loved cigarettes and used the scent of them to smoke us out. But it didn't work. We were smart enough not to touch the dead Japanese soldiers. knew where we were from the scent of the cigarettes. Sometimes the dead Japanese soldiers were booby trapped, so we pulled their feet with a rope not to take any chances.""In Vietnam, one of my jobs was watching our bombers, particularly in Da Nang. I learned later agent orange had been placed on them since somebody screamed for us to get away when they placed the poison onto the planes. were used to spread agent orange into the foliage to make it easier to find the enemy."
"I needed to wear metal underwear. It was uncomfortable but necessary. A good buddy in my regiment hit a booby-trap and lost all of his limbs. What a shame. We called him Clark Gable since he was handsome. I waved to an helicopter and they dropped down and removed him from the battle field. . They saved his life minus legs, arms and a penis. He died a day after I had seen him in Victorville."
At that juncture I asked him for the formation his team used. He mentioned the name of a Stanford coach whose name I can't spell. He initiated the T formation with the quarterback under center and two blocking backs and a fullback He drew the formation down on a napkin for me.
Of course above was his T formation with the Quarterback under center. "The fullback did the blocking for one of the two backs and the guard would lead the sweep to one side. Usually the ball would be handed to a back and the sweep would go around end.
"Eddie La Baron Played for the Redskins and we got to know each other in 1952. Nobody could scramble the way he did...There were hundreds of Marine teams that took on colleges, or other teams."
Our exchange began at seven and ended at eight o'clock. No I did not need a recorder or stenographer. My mind recalled every word.
Now I know why HE wishes me to be homeless. You are forced to run-into people who will surely change your life.
"George, ain't ya going to finish your eggs?"
"No Paul, my energy soaked up your story, and I have no energy left to pick up a fork."
Saturday, December 13, 2014
San Diego Library on a Rainy Day.
The new San Diego Central Library opens at 12 o'clock on Fridays. I park my car at the Old Town Commuter lot. I don't need the hassle of looking for a space or paying for parking place
. The Green Line going south drops me off at the Imperial Transit station, only two long blocks from the Central Library. Of course I love to walk.
Hundreds of Mexican laborers, servants, domestics and the what-ever-else-there-is-to-be-done aboard when I leave. The represent the back-bone of San Diego. Without them, San Diego would not operate. The Transit Center is only two long blocks from the library, and the scenic walk with the Coronado Bridge to my back makes it memorable.
The Imperial Transit Center is where all trolleys and three bus lines meet. It is still raining. Hundreds of Mexican exit the Blue Line Trolley and enter the Green Line going to Santee. The come from across the border every day. They are the laborers, maids, servers and whatever-else-there-is-to-be-done. I open my umbrella and sit inside the Transit Café. I eat two of my tangerines to wash down the heavily spiced Mexican breakfast I had eaten a bit earlier. A few hardy workers carry trash bags of cans and bottles. They are going to a recycling plant a few blocks away.
The skies opened earlier that morning. No it was not the God of Moses opening up the Red Sea, or the blitz of London. I opened the door of my little Motel Six and a sheet of rain slapped me in the face. The deluge came down in the Mission Valley at exactly six o'clock.
In no way would I drive today, the trains and buses would do the honor. Streets flooded in about one hour of insistent, stubborn rain. Peering out my Motel Six window, I felt happy to watch the commuters' on the 8 going east were able to dance around freeway puddles and avoid a car that had rear-ended another.
Earlier the San Diego channel 10 provided pictures of San Francisco. Many streets appeared to be rivers as small boats weaved around submerged cars. Homes were flooded and the city counted more rain that early day than the entire month of December of last year. San Francisco suffered the worst rain storm in five years. Street are flooded and marine stores are selling out of rafts, life boats.
I walk my one-half-mile-way towards the new library. I enter by myself on the Tenth Street side. On the North side the doors are opened. A hoard of hundreds of soaked patrons stampede towards the escalators. Many of these homeless live in tents on Park Blvd,, close to the library. Their Ralph's shopping carts serve them as their kitchen.
Some have hollow-cheek faces upset that their teeth left long ago. Their bank is their E.B.T. card that E.B.T cards. wherare burned at the Seven Eleven or Starbucks where sodas and two hot-doggies serve and food. Some are young but without teeth appear older. Those who have lived under the stars at night have dark, too-dark skin with wrinkles fighting for space. Of course I fit perfectly into this herd of the homeless. None are Chinese or Mexican. They are mainly blacks in the majority and white in the minority.
Why one would have thought Macy's was having a once-a year sell. Many Library clients run t the little bathrooms which sit one-at-a-time. Others take up luxurious sofa-chairs facing large wall windows with a view of Petco Park and the South Harbor area.
I take the elevator to my eight floor computer station. I am the second one to log on. 'Laughing Gas sits across from me and Mr. Piggy sits two down. Mr. Piggy snorts every thirty second or so. The laughing one punches the computer with one finger. The computers become their play stations.
I find computer number 805 on the eight floor and begin to settle in and write. I hear a commotion. Maria, who I met two months ago, comes in and helps one of her five children reserve a computer. I place my finger over my mouth. She shouts like always. They think that the library is a day-care-center or a playground. One signs her kid on one of the computers. I know it must be a school day, since her boy is old enough for third grade but still baby sits for her younger one.
Across from me he laughs as usual. Another girl is carrying on a conversation with her boy friend. A few more hollow-cheek homeless walk in with their straggling girl friends. The one with a cane brings a dog with him. He lumbers to a lounge chair with a southwest view of the Harbor. I wonder how much of their EBT card is used for dog food.
I have learned to filter out the noises and yearn for the days when libraries behaved like libraries. Now it is a place to socialize, toilet, or scroll their smart phones. Each homeless one owns a cell phone. Many live outside inside tents that litter Park Blvd. It is no wonder many refuse to entertain this Zoo. Many argue about where to park and how much it will cost.
After my computer work, I go upstairs to the ninth floor to watch some microfilms and JPG some pages for my football story. I love this California Room. Few people know about it so I will be quiet.
Yes the new Library is a zoo. But I am one of the animals and it is exciting. On the first floor I play chess with another who creams me in five moves. One Friday each month they have a swing band play on the ninth floor.
If only this thirteenth wonder of the world had been built on the Westside, the California room would be occupied by many rather than two or three. I can only guess that the decision to build it in the center of the homeless population was to keep them away from the rest of the city.
The library is opened every day. It opens at ten each day but weekend ones. The Blue and Orange lines drop you off at Market Street and from there it takes only a minute or two to walk there.
. The Green Line going south drops me off at the Imperial Transit station, only two long blocks from the Central Library. Of course I love to walk.
Hundreds of Mexican laborers, servants, domestics and the what-ever-else-there-is-to-be-done aboard when I leave. The represent the back-bone of San Diego. Without them, San Diego would not operate. The Transit Center is only two long blocks from the library, and the scenic walk with the Coronado Bridge to my back makes it memorable.
The Imperial Transit Center is where all trolleys and three bus lines meet. It is still raining. Hundreds of Mexican exit the Blue Line Trolley and enter the Green Line going to Santee. The come from across the border every day. They are the laborers, maids, servers and whatever-else-there-is-to-be-done. I open my umbrella and sit inside the Transit Café. I eat two of my tangerines to wash down the heavily spiced Mexican breakfast I had eaten a bit earlier. A few hardy workers carry trash bags of cans and bottles. They are going to a recycling plant a few blocks away.
The skies opened earlier that morning. No it was not the God of Moses opening up the Red Sea, or the blitz of London. I opened the door of my little Motel Six and a sheet of rain slapped me in the face. The deluge came down in the Mission Valley at exactly six o'clock.
In no way would I drive today, the trains and buses would do the honor. Streets flooded in about one hour of insistent, stubborn rain. Peering out my Motel Six window, I felt happy to watch the commuters' on the 8 going east were able to dance around freeway puddles and avoid a car that had rear-ended another.
Earlier the San Diego channel 10 provided pictures of San Francisco. Many streets appeared to be rivers as small boats weaved around submerged cars. Homes were flooded and the city counted more rain that early day than the entire month of December of last year. San Francisco suffered the worst rain storm in five years. Street are flooded and marine stores are selling out of rafts, life boats.
I walk my one-half-mile-way towards the new library. I enter by myself on the Tenth Street side. On the North side the doors are opened. A hoard of hundreds of soaked patrons stampede towards the escalators. Many of these homeless live in tents on Park Blvd,, close to the library. Their Ralph's shopping carts serve them as their kitchen.
Some have hollow-cheek faces upset that their teeth left long ago. Their bank is their E.B.T. card that E.B.T cards. wherare burned at the Seven Eleven or Starbucks where sodas and two hot-doggies serve and food. Some are young but without teeth appear older. Those who have lived under the stars at night have dark, too-dark skin with wrinkles fighting for space. Of course I fit perfectly into this herd of the homeless. None are Chinese or Mexican. They are mainly blacks in the majority and white in the minority.
Why one would have thought Macy's was having a once-a year sell. Many Library clients run t the little bathrooms which sit one-at-a-time. Others take up luxurious sofa-chairs facing large wall windows with a view of Petco Park and the South Harbor area.
I take the elevator to my eight floor computer station. I am the second one to log on. 'Laughing Gas sits across from me and Mr. Piggy sits two down. Mr. Piggy snorts every thirty second or so. The laughing one punches the computer with one finger. The computers become their play stations.
I find computer number 805 on the eight floor and begin to settle in and write. I hear a commotion. Maria, who I met two months ago, comes in and helps one of her five children reserve a computer. I place my finger over my mouth. She shouts like always. They think that the library is a day-care-center or a playground. One signs her kid on one of the computers. I know it must be a school day, since her boy is old enough for third grade but still baby sits for her younger one.
