Four Thousand Jews marched for two or three months. It was the beginning of spring, when snow melts and flowers begin to bloom. We are again at Table 5 of the Encinitas Senior Center. Lady Barbara did not show up, so I needed more information about his forced march out of Camp Buna. .
For newcomers to table five, we meet each day and speak about the past. That is all we have to hold onto besides are barbecued chicken and sweet potatoes today. Lady Barbara is not with us today. Her back has been giving her fits. The table seems sad today. Barbara is the energy that feeds the rest of us. Her birthday is coming up in April.
"George I want to tell you something. I am smarter than the rest. I am a descendant the Cohan's and a Jewish High Priest. Never are we allowed to be in a room with a dead person."
You told me that you had stayed in Camp Buna. What does it mean?
"Buna means artificial rubber. In our camp the Germans made the rubber for their tanks and trucks."
Why did the German soldiers take you on a Death March?
"They did not wish to go to the front. As long as they marched us, they stayed alive and hoped to be captured by American troops and not the Russians."
How many of the four thousand survived the Death March?
"Out of one hundred, fifty survived the death march. Most of them ate too much food and later died."
How did you survive the cold and what did you eat to stay alive?
"We were inside Hungary and secretly, went to the farms. We stole the dog food to survive. We stayed inside the barn for warmth."
When the Russians came, the Germans had fled. Their soldiers slaughtered cows from the many farms inside Hungary. est of the cow. In no time I had beefed up.from my sixty pounds. The story of Horst Cahn will continue as long as there is life in my fingers. (not finished.)
To my right sits Bob. His Dad, Francisco Carriedo was a gorilla fighter during the occupation by the Japanese. It was called the Bataan Death March. Since the Philappines were a territory, Bob came to America with his two sisters.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Reflections on Beverly Hills
On my last blog. I didn't mention that my stay in San Diego has restored my health and strength. San Diego shows off a different Victoria's Secret every day, and I never quite know what my plans for the day are until I take my 'Y' shower and talk to Him-being God.
I still can't believe how Beverly Hills has changed. Why when I was a kid a century ago, It was a laid back town. You could walk across Olympic Blvd without being hit by a car. On same street, a Twentieth Century had a large screen that was used for background and the background screens were removed later on. Why I even saw Jack rabbits scurrying across in the good old days when nobody locked their front doors.
But today I must apologize for those who live in San Diego. The aroma of urine is mainly in downtown San Diego, and after awhile we get used to it. Of course unlike Beverly Hills, it is the home to 10,000 without a roof over their heads. One gentleman renamed San Diego Obama City.
I fondly remember the Beverly Drive theater on the corner of Beverly and Wilshire. There was Jay's luggage and a Bath and Towel store. The story for the movie Schindler's List began in one of the luggage shops, but will try to remember his name later on.
But it is a new day, one day before the First of April. I still found it hard to believe that I could not find one skate board or bike in downtown Beverly Hills. Every shop had its scent of opulence. Little Santa Monica still had several un-rented shops. That was where its Chamber of Commerce was located.
I saw only three beggars downtown. The same black man still hung out at Nate and Al's Deli. He knew where the money was.
"Good morning sir."
I have learned not to respond in favor of not disturbing my wallet. I remember eating my fresh chopped liver sandwich next to another beggar, this one white. She had a big smile on her face and held a cardboard that read, "God Bless". We sat close to each other on a small ledge outside the Crate and Barrel store.
I spoke to my waitress and she told me there was a large contingent of Koreans who lived there now. I believed her as many took the elevator lift down for parking. Parking was a problem just like San Diego. (Not finished)
I still can't believe how Beverly Hills has changed. Why when I was a kid a century ago, It was a laid back town. You could walk across Olympic Blvd without being hit by a car. On same street, a Twentieth Century had a large screen that was used for background and the background screens were removed later on. Why I even saw Jack rabbits scurrying across in the good old days when nobody locked their front doors.
But today I must apologize for those who live in San Diego. The aroma of urine is mainly in downtown San Diego, and after awhile we get used to it. Of course unlike Beverly Hills, it is the home to 10,000 without a roof over their heads. One gentleman renamed San Diego Obama City.
I fondly remember the Beverly Drive theater on the corner of Beverly and Wilshire. There was Jay's luggage and a Bath and Towel store. The story for the movie Schindler's List began in one of the luggage shops, but will try to remember his name later on.
But it is a new day, one day before the First of April. I still found it hard to believe that I could not find one skate board or bike in downtown Beverly Hills. Every shop had its scent of opulence. Little Santa Monica still had several un-rented shops. That was where its Chamber of Commerce was located.