Across from me he laughs as usual. Another girl is carrying on a conversation with her boy friend. A few more hollow-cheek homeless walk in with their straggling girl friends. The one with a cane brings a dog with him. He lumbers to a lounge chair with a southwest view of the Harbor. I wonder how much of their EBT card is used for dog food.
I have learned to filter out the noises and yearn for the days when libraries behaved like libraries. Now it is a place to socialize, toilet, or scroll their smart phones. Each homeless one owns a cell phone. Many live outside inside tents that litter Park Blvd. It is no wonder many refuse to entertain this Zoo. Many argue about where to park and how much it will cost.
After my computer work, I go upstairs to the ninth floor to watch some microfilms and JPG some pages for my football story. I love this California Room. Few people know about it so I will be quiet.
Yes the new Library is a zoo. But I am one of the animals and it is exciting. On the first floor I play chess with another who creams me in five moves. One Friday each month they have a swing band play on the ninth floor.
If only this thirteenth wonder of the world had been built on the Westside, the California room would be occupied by many rather than two or three. I can only guess that the decision to build it in the center of the homeless population was to keep them away from the rest of the city.
The library is opened every day. It opens at ten each day but weekend ones. The Blue and Orange lines drop you off at Market Street and from there it takes only a minute or two to walk there.
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
The Mission Valley. San Diego
The Mission Valley area in San Diego is hot and dry most of the time. The 8 freeway winds around it as does the San Diego river. My lungs love dry but clean air.
The Motel Six is at the foot of Hotel Circle, where there is a sting of hotels and shopping centers I needed several days to recuperate from my insidious bronchial infection. About 53 dollars a night is what I pay for peace and bliss during the holiday season. Last week's typical day is described below - but those who know me can find no two days alike. In an earlier blog, I mentioned that San Diego is like dame wearing a different Victoria's Secret every day. Also I will video much of my work from now on. You may need sunscreen to watch me.
Like always, I woke up at about one o'clock and picked up my book about the life of Queen Victoria. Also I turned on my transistor radio to hear classical music. I began my new day at five thirty. Inside the warm shower I shampoo and shave. You see, I need to always look good - that is ever since my two grand daughters Summer and Spring were born.
Also I am thankful my number two daughter has given up Mr Nicotine and unpacked her depression pills. She now sees everything through rose-colored glasses.
My Motel Six spills out to the eight freeway. With a few turns I land on the eight headed east. I keep in the right lane that spits me out on the #168 downtown freeway. I exit on University Blvd and after a two quick right turns find my disabled parking lot in front of the Scripps Mercy Hospital. I take my left-overs from a earlier dinner and proceed to the cafeteria. At the counter waits my spinach breakfast along with two scrambled eggs.
"Sir is that all you wish? What about the usual two strips of bacon?"
"Thank you for asking. But last night I shared a dinner with my Jewish friend. In his honor I will eat Jewish this morning. At that moment I am thinking about our dinner and how the lawyers at Twentieth Century Fox picked the pockets of the studios new owners. But this story is not ripe for plucking just yet."
The daily medication has removed the snug film covering my bronchial tubes. This film is replayed every fall when the cold damp air is feasted on by these nosy sequestered bacteria. The dust and other pollutants are just what they need to feast on. But not today. I make sure to huddle myself in central air buildings.
I look over my manuscript and savor every spinach bite. Somehow, the greens taste better with eggs. I will try to wean myself off of toast. With the coffee it cost me just five cents over three dollars. The salad bar is only .35 an ounce which makes it a half as much as the one at Ralph's.
Dr. George now makes his way to the medical library. Soon I hope to unveil the causes of dementia, asthma, and other diseases. But not today. The New York Times welcomes me to read about how the C.I.A. water boarded, kept prisoners awake for days, or made them eat from their rectums. No longer do I trust the government as our Statue of Liberty has run out of Kleenex.
I leave and go west to the Pacific Highway. A few bumps tell me I have passed the rail tracks. I made another right and another and park my car at the Old Town Station. I remove my nap sack and place the tuna sandwich and writing material inside it. A ride on the Green Line takes me to the Imperial Transit Station where I sit and eat some of my left over pineapple slices.
Several hundred Mexicans climb aboard going the other way. They are the workers of San Diego. None carry E.B.T. cards. Most work in hotels, the airport, or restaurants. Many wear construction metal hats. All serve San Diego and without them buildings would be built, ,and you might have to wait to get a burger at at the eateries.
The rest of my day I spent at the Central Library on their eight floor computers before climbing the stairs to the California room and the microfilms. My day is only half over at about two o'clock but you will have to wait since my time on the eight floor is soon to run out.
The Motel Six is at the foot of Hotel Circle, where there is a sting of hotels and shopping centers I needed several days to recuperate from my insidious bronchial infection. About 53 dollars a night is what I pay for peace and bliss during the holiday season. Last week's typical day is described below - but those who know me can find no two days alike. In an earlier blog, I mentioned that San Diego is like dame wearing a different Victoria's Secret every day. Also I will video much of my work from now on. You may need sunscreen to watch me.
Like always, I woke up at about one o'clock and picked up my book about the life of Queen Victoria. Also I turned on my transistor radio to hear classical music. I began my new day at five thirty. Inside the warm shower I shampoo and shave. You see, I need to always look good - that is ever since my two grand daughters Summer and Spring were born.
Also I am thankful my number two daughter has given up Mr Nicotine and unpacked her depression pills. She now sees everything through rose-colored glasses.
My Motel Six spills out to the eight freeway. With a few turns I land on the eight headed east. I keep in the right lane that spits me out on the #168 downtown freeway. I exit on University Blvd and after a two quick right turns find my disabled parking lot in front of the Scripps Mercy Hospital. I take my left-overs from a earlier dinner and proceed to the cafeteria. At the counter waits my spinach breakfast along with two scrambled eggs.
"Sir is that all you wish? What about the usual two strips of bacon?"
"Thank you for asking. But last night I shared a dinner with my Jewish friend. In his honor I will eat Jewish this morning. At that moment I am thinking about our dinner and how the lawyers at Twentieth Century Fox picked the pockets of the studios new owners. But this story is not ripe for plucking just yet."
The daily medication has removed the snug film covering my bronchial tubes. This film is replayed every fall when the cold damp air is feasted on by these nosy sequestered bacteria. The dust and other pollutants are just what they need to feast on. But not today. I make sure to huddle myself in central air buildings.
I look over my manuscript and savor every spinach bite. Somehow, the greens taste better with eggs. I will try to wean myself off of toast. With the coffee it cost me just five cents over three dollars. The salad bar is only .35 an ounce which makes it a half as much as the one at Ralph's.
Dr. George now makes his way to the medical library. Soon I hope to unveil the causes of dementia, asthma, and other diseases. But not today. The New York Times welcomes me to read about how the C.I.A. water boarded, kept prisoners awake for days, or made them eat from their rectums. No longer do I trust the government as our Statue of Liberty has run out of Kleenex.
I leave and go west to the Pacific Highway. A few bumps tell me I have passed the rail tracks. I made another right and another and park my car at the Old Town Station. I remove my nap sack and place the tuna sandwich and writing material inside it. A ride on the Green Line takes me to the Imperial Transit Station where I sit and eat some of my left over pineapple slices.
Several hundred Mexicans climb aboard going the other way. They are the workers of San Diego. None carry E.B.T. cards. Most work in hotels, the airport, or restaurants. Many wear construction metal hats. All serve San Diego and without them buildings would be built, ,and you might have to wait to get a burger at at the eateries.
The rest of my day I spent at the Central Library on their eight floor computers before climbing the stairs to the California room and the microfilms. My day is only half over at about two o'clock but you will have to wait since my time on the eight floor is soon to run out.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Old Town's Immaculate Conception Church
Sunday, sweat Sunday, with nothing to do but to enjoy each moment.
The Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town is a spiritual experience that ends my week on a high note. At night I look forward to my Sunday dancing lessons at the dancing lessons in Balboa Park...But first things first. my mind can't work without a full stomach.
Big John's restaurant in Carlsbad would be my first stop for today. The Carlsbad restaurant is on the corner of Palomar and Paseo Del Norte. To the north is the Seven Eleven and it is across the street from the Motel Six.
In August of 2010, I left my West Los Angeles apartment and fled to San Diego. I arrived off the Five freeway at dusk and could find nowhere to place my head on a pillow. The San Diego streets were narrow, and needed paving. My eyes began to droop so I retraced my tracks back to on the freeway and sign loomed up ahead. Up ahead to my right there was a neon sign that read, Motel Six.
And that is when I took the Palomar turnoff, drove east to a Mobile and made a right. And there is was, the Motel Six. I gladly paid my fifty five dollars to the night manager and stepped up to room 202.
And shit! It had a fine AC. Too tired to remove my clothes, I flopped into the bed and put the covers over me. My oh my did the AC feel so, so good. I woke up the next morning and felt alive again. I took a long bath and let the not water flow. It felt good to be clean again. I removed the itches that go with dirt and put on the T.V.
I dressed again, and put on clean underwear. this time wearing clean clothes. My stomach woke up and told me it was breakfast time. The nice manager told me that my stomach could be satisfied by the restaurant across the street.
The Tip Top restaurant consisted of a German grocery store with all types of fish and meats. A man even made sandwiches for you. sat in back of a small grocery area. Just about everything one could buy in a small German town st on the shelves of this market. The restaurant was past the market.
"I'll take the lox and bagel please. Hold the cream cheese and give me jam in its place."
"That will be ten forty one please. Your number is 39."