I saw only three beggars downtown. The same black man still hung out at Nate and Al's Deli. He knew where the money was.
"Good morning sir."
I have learned not to respond in favor of not disturbing my wallet. I remember eating my fresh chopped liver sandwich next to another beggar, this one white. She had a big smile on her face and held a cardboard that read, "God Bless". We sat close to each other on a small ledge outside the Crate and Barrel store.
I spoke to my waitress and she told me there was a large contingent of Koreans who lived there now. I believed her as many took the elevator lift down for parking. Parking was a problem just like San Diego. (Not finished)
Saturday, March 29, 2014
A Side Trip to Beverly Hills
One daughter lives in Belmont Shores, in the city of Long Beach. The other lives a block from Beverly Hills. I am allowed to use only the computers here for one day. Everything has changed in the library. Now the CD's and DVD's get top billing up front. Oh yes, my daughter lives, a block from the West Side Museum of Tolerance and Beverly Hills.
I had intended to take Metro Link from Oceanside, all the way to L.A. Its fare is ten dollars all day-and as far as Santa Barbara. Yet I felt too good to ride the rails, and besides it takes three hours. Dancing lessons two times a week has provided me with the lift for the drive, my two legs.
I made a toasted Jelly sandwich along with two hard boiled eggs. I did a quick toilet break that included fifteen minutes in the 'Y'. shower and bolted out the door. On B Street again I noticed the Nosh would have its unveiling on April Fools Day. The owner ;promised me a free matzo ball soup with this advertisement. From B Street the Green Line was one block away.
After I had tapped my card, the Trolley greeted me with the usual cling cling cling. My car was waiting for me at the Old Town Parking lot. Dolly too felt eager to go. It was seven thirty. I put my mind on cruise control and bypassed the Oceanside station. No Metro Link for me today.
I needed a pit stop for Dolly and me. To the right of the Ortega off ramp was a large friendly station. I took car of nature and pumped twenty dollars worth inside her stomach. Now both of us were satisfied. I asked two bikers the directions to the Amtrak and Metro-Link Station.
"Sir, just go west and follow the road. At the end turn left."
My daughter takes my her kids to a petting zoo. Do you know how to get there?
"The petting zoo is no far from the train station. You can't miss it."
I arrived in Beverly Hills at nine thirty, and none the worst for wear. My daughter slept while I took a few winks on her coach. Even her Yorkshire did not bark. It knows my smell by now. After I picked up two mangoes for ninety nine cents each at the Pico, Ralph's I marched to the #14 bus stop on Beverly Glen.
I had forgotten how much I had missed Beverly Hills. Across the street from the bus stop every car wore a handicap sticker. There were two beauty salons and one upstairs synagogue. I call the Pico location Little Tehran with a Jewish and Arabic flavor. I paid 25 cents for the ride to its library.
After my computer work is done, I will go to Nate and Al's for some fresh chopped liver and cross the street to the Paley Center. I will meet with its supervisor and try to set up a book signing there this year.
Afterwards, I took my daughter to Costco to fill up her fridge, since she had emptied it. Instead of going dancing in Torrance, I decided to get a few necessities for my youngest daughter. It was not easy sleeping on the floor of her bedroom, but I survived.
On Sunday, I left the apartment at seven thirty. I never drive when my legs will do. There is something about seeing and smelling more on foot rather than by car. While waiting for the #14 bus on the corner of Beverly Glen and Pico Blvd. I thought about the difference between Beverly Hills and San Diego.
Whereas Beverly Hills has a scent of expensive perfume, San Diego has the aroma of urine . I only saw two or three homeless in Beverly Hills and everything seemed clean. Why even the streets were repaved. The #14 bus picked me up for one quarter. Besides me, a gringo, it picked up two Mexicans on the way.
The flag ship for Beverly Hills, or Nate and Al's beckoned. To get the feeling of Beverly Hills I needed to order breakfast there.
"Mam, can you get me the short stack and can you throw in a few pickles?"
"What would you like to drink?"
"Get me a glass of cold water. Doing the Beverly Hills walk has made me high enough!"
A few waitresses sang happy birthday to Kevin. The waitress told me he reached 55 and gave me a slice of his birthday cake.
So far, I didn't see any skateboarders, bikers or knapsacks. It was pleasant not to hear any noises. I could read my book in peace. From there I crossed over to Starbucks and ordered a cold coffee. Again the opulence of Beverly Hills was evident. I did no belong, and thank God. I am simple an plain and hope to remain that way.