As it was only six thirty, the eatery was not bustling with people yet. I edited my football manuscript and sipped the remains of my coffee. Three layers of lox with pickles and tomatoes and rye bread gave me the lift I needed.
I began with a bagel half. I soaked it with butter and jam before chewing the succulent spread. The bread melted in my mouth. I cut up the tomato slices and sprinkled the plate with butter. I placed the first of layered lox on the bagel with a tomato and onion ring.
The food seemed to disappear without me knowing it. So tasty it was, my mouth played ring-round-rosy with the first tidbit. The insides of my mouth danced, flapping the lox back and forth inside my mouth before downing it.
Like a fisherman toying with its catch before bringing it in, it took me, yes it took me an hour to complete my breakfast. I don't eat anything gourmet unless I make love to it, or take my sweat time. I left Big John's Tip Top restaurant ready to tackle the rest of the day.
I can't remember feeling so alive. Twenty or so miles south would be my turnoff for Old Town, the same turnoff that takes you to Mission Bay.
Old town is made up of many adobe houses, many over one hundred and fifty years old. But it was Father Ecker who I came to see. His church had been built in 1867 and was only a block or two from the Father Serra's first one. I had begun visiting this church over one year earlier an d like a magnet it brought me closer to God than even the synagogue in New Town San Diego. I connected with the charm and humility of this priest.
In back of the church was a parking lot. I saw a spot and parked my car in it. In back of me a white car drove up and stopped. A beady eyed gentleman gave me a "how dare you look" such a look that I can still see it today. After another look, I discovered it was Him, Father Ecker.
Well I wished to hide but thought better of it. I apologized for perhaps parking in his place and enjoyed his one hour of stories that brought the Son of God into each of our souls. Afterwards the next door's Rectory provided donuts and coffee. I ate with my friends Max and also Leonard.and newcomers Matty and Angel. Matty's husband had been a Naval Commander under Mac Arthur.
"All of the navel men despised the General. President Roosevelt had a boat take him off of one of the Islands and safely landed him in Australia. My husband stayed and was captured by the Japanese. He died during the Bataan Death March"
"A book about Bataan mentioned that one captured soldier had a college ring on his hand. A Japanese officer asked him the name of the college and he responded, Notre Dame. He removed him from the line since he also had attended the same University."
92 years old Matty left and Angie talked about arriving in San Diego and buying a house. Not to bore you, the crust of what she told me I simplified. "WE met in Spain and soon came to California We have been married for sixty five years, but don't ask me my age. We live close to the airport off of Laurel Street. We have a gorgeous view...My husband and I returned to Europe and had no trouble spotting American tourists: they were big.
Later in the day i took my senior nap and decided to take dancing lessons. I met two scrumptious looking gals and it took all of my energy to keep my hands off of them. We are having a Christmas party this Friday. I went to the intermediate class this time to learn the waltz. The Western Swing gave me some hiccups. but I gave it a go. It felt good sweating. I returned to the Hotel Circle and spilled off of the number 163 back to the Motel Six motel thoroughly intoxicated with life.
The Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town is a spiritual experience that ends my week on a high note. At night I look forward to my Sunday dancing lessons at the dancing lessons in Balboa Park...But first things first. my mind can't work without a full stomach.
Big John's restaurant in Carlsbad would be my first stop for today. The Carlsbad restaurant is on the corner of Palomar and Paseo Del Norte. To the north is the Seven Eleven and it is across the street from the Motel Six.
In August of 2010, I left my West Los Angeles apartment and fled to San Diego. I arrived off the Five freeway at dusk and could find nowhere to place my head on a pillow. The San Diego streets were narrow, and needed paving. My eyes began to droop so I retraced my tracks back to on the freeway and sign loomed up ahead. Up ahead to my right there was a neon sign that read, Motel Six.
And that is when I took the Palomar turnoff, drove east to a Mobile and made a right. And there is was, the Motel Six. I gladly paid my fifty five dollars to the night manager and stepped up to room 202.
And shit! It had a fine AC. Too tired to remove my clothes, I flopped into the bed and put the covers over me. My oh my did the AC feel so, so good. I woke up the next morning and felt alive again. I took a long bath and let the not water flow. It felt good to be clean again. I removed the itches that go with dirt and put on the T.V.
I dressed again, and put on clean underwear. this time wearing clean clothes. My stomach woke up and told me it was breakfast time. The nice manager told me that my stomach could be satisfied by the restaurant across the street.
The Tip Top restaurant consisted of a German grocery store with all types of fish and meats. A man even made sandwiches for you. sat in back of a small grocery area. Just about everything one could buy in a small German town st on the shelves of this market. The restaurant was past the market.
"I'll take the lox and bagel please. Hold the cream cheese and give me jam in its place."
"That will be ten forty one please. Your number is 39."
As it was only six thirty, the eatery was not bustling with people yet. I edited my football manuscript and sipped the remains of my coffee. Three layers of lox with pickles and tomatoes and rye bread gave me the lift I needed.
I began with a bagel half. I soaked it with butter and jam before chewing the succulent spread. The bread melted in my mouth. I cut up the tomato slices and sprinkled the plate with butter. I placed the first of layered lox on the bagel with a tomato and onion ring.
The food seemed to disappear without me knowing it. So tasty it was, my mouth played ring-round-rosy with the first tidbit. The insides of my mouth danced, flapping the lox back and forth inside my mouth before downing it.
Like a fisherman toying with its catch before bringing it in, it took me, yes it took me an hour to complete my breakfast. I don't eat anything gourmet unless I make love to it, or take my sweat time. I left Big John's Tip Top restaurant ready to tackle the rest of the day.
I can't remember feeling so alive. Twenty or so miles south would be my turnoff for Old Town, the same turnoff that takes you to Mission Bay.
Old town is made up of many adobe houses, many over one hundred and fifty years old. But it was Father Ecker who I came to see. His church had been built in 1867 and was only a block or two from the Father Serra's first one. I had begun visiting this church over one year earlier an d like a magnet it brought me closer to God than even the synagogue in New Town San Diego. I connected with the charm and humility of this priest.
In back of the church was a parking lot. I saw a spot and parked my car in it. In back of me a white car drove up and stopped. A beady eyed gentleman gave me a "how dare you look" such a look that I can still see it today. After another look, I discovered it was Him, Father Ecker.
Well I wished to hide but thought better of it. I apologized for perhaps parking in his place and enjoyed his one hour of stories that brought the Son of God into each of our souls. Afterwards the next door's Rectory provided donuts and coffee. I ate with my friends Max and also Leonard.and newcomers Matty and Angel. Matty's husband had been a Naval Commander under Mac Arthur.
"All of the navel men despised the General. President Roosevelt had a boat take him off of one of the Islands and safely landed him in Australia. My husband stayed and was captured by the Japanese. He died during the Bataan Death March"
"A book about Bataan mentioned that one captured soldier had a college ring on his hand. A Japanese officer asked him the name of the college and he responded, Notre Dame. He removed him from the line since he also had attended the same University."
92 years old Matty left and Angie talked about arriving in San Diego and buying a house. Not to bore you, the crust of what she told me I simplified. "WE met in Spain and soon came to California We have been married for sixty five years, but don't ask me my age. We live close to the airport off of Laurel Street. We have a gorgeous view...My husband and I returned to Europe and had no trouble spotting American tourists: they were big.
Later in the day i took my senior nap and decided to take dancing lessons. I met two scrumptious looking gals and it took all of my energy to keep my hands off of them. We are having a Christmas party this Friday. I went to the intermediate class this time to learn the waltz. The Western Swing gave me some hiccups. but I gave it a go. It felt good sweating. I returned to the Hotel Circle and spilled off of the number 163 back to the Motel Six motel thoroughly intoxicated with life.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
The San Diego Jazz Festival
It was twenty five dollars well spent. The peanut butter sandwiches became my dinner for two night but it didn't matter. I felt so hooked on jazz that I wished to put jazz on my menu more frequently.
One hundred and one jazz bands hunkered down at the Town and Country during the five day Thanksgiving event. Jazz players came from as far as London to be at the gala jazz festival. Why I even gave up Del Mar and watch the Kentucky Derby winner California Chrome circle the field and win by two links on Saturday.
Sunday after an early meal at the Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town and another soul inspiring sermon by Father Ecker, I used my monthly compass card to get on the Green Line Trolley for the Fashion Valley Exit. i crossed over the San Diego River bridge on my way to the hotel's Convention Center.
Bands played in several rooms but I spelled grub first of all. Of course I didn't have a pass. I entered the room for refreshments. I belted down a few sandwiches, a pickle and olives before my table struck up the band with performers.
As usual I just kept munching on my sandwich and kept a low profile. About thirty musicians entered the room, some holding wine cups from the other room. Each was well groomed and old or older than I. One old timer did much of the talking. He must have been holding up ninety years of age.
"I met Harry James as a kid of fifteen. A truck load of trumpets spilled out at a hotel. James picked one out for himself and distributed the others to his band members. I played with Jerry Tea-garden's orchestra and also played the clarinet...."
I tried to crash the Gold Room but decided to buy a one day 25 dollar pass. It was worth it. Also had a chance to dance to one of the orchestra songs. A famous one hundred and two year old lady belted out a few songs. She could not leave her seat.
One couple kissed after each swing number. It was in the Gold Room. The man was hunched over and the gal smiled with each move. Never have I seen a couple so in love on the dance floor. I decided to walk on over and ask them for a picture.
"I have never seen a couple dance and kiss after every set. How long have you been married? bet you have been married for forty four years."
"Only twenty five. Both of us suffered through our first marriages."
"May I ask how you met?"
At that point her husband chimed in. They looked eager to tell their story, but I thirst for more intimate details.
"My eyes glued on the blond with the cute smile. My buddy was dancing with her and I told him to beat it."
"I kept after her until she gave me her phone number." At that point I told Sandra I could guess her age. I took a good look at her again. In no way could this piece of cheese be over seventy.
"You are sixty-six years of age, Sandy."
"No I am sixty seven."
I took their pictures so I could see what got away in Virginia. I have never seen a gal so radiant with life before. My ex-sure-as-hell didn't come close.
One hundred and one jazz bands hunkered down at the Town and Country during the five day Thanksgiving event. Jazz players came from as far as London to be at the gala jazz festival. Why I even gave up Del Mar and watch the Kentucky Derby winner California Chrome circle the field and win by two links on Saturday.
Sunday after an early meal at the Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town and another soul inspiring sermon by Father Ecker, I used my monthly compass card to get on the Green Line Trolley for the Fashion Valley Exit. i crossed over the San Diego River bridge on my way to the hotel's Convention Center.
Bands played in several rooms but I spelled grub first of all. Of course I didn't have a pass. I entered the room for refreshments. I belted down a few sandwiches, a pickle and olives before my table struck up the band with performers.
As usual I just kept munching on my sandwich and kept a low profile. About thirty musicians entered the room, some holding wine cups from the other room. Each was well groomed and old or older than I. One old timer did much of the talking. He must have been holding up ninety years of age.
"I met Harry James as a kid of fifteen. A truck load of trumpets spilled out at a hotel. James picked one out for himself and distributed the others to his band members. I played with Jerry Tea-garden's orchestra and also played the clarinet...."
I tried to crash the Gold Room but decided to buy a one day 25 dollar pass. It was worth it. Also had a chance to dance to one of the orchestra songs. A famous one hundred and two year old lady belted out a few songs. She could not leave her seat.
One couple kissed after each swing number. It was in the Gold Room. The man was hunched over and the gal smiled with each move. Never have I seen a couple so in love on the dance floor. I decided to walk on over and ask them for a picture.
"I have never seen a couple dance and kiss after every set. How long have you been married? bet you have been married for forty four years."
"Only twenty five. Both of us suffered through our first marriages."
"May I ask how you met?"
At that point her husband chimed in. They looked eager to tell their story, but I thirst for more intimate details.
"I kept after her until she gave me her phone number." At that point I told Sandra I could guess her age. I took a good look at her again. In no way could this piece of cheese be over seventy.
"You are sixty-six years of age, Sandy."
"No I am sixty seven."
I took their pictures so I could see what got away in Virginia. I have never seen a gal so radiant with life before. My ex-sure-as-hell didn't come close.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Thanksgiving 2014
Thanksgiving day 1914 proved to be better than the previous year.
I had left San Diego earlier that morning and paid a visit to Mel's retirement home. He seemed in good spirits as he looks forward to one of Derik's gourmet turkey-legs.
"George, make sure I get a leg as good as the one last year."
My car Dolly was in good spirits as I had bought new Discount tires for her. Dolly skipped on the 405 north and we made our way to the 22 West Freeway. They lived in the area called Belmont Shores. With no breakfast, my legs made me drive a little faster. Nothing would stand in the way of another turkey feast at my daughter's house. There rented house is a modest two bedroom one bath fixer upper.
Through the patio window I watch my daughter playing with the newest edition, Allison. She spots me and wraps herself around Lauren. She runs to Lauren, my daughter, and demands to be picked up. She did not know what to make of this grey haired intruder. Her sister Olivia is asleep in the other room.
I try to pick her up and kiss her. Allison hugged her Mother ever so tightly. I walk to the backyard with my book and am in deep thought. Deep in thought, I hear the creak sound of a door. And there she is, my birthday girl who has just turned four. She skips down the porch steps and lands on my lap. Her blue eyes spot something.
"Granddad, what are the spots on your arm?"
"I got those from too much sun." Her dainty hands caress these old-aged spots.
"You should have use sun screen. What are you reading? She examines the small print of the large book while I extracted a walnut from a bowl. Olivia grabs it from my hand and after a few futile minutes of trying to open the shell, she surrenders and hands it to me.
I crack several shells and instead of trying one, she proceeds to feed me. After I cracked the safe, she removes some pieces and begins to feed them to me, one nut at a time."
"Olivia. go get your present in the other room. It is a new children's book called Olivia."
I had bought it from the downtown San Diego Library. Instead of returning with that book she brings another one. another one. Derick came outside and placed some rolls on the barbecue grill. Later he returned and placed cheese and dips on the table. Again Olivia fed me.
Now if you don't get it by now, you better see a shrink. Olivia had become my Mother and I her baby.
Now it is Clarence time. She is the turkey. Besides Clarence, I am the only guest at the Thanksgiving dinner. who came to the Turkey dinner. Clarence sits in the middle of the table. She whispers in turkey talk.
"I am upset the Obama did not pardon me like he did for the White House turkey."
She stops speaking as now Derik cuts the turkey. Her eyes drip blood. Derik has placed a few turkey chips on Olivia's plate. She sits in a corner seat next to me and the front window. I
"Olivia, no ice cream until you eat the turkey!"
To save time and space this theme played out for a few minutes with the same outcome. Finally Olivia stands and runs to the kitchen. We heard a loud scream after a louder thud. Allison's head landed on the kitchen floor.
Father Derick jumps up and runs to the kitchen. He grabs Olivia and takes her to her room. She knows she was wrong but does it anyhow. for the kitchen and returned with a battered Allison.
In no way would Olivia eat her turkey. And why not you ask? Now she was getting all of the attention, even it a bit negative.She returned and the same theme played again. Only I an observer knew what was going on.
Like two Thanksgivings ago, the Clarence turkey tasted almost as good as her Mom Selma. I ate the drumstick and also a wing. You might even say I winged it. All awhile Olivia sat and Lauren waited for her moment to shine.
They had spent the better part of the day preparing the meal and Lauren needed to get her mouth on the pumpkin pie. In fact, Lauren could not wait any longer. She went into the kitchen and battered the pie into five pieces.
Now I have always hated pie, but not this time. The only one who did not like it was Olivia. Figuratively speaking, she threw it in our faces.
I had left San Diego earlier that morning and paid a visit to Mel's retirement home. He seemed in good spirits as he looks forward to one of Derik's gourmet turkey-legs.
"George, make sure I get a leg as good as the one last year."
My car Dolly was in good spirits as I had bought new Discount tires for her. Dolly skipped on the 405 north and we made our way to the 22 West Freeway. They lived in the area called Belmont Shores. With no breakfast, my legs made me drive a little faster. Nothing would stand in the way of another turkey feast at my daughter's house. There rented house is a modest two bedroom one bath fixer upper.
Through the patio window I watch my daughter playing with the newest edition, Allison. She spots me and wraps herself around Lauren. She runs to Lauren, my daughter, and demands to be picked up. She did not know what to make of this grey haired intruder. Her sister Olivia is asleep in the other room.
I try to pick her up and kiss her. Allison hugged her Mother ever so tightly. I walk to the backyard with my book and am in deep thought. Deep in thought, I hear the creak sound of a door. And there she is, my birthday girl who has just turned four. She skips down the porch steps and lands on my lap. Her blue eyes spot something.
"Granddad, what are the spots on your arm?"
"I got those from too much sun." Her dainty hands caress these old-aged spots.
"You should have use sun screen. What are you reading? She examines the small print of the large book while I extracted a walnut from a bowl. Olivia grabs it from my hand and after a few futile minutes of trying to open the shell, she surrenders and hands it to me.
I crack several shells and instead of trying one, she proceeds to feed me. After I cracked the safe, she removes some pieces and begins to feed them to me, one nut at a time."
"Olivia. go get your present in the other room. It is a new children's book called Olivia."
I had bought it from the downtown San Diego Library. Instead of returning with that book she brings another one. another one. Derick came outside and placed some rolls on the barbecue grill. Later he returned and placed cheese and dips on the table. Again Olivia fed me.
Now if you don't get it by now, you better see a shrink. Olivia had become my Mother and I her baby.
Now it is Clarence time. She is the turkey. Besides Clarence, I am the only guest at the Thanksgiving dinner. who came to the Turkey dinner. Clarence sits in the middle of the table. She whispers in turkey talk.
"I am upset the Obama did not pardon me like he did for the White House turkey."
She stops speaking as now Derik cuts the turkey. Her eyes drip blood. Derik has placed a few turkey chips on Olivia's plate. She sits in a corner seat next to me and the front window. I
"Olivia, no ice cream until you eat the turkey!"
To save time and space this theme played out for a few minutes with the same outcome. Finally Olivia stands and runs to the kitchen. We heard a loud scream after a louder thud. Allison's head landed on the kitchen floor.
Father Derick jumps up and runs to the kitchen. He grabs Olivia and takes her to her room. She knows she was wrong but does it anyhow. for the kitchen and returned with a battered Allison.
In no way would Olivia eat her turkey. And why not you ask? Now she was getting all of the attention, even it a bit negative.She returned and the same theme played again. Only I an observer knew what was going on.
Like two Thanksgivings ago, the Clarence turkey tasted almost as good as her Mom Selma. I ate the drumstick and also a wing. You might even say I winged it. All awhile Olivia sat and Lauren waited for her moment to shine.
They had spent the better part of the day preparing the meal and Lauren needed to get her mouth on the pumpkin pie. In fact, Lauren could not wait any longer. She went into the kitchen and battered the pie into five pieces.
Now I have always hated pie, but not this time. The only one who did not like it was Olivia. Figuratively speaking, she threw it in our faces.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
The U.C.L.A. verses U.S.C. game of the week.