Yet San Diego is more diversified. It is rather like an amusement park. You can visit the new library, the zoo, the gas lamp, the Harbor, and Little Italy. For me, I love the Rose Garden at Balboa Park, or Ocean Beach just a few miles away. There is something about the ocean that make me feel complete.
I waited for the #14 Metro bus to return me back to my apartment. I needed to take my happier daughter to buy a few items from CVS and take a trip to Huntington Beach to visit my blind brother Mel. Yes, Beverly Hills felt like going to Treasure Island, but who need it, when my two treasures are my daughters.
I had intended to take Metro Link from Oceanside, all the way to L.A. Its fare is ten dollars all day-and as far as Santa Barbara. Yet I felt too good to ride the rails, and besides it takes three hours. Dancing lessons two times a week has provided me with the lift for the drive, my two legs.
I made a toasted Jelly sandwich along with two hard boiled eggs. I did a quick toilet break that included fifteen minutes in the 'Y'. shower and bolted out the door. On B Street again I noticed the Nosh would have its unveiling on April Fools Day. The owner ;promised me a free matzo ball soup with this advertisement. From B Street the Green Line was one block away.
After I had tapped my card, the Trolley greeted me with the usual cling cling cling. My car was waiting for me at the Old Town Parking lot. Dolly too felt eager to go. It was seven thirty. I put my mind on cruise control and bypassed the Oceanside station. No Metro Link for me today.
I needed a pit stop for Dolly and me. To the right of the Ortega off ramp was a large friendly station. I took car of nature and pumped twenty dollars worth inside her stomach. Now both of us were satisfied. I asked two bikers the directions to the Amtrak and Metro-Link Station.
"Sir, just go west and follow the road. At the end turn left."
My daughter takes my her kids to a petting zoo. Do you know how to get there?
"The petting zoo is no far from the train station. You can't miss it."
I arrived in Beverly Hills at nine thirty, and none the worst for wear. My daughter slept while I took a few winks on her coach. Even her Yorkshire did not bark. It knows my smell by now. After I picked up two mangoes for ninety nine cents each at the Pico, Ralph's I marched to the #14 bus stop on Beverly Glen.
I had forgotten how much I had missed Beverly Hills. Across the street from the bus stop every car wore a handicap sticker. There were two beauty salons and one upstairs synagogue. I call the Pico location Little Tehran with a Jewish and Arabic flavor. I paid 25 cents for the ride to its library.
After my computer work is done, I will go to Nate and Al's for some fresh chopped liver and cross the street to the Paley Center. I will meet with its supervisor and try to set up a book signing there this year.
Afterwards, I took my daughter to Costco to fill up her fridge, since she had emptied it. Instead of going dancing in Torrance, I decided to get a few necessities for my youngest daughter. It was not easy sleeping on the floor of her bedroom, but I survived.
On Sunday, I left the apartment at seven thirty. I never drive when my legs will do. There is something about seeing and smelling more on foot rather than by car. While waiting for the #14 bus on the corner of Beverly Glen and Pico Blvd. I thought about the difference between Beverly Hills and San Diego.
Whereas Beverly Hills has a scent of expensive perfume, San Diego has the aroma of urine . I only saw two or three homeless in Beverly Hills and everything seemed clean. Why even the streets were repaved. The #14 bus picked me up for one quarter. Besides me, a gringo, it picked up two Mexicans on the way.
The flag ship for Beverly Hills, or Nate and Al's beckoned. To get the feeling of Beverly Hills I needed to order breakfast there.
"Mam, can you get me the short stack and can you throw in a few pickles?"
"What would you like to drink?"
"Get me a glass of cold water. Doing the Beverly Hills walk has made me high enough!"
A few waitresses sang happy birthday to Kevin. The waitress told me he reached 55 and gave me a slice of his birthday cake.
So far, I didn't see any skateboarders, bikers or knapsacks. It was pleasant not to hear any noises. I could read my book in peace. From there I crossed over to Starbucks and ordered a cold coffee. Again the opulence of Beverly Hills was evident. I did no belong, and thank God. I am simple an plain and hope to remain that way.
Yet San Diego is more diversified. It is rather like an amusement park. You can visit the new library, the zoo, the gas lamp, the Harbor, and Little Italy. For me, I love the Rose Garden at Balboa Park, or Ocean Beach just a few miles away. There is something about the ocean that make me feel complete.