You can just bet that somewhere in the stands Saturday, Li'l Amby Schindler is watching the game from his forty yard line seats.
'Leg's Schindler is still awarded two tickets for every game, that is while he is still alive. He is 97 years of age at the time of this writing. and is the only one kicking from his 1939 Trojans under Howard Jones. is at 76 years of age, and he us the only one kicking from the 1930 teams of Howard Jones.
But what you may not know is that Schindler came out of the Los Angeles Good Samaritan Hospital with his two San Diego buddies and suited up for the pivotal 1939 game, game against the Bruins. in 1939. He and several mates had come down with the flu. . The boys from Westwood came into the last game with a brilliant record except for two tie games. U.S.C. had only one tie game. If they could tie the Bruins, they would be elected to go to their sixth Rose Bowl.
Howard Jones was the consummate chess player. He could get into the mind of the opposing team and his Assistant Coach, Sam Barry who doubled as a scout, knew what plays came from each formation. The Trojans were scholarly coached and Jones had a chance to go to Pasadena for the sixth time without a defeat.
U.S.C. barely scrapped by the Washington Huskies earlier that season. With the Trojans trailing late in the fourth quarter, Howard Jones pulled Doyle Nave in favor of Schindler who banged the Husky line toward their end zone. Schindler threw an errant pass so Jones yanked him in favor of 'Fog over Pasadena's' Grenny Landsdell. John Stonebraker snatched victory out of the hands of those Huskies. He caught a last minute pass from Grenny keeping the Rose Bowl hunt in view.
In 1939, U.C.L.A chose to pass instead of run with the ball on fourth down. Robertson flicked the ball out of Jackie Robinson's hands on fourth down. Now the Trojans had the ball close to their end zone In the "waning moments of the tie game", Doyle Nave decided to pass. Jones pulled Nave for Schindler with orders "to freeze the ball. He did and the Trojans prepared for their sixth Rose Bowl.
'Leg's Schindler is still awarded two tickets for every game, that is while he is still alive. He is 97 years of age at the time of this writing. and is the only one kicking from his 1939 Trojans under Howard Jones. is at 76 years of age, and he us the only one kicking from the 1930 teams of Howard Jones.
But what you may not know is that Schindler came out of the Los Angeles Good Samaritan Hospital with his two San Diego buddies and suited up for the pivotal 1939 game, game against the Bruins. in 1939. He and several mates had come down with the flu. . The boys from Westwood came into the last game with a brilliant record except for two tie games. U.S.C. had only one tie game. If they could tie the Bruins, they would be elected to go to their sixth Rose Bowl.
Howard Jones was the consummate chess player. He could get into the mind of the opposing team and his Assistant Coach, Sam Barry who doubled as a scout, knew what plays came from each formation. The Trojans were scholarly coached and Jones had a chance to go to Pasadena for the sixth time without a defeat.
U.S.C. barely scrapped by the Washington Huskies earlier that season. With the Trojans trailing late in the fourth quarter, Howard Jones pulled Doyle Nave in favor of Schindler who banged the Husky line toward their end zone. Schindler threw an errant pass so Jones yanked him in favor of 'Fog over Pasadena's' Grenny Landsdell. John Stonebraker snatched victory out of the hands of those Huskies. He caught a last minute pass from Grenny keeping the Rose Bowl hunt in view.
In 1939, U.C.L.A chose to pass instead of run with the ball on fourth down. Robertson flicked the ball out of Jackie Robinson's hands on fourth down. Now the Trojans had the ball close to their end zone In the "waning moments of the tie game", Doyle Nave decided to pass. Jones pulled Nave for Schindler with orders "to freeze the ball. He did and the Trojans prepared for their sixth Rose Bowl.
Monday, November 17, 2014
A Perfect Racing Day
"George, you did not prepare for our group. You could have edited your Del Mar story earlier! Everyone at my North County Writer's Group got on my case. They were correct so I apologized.This is the story I had written about the Del Mar Meet in November. A gentle on shore breeze gave me the pick up I sorely needed on this clear sunny day in November.
I drove to the Carlsbad commuter lot, parked my car, and boarded the Breeze 101 coastal bus. Not too bad and it cost me only seventy five cents for a ride that dropped me out at the train station in Solana Beach after it had passed Leucadia and Encinitas . With my good luck, a Breeze 101 going to La Jolla stopped at besides the train station and only seventy five cents was needed to board it. The bus passed Leucadia and then Encinitas before lumbering on to Solana Beach.
Taking advantage of large waves, the surfers looked like small dots in the ocean. My station arrived and I crossed P.C.H. and made my way to one of the British Double Decker buses. These buses I had first rode while in London in 1967. Clem and I stayed there with his grandma and aunt.
I took up a seat inside the grandstand and was in a state of euphoria all day. I was there for the pomp and stomp of these thoroughbreds. Again I did not bet, just maybe one race, and read my clips for my football story. When the horses circled and turned for home, I looked at the fans. One better told his wife he had won the race.
"Dear I won. I have a show ticket on number one!" Of course he really lost money since his horse to win came in last and his show ticket only produced $2.85 for his two dollar ticket. But he didn't seem to mine since he had a chance to cash a ticket."
"Dear looks like you know how to bet. Who do you pick in the next race?"
It amazed me that one winning ticket could make it a big-day for the family. I took the escalator downstairs to watch the grooms and trainers saddle their horses. I read the program to tell the name of the jockeys. The jockeys wore the colors or emblem of the owners. Each wore a grin while they ambled to the numbered spot where the owners had some last minute instruction. Each wore a smile on their face and gave the wives a heavy hug.
On this perfect sunny day, I ambled downstairs to the finish line. The horses coming around the far turn for there to try to be first at the finish energized me. The once cloud of horses became only two as each tried to collar the other and tried to be first. I left totally relaxed as the Double Decker returned me to the train station and a Coaster bus drove me back to Carlsbad where my car was waiting.
But the day was not finished. I ordered a small artichoke pizza at the Pizza Palace on Carlsbad Village Blvd. and my day was complete. Each slice tasted out of this world.
I drove to the Carlsbad commuter lot, parked my car, and boarded the Breeze 101 coastal bus. Not too bad and it cost me only seventy five cents for a ride that dropped me out at the train station in Solana Beach after it had passed Leucadia and Encinitas . With my good luck, a Breeze 101 going to La Jolla stopped at besides the train station and only seventy five cents was needed to board it. The bus passed Leucadia and then Encinitas before lumbering on to Solana Beach.
Taking advantage of large waves, the surfers looked like small dots in the ocean. My station arrived and I crossed P.C.H. and made my way to one of the British Double Decker buses. These buses I had first rode while in London in 1967. Clem and I stayed there with his grandma and aunt.
I took up a seat inside the grandstand and was in a state of euphoria all day. I was there for the pomp and stomp of these thoroughbreds. Again I did not bet, just maybe one race, and read my clips for my football story. When the horses circled and turned for home, I looked at the fans. One better told his wife he had won the race.
"Dear I won. I have a show ticket on number one!" Of course he really lost money since his horse to win came in last and his show ticket only produced $2.85 for his two dollar ticket. But he didn't seem to mine since he had a chance to cash a ticket."
"Dear looks like you know how to bet. Who do you pick in the next race?"
It amazed me that one winning ticket could make it a big-day for the family. I took the escalator downstairs to watch the grooms and trainers saddle their horses. I read the program to tell the name of the jockeys. The jockeys wore the colors or emblem of the owners. Each wore a grin while they ambled to the numbered spot where the owners had some last minute instruction. Each wore a smile on their face and gave the wives a heavy hug.
On this perfect sunny day, I ambled downstairs to the finish line. The horses coming around the far turn for there to try to be first at the finish energized me. The once cloud of horses became only two as each tried to collar the other and tried to be first. I left totally relaxed as the Double Decker returned me to the train station and a Coaster bus drove me back to Carlsbad where my car was waiting.
But the day was not finished. I ordered a small artichoke pizza at the Pizza Palace on Carlsbad Village Blvd. and my day was complete. Each slice tasted out of this world.
Monday, November 10, 2014
God was my Co-pilot
Fog greeted me at my arrival at the Oceanside Transit Station. From Union Station in Los Angeles, I had taken the Metro-Link to Oceanside from I had taken the Metro-Link Link arrived at the Oceanside Transit Center at 6:30. The Corsica had been parked at the lot. I wiped the fog from my window and tried to make it down the Coast Highway to Dennis. My stomach yearned for their turkey special.
Earlier that day, I spent it at the Central Los Angeles Library. A subway train took me back to the Union Station. The ten dollar-all-day ticket would return me where I had purchased the ticket, Oceanside. Only on the weekends can you use these all day tickets
I drove to Dennis in Oceanside as the train ride gave me a heft appetite. After I had filled my stomach with turkey slices,and mashed potatoes I asked the gal at the register how to get to the 5 Freeway and took her directions. It was still somewhat foggy.
I hoped to save $60 and spend the evening at the Aliso rest stop, just outside of Oceanside. I made a right turn but instead of the 5 Freeway found my way in a line of cars in front of several gates that led to the Marine camp. The gates were all lit up. I could only see shapes out of my front window. Now in no way did I wish to enlist and told the guard how to get me back to the #5 going north.
I heard the sound of my heart pumping for help. The first guard told me to go to the second one for directions. A tired George asked God to take over. The second guard gave me a quizzical look. .
"Well sir I can tell you are too old to join. What's the problem?"
"I am lost, and trying to find the 5 freeway."
"Well see that red barrier. Turn around and at the first exit go right. It will pull you on the Five Freeway.
"I sure as hell see nothing!"
The guard walked in front of my car and signaled the waiting Marines to halt for a misguided senior. I found the Five and found the Aliso Rest Stop. It was beginning to fill up. Others refused to drive in the blanket fog. Nothing could be seen out of my front mirror.
I tossed and turned during the night. I new the freeway was expanding and at my first exit became a staging area for the work. Some idiot wished to expand the road and it would take up to two years. At six in the morning, I thought the worst of the fog had lifted. I did not wish to be the two cabs that had spilled over the barrier and one had caught fire the day the rains came.
I prayed and asked God to pilot me safely home. I followed the large white lines to my right. A mile up ahead was a bright light signaling one lane up ahead. Since nothing could be seen from both windows, I looked at my side-view mirror and noticed a few other lights going my way.
I edged over one lane at a time and followed a tail light to my earliest exit, the San Onofre one. I returned back to the five and made my way back to Oceanside in one piece. No more will I take the five out or into San Diego. God was all tuckered out. With daily construction on the five, you have to be an idiot to drive to San Diego.
I will be choosing Metro-Link out of Oceanside from now on, and if desperate, will pay a few more dollars for Amtrak.
Nuts and Bolts: Two days later I needed to go pee just outside of San Clemente. A bus drive told me her number one bus goes on the Pacific Coastal route all the way to Long Beach and Seventh Street. In fact it also stops on Beach Blvd. From now on, I will no longer drive the Five out of San Diego. With a pass it cost one dollar and fifty cents, but takes over two hours, the same as by car.
Earlier that day, I spent it at the Central Los Angeles Library. A subway train took me back to the Union Station. The ten dollar-all-day ticket would return me where I had purchased the ticket, Oceanside. Only on the weekends can you use these all day tickets
I drove to Dennis in Oceanside as the train ride gave me a heft appetite. After I had filled my stomach with turkey slices,and mashed potatoes I asked the gal at the register how to get to the 5 Freeway and took her directions. It was still somewhat foggy.
I hoped to save $60 and spend the evening at the Aliso rest stop, just outside of Oceanside. I made a right turn but instead of the 5 Freeway found my way in a line of cars in front of several gates that led to the Marine camp. The gates were all lit up. I could only see shapes out of my front window. Now in no way did I wish to enlist and told the guard how to get me back to the #5 going north.
I heard the sound of my heart pumping for help. The first guard told me to go to the second one for directions. A tired George asked God to take over. The second guard gave me a quizzical look. .
"Well sir I can tell you are too old to join. What's the problem?"
"I am lost, and trying to find the 5 freeway."
"Well see that red barrier. Turn around and at the first exit go right. It will pull you on the Five Freeway.
"I sure as hell see nothing!"
The guard walked in front of my car and signaled the waiting Marines to halt for a misguided senior. I found the Five and found the Aliso Rest Stop. It was beginning to fill up. Others refused to drive in the blanket fog. Nothing could be seen out of my front mirror.
I tossed and turned during the night. I new the freeway was expanding and at my first exit became a staging area for the work. Some idiot wished to expand the road and it would take up to two years. At six in the morning, I thought the worst of the fog had lifted. I did not wish to be the two cabs that had spilled over the barrier and one had caught fire the day the rains came.
I prayed and asked God to pilot me safely home. I followed the large white lines to my right. A mile up ahead was a bright light signaling one lane up ahead. Since nothing could be seen from both windows, I looked at my side-view mirror and noticed a few other lights going my way.
I edged over one lane at a time and followed a tail light to my earliest exit, the San Onofre one. I returned back to the five and made my way back to Oceanside in one piece. No more will I take the five out or into San Diego. God was all tuckered out. With daily construction on the five, you have to be an idiot to drive to San Diego.
I will be choosing Metro-Link out of Oceanside from now on, and if desperate, will pay a few more dollars for Amtrak.
Nuts and Bolts: Two days later I needed to go pee just outside of San Clemente. A bus drive told me her number one bus goes on the Pacific Coastal route all the way to Long Beach and Seventh Street. In fact it also stops on Beach Blvd. From now on, I will no longer drive the Five out of San Diego. With a pass it cost one dollar and fifty cents, but takes over two hours, the same as by car.
Chuckles laughed all the way to the barn
It was eleven twenty. The Coaster train appeared that took me to the Solano Beach Train Station. From there, a British Double Decker would transport me to the track to the Del Mar Race Track and mine you in November. I had bought a foot-long sub and a nap sack full of fruit from Just Peachy, in Leucadia. .
Inside the British Double Decker bus sat Cleo. I met her a few minutes earlier at the Subway sandwich store cross the street from the Solana Beach Train station. Her smile and sweet personality interested me.
"Hey Cleo, any tips today?"
"No, the only tips I give is to my girlfriend Bessie. My friend got me hooked on horses. We used to go together but illness has kept her at home. I bought a sub because mine was left in the fridge.
"How long have you been coming to Del Mar?"
"Since 1957, I love to bet. Every summer I return to Del Mar, eve since I retired from the phone company. I pay $250 for my own seat and $25 for a season's admission. I'm lucky since I have survived breast and stomach cancer.
This Oceanside gal appeared too spry to be only 73. What upset her was that the phone company dropped her from their health coverage. Cleo showed me a card that gave her free admission for the entire meet, including this November one This meet changed its menu to racing only from Thursday until Sundays. The bus pulled up opposite the West Grandstand and entrance.
She gave me a free pass admission. I thanked her and took the elevator to the third floor. My mind was in shambles from my catastrophic experience the day before, but something about November racing and a bright new day provided a spark of life.
An exhausted me sat inside the grandstand. Sleep and I had been strangers the night before. Of course the first fog of the season made driving impossible. Nothing could stir my funkiness-that is until the fifth race.
A horse named Chuckles tossed its jockey before it could be loaded into the starting gate. Chuckles took-off running the race of its life, but the wrong way. She headed for the box seats and then the grandstand area. A trickle of applause grew louder as the black gelding came our way.
The gelding was now out of energy and two outriders ushered her back to the barn. The crowd let out a large cheer as Chuckles seemed to nod in appreciation.
No longer sick and anxious, I finished my Tuna sub and read from one of my journals. Laughter lifted my tension. After the sixth race I took the escalator to the ground floor and walked over to the walking ring. I wished to take a few pictures.
Oh yes, before I forget, I did not bet one race that day but went home a winner. Depression left me in the starting gate and I chuckled my way to the train station. My laughter left depression in the starting gate.
My mind became clear now and I remember more about Chuckle s before her number was removed. "By order of the stewards, the number 7 horse has been scratched."
Chuckles could care less about being scratched. She won this race going away. Even I, in my deep despair, could not help but grin a bit. An outrider gave chase but the runaway would have non-of-it. The cheers turned to jeers when an outrider tried to catch up with him.
The clapping grew louder while Chuckles' eyed the grandstand tossed its head back and forth and took off again, after acknowledging the applause with a shake of his head. Now three outriders tried to corner him. They did but somehow, he got out of their grasp and tried to circle again, the other way. Finally he had had enough and a pony rider grabbed its harness and lead him back to its groom at the finish line.
Sorry I made you wait, just the way Chuckles would have liked it. .
Inside the British Double Decker bus sat Cleo. I met her a few minutes earlier at the Subway sandwich store cross the street from the Solana Beach Train station. Her smile and sweet personality interested me.
"Hey Cleo, any tips today?"
"No, the only tips I give is to my girlfriend Bessie. My friend got me hooked on horses. We used to go together but illness has kept her at home. I bought a sub because mine was left in the fridge.
"How long have you been coming to Del Mar?"
"Since 1957, I love to bet. Every summer I return to Del Mar, eve since I retired from the phone company. I pay $250 for my own seat and $25 for a season's admission. I'm lucky since I have survived breast and stomach cancer.
This Oceanside gal appeared too spry to be only 73. What upset her was that the phone company dropped her from their health coverage. Cleo showed me a card that gave her free admission for the entire meet, including this November one This meet changed its menu to racing only from Thursday until Sundays. The bus pulled up opposite the West Grandstand and entrance.
She gave me a free pass admission. I thanked her and took the elevator to the third floor. My mind was in shambles from my catastrophic experience the day before, but something about November racing and a bright new day provided a spark of life.
An exhausted me sat inside the grandstand. Sleep and I had been strangers the night before. Of course the first fog of the season made driving impossible. Nothing could stir my funkiness-that is until the fifth race.
A horse named Chuckles tossed its jockey before it could be loaded into the starting gate. Chuckles took-off running the race of its life, but the wrong way. She headed for the box seats and then the grandstand area. A trickle of applause grew louder as the black gelding came our way.
The gelding was now out of energy and two outriders ushered her back to the barn. The crowd let out a large cheer as Chuckles seemed to nod in appreciation.
No longer sick and anxious, I finished my Tuna sub and read from one of my journals. Laughter lifted my tension. After the sixth race I took the escalator to the ground floor and walked over to the walking ring. I wished to take a few pictures.
Oh yes, before I forget, I did not bet one race that day but went home a winner. Depression left me in the starting gate and I chuckled my way to the train station. My laughter left depression in the starting gate.
My mind became clear now and I remember more about Chuckle s before her number was removed. "By order of the stewards, the number 7 horse has been scratched."
Chuckles could care less about being scratched. She won this race going away. Even I, in my deep despair, could not help but grin a bit. An outrider gave chase but the runaway would have non-of-it. The cheers turned to jeers when an outrider tried to catch up with him.
The clapping grew louder while Chuckles' eyed the grandstand tossed its head back and forth and took off again, after acknowledging the applause with a shake of his head. Now three outriders tried to corner him. They did but somehow, he got out of their grasp and tried to circle again, the other way. Finally he had had enough and a pony rider grabbed its harness and lead him back to its groom at the finish line.
Sorry I made you wait, just the way Chuckles would have liked it. .
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Del Mar Friday, Opening Day
Del Mar will take over for Hollywood Parks winter season this Friday, the Seventh of November. Those wishing to save time and money must read this blog. ..First post is one o'clock
This blog will drive you to Del Mar the best and cheapest way. Your main concern is how to get to Del Mar without grinding out on freeway traffic. Now you might be able to reach Del Mar by the sea, but you'll never get out of the rip-tide back to Los Angeles.
There is Metro-Link or the other, Amtrak that can provide the transportation from the Los Angeles Union Station to Del Mar. "Allow me to take you to where the surf meets the turf, at Old Del Mar."
I have taken the commuter Metro-Link several times. Their weekend rate of ten dollars all day is fantastic. This train links Oceanside to Los Angeles. There is one early train to Oceanside on the weekend days. It makes every stop so will take a bit longer than Amtrak. Amtrak leaves about every hour and does stop at the foot of Del Mar or the Solano Beach Train Station. From there, Double-Decker buses shuttle you right to the track-- so you bypass the parking fee and hassle leaving.
Downtown's Red Line Subway takes you to the Grand Central Station--as it used to be called. From Santa Monica the #10 Rapid can get you to the train station for about one dollar. Those of you that take the Metro-Link can transfer to the #110 Breeze bus or the Coaster Train. Each can drop you off at Solano Beach. The Metro-Link leaves a bit earlier than Amtrak but it is real cheap. It leaves off of track number 8 whereas Amtrak runs about every hour.
The Santa Monica Rapid ten bus takes you to Union Station. There is also the #720 bus that takes you to the Station. For me, I prefer to tap my subway card and take the Red Line to the Union Station. There are many parking places in central Los Angeles. You buy the card, put in the dollar or two and tap it again and you are on your way to the Union Station.
San Diego to Del Mar is easier. The Coaster Commuter drops you off also in Solano Beach. Six Amtrak trains accept a Coaster ticket. The two trains leave at eight and ten twenty in the mornings. It just may be hot so bring lots of water and sandwiches for the train ride. Also, take a book and camera since the views along the coastal route are out-of-this-world.
Of course everything is chaotic today, so I will check to make corrections and additions to the blog.
Nuts and Bolts for Today: The Statue of Liberty is smiling for the first time in years. I am not a fighting Republican who stands for the one the Federalist brought to power in 1776. A 17 Trillion debt is obnoxious.
This blog will drive you to Del Mar the best and cheapest way. Your main concern is how to get to Del Mar without grinding out on freeway traffic. Now you might be able to reach Del Mar by the sea, but you'll never get out of the rip-tide back to Los Angeles.
There is Metro-Link or the other, Amtrak that can provide the transportation from the Los Angeles Union Station to Del Mar. "Allow me to take you to where the surf meets the turf, at Old Del Mar."
I have taken the commuter Metro-Link several times. Their weekend rate of ten dollars all day is fantastic. This train links Oceanside to Los Angeles. There is one early train to Oceanside on the weekend days. It makes every stop so will take a bit longer than Amtrak. Amtrak leaves about every hour and does stop at the foot of Del Mar or the Solano Beach Train Station. From there, Double-Decker buses shuttle you right to the track-- so you bypass the parking fee and hassle leaving.
Downtown's Red Line Subway takes you to the Grand Central Station--as it used to be called. From Santa Monica the #10 Rapid can get you to the train station for about one dollar. Those of you that take the Metro-Link can transfer to the #110 Breeze bus or the Coaster Train. Each can drop you off at Solano Beach. The Metro-Link leaves a bit earlier than Amtrak but it is real cheap. It leaves off of track number 8 whereas Amtrak runs about every hour.
The Santa Monica Rapid ten bus takes you to Union Station. There is also the #720 bus that takes you to the Station. For me, I prefer to tap my subway card and take the Red Line to the Union Station. There are many parking places in central Los Angeles. You buy the card, put in the dollar or two and tap it again and you are on your way to the Union Station.
San Diego to Del Mar is easier. The Coaster Commuter drops you off also in Solano Beach. Six Amtrak trains accept a Coaster ticket. The two trains leave at eight and ten twenty in the mornings. It just may be hot so bring lots of water and sandwiches for the train ride. Also, take a book and camera since the views along the coastal route are out-of-this-world.
Of course everything is chaotic today, so I will check to make corrections and additions to the blog.
Nuts and Bolts for Today: The Statue of Liberty is smiling for the first time in years. I am not a fighting Republican who stands for the one the Federalist brought to power in 1776. A 17 Trillion debt is obnoxious.
Monday, November 3, 2014
The Midway City Assistant Living Center.
My brother Max lives at the Starlight Assistant Living Center in Midway City, California. He has lived at the little city between Huntington Beach and Westminster for over seven years. The first one called the Golden Year's kicked him out because of my complaint. Some moron knocked Max down on leaving the elevator. Max tore up his back and had a shiner underneath his dead eye.
I complained, so the owners sent him to a cuckoos nest in Newport Beach. The owners wished to farm him out- like most Living Centers. The can't stand somebody looking over their own Last Chance Hotel'..
My parents left each of us one third after the sell of their modest Beverly Hills house. They had spent over and wasted over two hundred thousand dollars to cure my sister Diane. Her mental outlook improved after they took the less stressful route to heaven. Max took his share and split it up at every restaurant in Huntington Beach.
For seven years he ate, slept and beached himself in Surf City U.S.A. An early death of our parents and his share spent to fast made him a giant at three hundred and fifty pounds. One day he couldn't rise and the firemen drove him to the Huntington Beach Hospital. A botched laser operation due to early Glaucoma made him blind in one eye. Now he is almost totally blind. Social Security pays a eleven hundred a month and a portion is for the disability.
I had left the Aliso Rest stop in the early morning hours and arrived early in Midway City getting off on Beach, a town between Westminster and Huntington beach. At five o'clock, I ate the special Slammer Breakfast at Norms on Beach Blvd.
At about six thirty I entered his upstairs room after knocking three times. Inside the room nobody was in bed number two but he saw enough of me to know it was me, his brother.
"Is that you George?...The guy in the next bed fell and has been in the hospital."
"Mel, I am short of cash but will take you to the In-And-Out Burger later. Do you have a clean diaper on?...I will be in the T.V. room."
I took up a seat at the seven o'clock early bird breakfast table. Also at the table were Pat, Ruth, and Pam. I found a chair and joined them. They were a closely knit group who held each other up-so to speak.
The dining room sat about forty patrons. The severs were just up from Mexico. It has to be the hardest job available since a new diaper changers turned over every month or two-that is until a better job availed itself.
"Well Pat what brings you here? You-sure-as-hell don't look or sound disabled."
"It is either this or the street George. My social security is not enough for an apartment." Ruth then speaks up.
"I want real syrup, not this imitation stuff....Where is your book George? Ain't you finished with it yet? I told her four years ago she would get my first book.
In back of me, I noticed the Betty no longer needed an oxygen tube. She told me that while in the hospital she decided to quit cigarettes. She looked a lot chipper.
We took a trip to Surf City, or Huntington Beach. He had been going there for over twenty years. He lived for the ocean. The water did wonders for his migraine headaches. I drove down Beach to Pacific and made a right turn. We found a spot two blocks from the beach. I walked slow with Mel close by. He had had a stroke several years ago and has not been the same, but it is swell to still have my parents son alive. He has had many close calls with Mr Death.
I sat Mel down by the concrete bleachers and took up residence down below. It was a perfect volleyball day, but with nobody to play with, I watched. Like the Salmon run, there is something about the ocean that says good-by to stress. Later we drove to the Old Navy Store just before Beach Blvd and Max's eye widened when he saw the dark sweat pants and shirt. I told him we would buy it another day.
A slight wind blew from the ocean that opened up my nasal passages. There were surf board and sportswear stores everywhere on Main Street. We stayed about two hours there and I knew that Mel hungered for a burger.
I tied his sweats and helped him into my little car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw people stop and stare at us as if he were a dog and I pulled the leach. The one hundred or more older bungalows made we wish to have been born a long time ago. Today's life style is too quick and empty, but the beach remains the same.
The burgers and french fries high-lighted the day. Why brother Mel could have eaten several but settled for only one double double with fries. We then returned him to his apartment and tried to take a few winks. I needed to rest before the drive back to San Diego.
"What are you doing in Mel's room. You are not allowed in his room. Get out this minute!"
That was your typical owner manager. He uses his muscles and intimidates everyone. I apologized and left with Mel visibly distraught.
Nuts and Bolts for today: Am currently advising the Encinitas' Senior Counsel about the components of an effective senior housing center. Too bad that those with limited incomes need to resort to street living or to enter an Assistant Living House.
I complained, so the owners sent him to a cuckoos nest in Newport Beach. The owners wished to farm him out- like most Living Centers. The can't stand somebody looking over their own Last Chance Hotel'..
My parents left each of us one third after the sell of their modest Beverly Hills house. They had spent over and wasted over two hundred thousand dollars to cure my sister Diane. Her mental outlook improved after they took the less stressful route to heaven. Max took his share and split it up at every restaurant in Huntington Beach.
For seven years he ate, slept and beached himself in Surf City U.S.A. An early death of our parents and his share spent to fast made him a giant at three hundred and fifty pounds. One day he couldn't rise and the firemen drove him to the Huntington Beach Hospital. A botched laser operation due to early Glaucoma made him blind in one eye. Now he is almost totally blind. Social Security pays a eleven hundred a month and a portion is for the disability.
I had left the Aliso Rest stop in the early morning hours and arrived early in Midway City getting off on Beach, a town between Westminster and Huntington beach. At five o'clock, I ate the special Slammer Breakfast at Norms on Beach Blvd.
At about six thirty I entered his upstairs room after knocking three times. Inside the room nobody was in bed number two but he saw enough of me to know it was me, his brother.
"Is that you George?...The guy in the next bed fell and has been in the hospital."
"Mel, I am short of cash but will take you to the In-And-Out Burger later. Do you have a clean diaper on?...I will be in the T.V. room."
I took up a seat at the seven o'clock early bird breakfast table. Also at the table were Pat, Ruth, and Pam. I found a chair and joined them. They were a closely knit group who held each other up-so to speak.
The dining room sat about forty patrons. The severs were just up from Mexico. It has to be the hardest job available since a new diaper changers turned over every month or two-that is until a better job availed itself.
"Well Pat what brings you here? You-sure-as-hell don't look or sound disabled."
"It is either this or the street George. My social security is not enough for an apartment." Ruth then speaks up.
"I want real syrup, not this imitation stuff....Where is your book George? Ain't you finished with it yet? I told her four years ago she would get my first book.
In back of me, I noticed the Betty no longer needed an oxygen tube. She told me that while in the hospital she decided to quit cigarettes. She looked a lot chipper.
We took a trip to Surf City, or Huntington Beach. He had been going there for over twenty years. He lived for the ocean. The water did wonders for his migraine headaches. I drove down Beach to Pacific and made a right turn. We found a spot two blocks from the beach. I walked slow with Mel close by. He had had a stroke several years ago and has not been the same, but it is swell to still have my parents son alive. He has had many close calls with Mr Death.
I sat Mel down by the concrete bleachers and took up residence down below. It was a perfect volleyball day, but with nobody to play with, I watched. Like the Salmon run, there is something about the ocean that says good-by to stress. Later we drove to the Old Navy Store just before Beach Blvd and Max's eye widened when he saw the dark sweat pants and shirt. I told him we would buy it another day.
A slight wind blew from the ocean that opened up my nasal passages. There were surf board and sportswear stores everywhere on Main Street. We stayed about two hours there and I knew that Mel hungered for a burger.
I tied his sweats and helped him into my little car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw people stop and stare at us as if he were a dog and I pulled the leach. The one hundred or more older bungalows made we wish to have been born a long time ago. Today's life style is too quick and empty, but the beach remains the same.
The burgers and french fries high-lighted the day. Why brother Mel could have eaten several but settled for only one double double with fries. We then returned him to his apartment and tried to take a few winks. I needed to rest before the drive back to San Diego.
"What are you doing in Mel's room. You are not allowed in his room. Get out this minute!"
That was your typical owner manager. He uses his muscles and intimidates everyone. I apologized and left with Mel visibly distraught.
Nuts and Bolts for today: Am currently advising the Encinitas' Senior Counsel about the components of an effective senior housing center. Too bad that those with limited incomes need to resort to street living or to enter an Assistant Living House.
Love on Track Number 2
In previous blogs I warned you not to drive to San Diego. I mentioned five bad thingincluded another, waiting six hours on Freeway 5 going North. Over the water-logged weekend, I noticed an overturned crane, a crash, the cab of a truck over the dividers, and the #5 being widened. Yet I failed to mention the most important reason for taking the rails instead of driving.
Yes, Cupid hit me right in eye on Metro-Link commuter on its way to L.A. I bought a ticket on Metro-Link at the Oceanside Transit Center. I was about six o'clock on Saturday after a deluge of rain poured on my car at the Alisa Rest Stop, five miles north of Oceanside. The Alisa Motel is free for those who need to budget their money.
After a forgettable breakfast at the Transit Center Burger King, I bought my ten dollar all-day ticket at the one machine that worked. Since my motto is, "NO-DAY-THE-SAME", I knew the eight twenty going to L.A. would provide a pristine view of the coast, after the early morning rain.
Across from me sat a tall angular gal skimming a Kindle tablet. Her tossed salad hair hid her large face, and just as well, I needed to relax, read, and take in the pristine view. I took up a seat with an eastern view with ample leg room.
The train had left the Oceanside Station on track number 2 at eight thirty, destination Los Angeles. I lay back and removed my book about the Irish Revolt in 1920 and peered out my window. . The clouds had moved away while the train stopped at the San Clemente pier. I removed a water bottle from my knap-sack and set it beside me.
"Next stop San Juan Capistrano. Don't forget your possessions The stop will be brief. Step lively, the doors will be shutting...Next stop, San Juan Capistrano."
The train made stops at the cities of Leisure World, Orange and Santa Ana. Then somebody tapped me on my shoulder.
"My kind sir, is this yours?" She pointed towards me water bottle.
"Yes it's mine. Guess we hit a curve. Thanks a lot."
The floppy disk had a face now, not too shabby for one about my age. Although she sagged in the wrong places, there was something interesting about this flash-in-the-pan. The train now neared Anaheim and out my window I saw a long beautiful rainbow. Before I could hold it back, my jabber--mouth invited her to look at the rainbow before it disappeared.
We shared life's special treats and from then on, we talked until the train made the Grand Central Station. I will summarize the major potions of what she said. Anther friend told me I would make a good detective since I get to the "chase faster than anyone." Instead of her real name I will call her Diane
"I was married for several years and lived in the Los Angeles area most of my life. He was from Israel and wrote music. Yet, like my Mom, he was a controller. I got out of the marriage and moved to Oceanside. I live by myself in a home besides a golf course."
"Diane, are you dating anyone now?" Of course I did not wish to waist my ammunition on one taken.
"No, I gave up on guys a few years ago. I am a happily retired teacher who still subs now-and-then.My name is Jane, what is yours?"
"My name is George and I am now in transit....I mean I live in motels and outside until I find a gal with a big house and willing ears. I love to write and play the piano."
"Well, I dabble in piano myself and have one for sell. Also I had a bad experience renting a two years ago. I belong to a sea of singers who call on Assistant Living Centers and also to those on the footsteps of death. I go with a few others to brighten lives before the end comes.."
The train left Norwalk and soon took the circular route to the train station. Graffiti painted an bright colors told me the Grand Central Station was ahead.
"What are you reading. I see you like books and enjoy writing. Here is my card. Call me anytime. I can't remember having more fun on any train."
I remained on the train a awhile longer allowing the rest to fight their way down. I too have never had a more interesting conversation anywhere or Time. Just Maybe Cupid hit me on Track Number Two-and just at the right time.
s but now
Yes, Cupid hit me right in eye on Metro-Link commuter on its way to L.A. I bought a ticket on Metro-Link at the Oceanside Transit Center. I was about six o'clock on Saturday after a deluge of rain poured on my car at the Alisa Rest Stop, five miles north of Oceanside. The Alisa Motel is free for those who need to budget their money.
After a forgettable breakfast at the Transit Center Burger King, I bought my ten dollar all-day ticket at the one machine that worked. Since my motto is, "NO-DAY-THE-SAME", I knew the eight twenty going to L.A. would provide a pristine view of the coast, after the early morning rain.
Across from me sat a tall angular gal skimming a Kindle tablet. Her tossed salad hair hid her large face, and just as well, I needed to relax, read, and take in the pristine view. I took up a seat with an eastern view with ample leg room.
The train had left the Oceanside Station on track number 2 at eight thirty, destination Los Angeles. I lay back and removed my book about the Irish Revolt in 1920 and peered out my window. . The clouds had moved away while the train stopped at the San Clemente pier. I removed a water bottle from my knap-sack and set it beside me.
"Next stop San Juan Capistrano. Don't forget your possessions The stop will be brief. Step lively, the doors will be shutting...Next stop, San Juan Capistrano."
The train made stops at the cities of Leisure World, Orange and Santa Ana. Then somebody tapped me on my shoulder.
"My kind sir, is this yours?" She pointed towards me water bottle.
"Yes it's mine. Guess we hit a curve. Thanks a lot."
The floppy disk had a face now, not too shabby for one about my age. Although she sagged in the wrong places, there was something interesting about this flash-in-the-pan. The train now neared Anaheim and out my window I saw a long beautiful rainbow. Before I could hold it back, my jabber--mouth invited her to look at the rainbow before it disappeared.
We shared life's special treats and from then on, we talked until the train made the Grand Central Station. I will summarize the major potions of what she said. Anther friend told me I would make a good detective since I get to the "chase faster than anyone." Instead of her real name I will call her Diane
"I was married for several years and lived in the Los Angeles area most of my life. He was from Israel and wrote music. Yet, like my Mom, he was a controller. I got out of the marriage and moved to Oceanside. I live by myself in a home besides a golf course."
"Diane, are you dating anyone now?" Of course I did not wish to waist my ammunition on one taken.
"No, I gave up on guys a few years ago. I am a happily retired teacher who still subs now-and-then.My name is Jane, what is yours?"
"My name is George and I am now in transit....I mean I live in motels and outside until I find a gal with a big house and willing ears. I love to write and play the piano."
"Well, I dabble in piano myself and have one for sell. Also I had a bad experience renting a two years ago. I belong to a sea of singers who call on Assistant Living Centers and also to those on the footsteps of death. I go with a few others to brighten lives before the end comes.."
The train left Norwalk and soon took the circular route to the train station. Graffiti painted an bright colors told me the Grand Central Station was ahead.
"What are you reading. I see you like books and enjoy writing. Here is my card. Call me anytime. I can't remember having more fun on any train."
I remained on the train a awhile longer allowing the rest to fight their way down. I too have never had a more interesting conversation anywhere or Time. Just Maybe Cupid hit me on Track Number Two-and just at the right time.
s but now
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