I waited for the #14 Metro bus to return me back to my apartment. I needed to take my happier daughter to buy a few items from CVS and take a trip to Huntington Beach to visit my blind brother Mel. Yes, Beverly Hills felt like going to Treasure Island, but who need it, when my two treasures are my daughters.
Friday, March 28, 2014
A Lion's Club Dance.
The 8 Freeway was a breeze. No stop and go at any time. I made it to my College turn off in a few minutes. The crop of ladies at the Lions Club did not look too appealing to me. Of course I might have looked the same to them.
I guess as we climb towards one hundred, our faces shrink but our noses and ears stick around. Now the beautiful red lip stick stands out like a mustard on a blue shirt. It is almost seven o'clock and the Moon Light Sonata Orchestra is ready to play. On the right corner sits a gal I recognize. She is one of the few that still as a face to go with her frame. I decided to walk toward her. She sees me and stand up.
In my thirties, all these beasts looked appetizing. But what must I resemble to them. No more do I look like Robert Redford or a blue eyed baby. So what! I am still alive, ain't I?
"Hi George. So glad you could make it. I am delighted to dance with you." The orchestra played a Salsa number even though their piano player did not show up. My ears needed to hear the piano as some dame took over the keys without any rhythm.
"Sorry George. Is your foot OK?" Marian's left foot stepped on my right one."
To hell with my foot. Can you look at me rather than your feet. Am I bad looking? Do you think that I will eat you?
"No but I have to see where you are going. I wish to keep in step with you." At that point she looked up at me, finally. She had a gorgeous face, a bit wrinkled but what does one expect for one reaching good old 70. I wrapped my arms around her and felt lumps in the right places. I told myself to calm down and control myself.
During intermission I sat down with her. So I won't bore my bloggers, I will summarize what she told me. I love to find out about people.
'I was born in San Francisco in the early forties. We moved to Ocean Beach. It did not have as many hippies then. At four, my Mom and Dad divorced. It felt depressed for a long time Mom took me to the skating ring on the weekends. The Movie theater was on Newton Street.
"Mom loved to play South Pacific on our record player. I loved to hear her sing. A few beach goers got too close to the cliffs and drowned. The tide pools excited me. I could find various shells and other sea creatures."
"Marian, did you ever marry?"
"Yes, to a Navy flier. He went to Vietnam and was hit by Agent Orange. He lived with cancer for five years. My son was killed in a car accident, but I am lucky to have a step daughter and also a daughter. When not baby sitting, I am learning to play bridge and take yoga to relax."
"Oh yes, I lived two years in Japan and that is where I got my spiritual qualities"
We danced a few more numbers and I gave her my card with my E mail. After dancing, I felt alive and ready to tackle life again. An easy drive back on the 8 led me to my free parking place in Old Town. I love taking the rails back to downtown from there I am getting used to the smell of real people.
I slept in this morning. I am looking forward to another dance with Marian.
I guess as we climb towards one hundred, our faces shrink but our noses and ears stick around. Now the beautiful red lip stick stands out like a mustard on a blue shirt. It is almost seven o'clock and the Moon Light Sonata Orchestra is ready to play. On the right corner sits a gal I recognize. She is one of the few that still as a face to go with her frame. I decided to walk toward her. She sees me and stand up.
In my thirties, all these beasts looked appetizing. But what must I resemble to them. No more do I look like Robert Redford or a blue eyed baby. So what! I am still alive, ain't I?
"Hi George. So glad you could make it. I am delighted to dance with you." The orchestra played a Salsa number even though their piano player did not show up. My ears needed to hear the piano as some dame took over the keys without any rhythm.
"Sorry George. Is your foot OK?" Marian's left foot stepped on my right one."
To hell with my foot. Can you look at me rather than your feet. Am I bad looking? Do you think that I will eat you?
"No but I have to see where you are going. I wish to keep in step with you." At that point she looked up at me, finally. She had a gorgeous face, a bit wrinkled but what does one expect for one reaching good old 70. I wrapped my arms around her and felt lumps in the right places. I told myself to calm down and control myself.
During intermission I sat down with her. So I won't bore my bloggers, I will summarize what she told me. I love to find out about people.
'I was born in San Francisco in the early forties. We moved to Ocean Beach. It did not have as many hippies then. At four, my Mom and Dad divorced. It felt depressed for a long time Mom took me to the skating ring on the weekends. The Movie theater was on Newton Street.
"Mom loved to play South Pacific on our record player. I loved to hear her sing. A few beach goers got too close to the cliffs and drowned. The tide pools excited me. I could find various shells and other sea creatures."
"Marian, did you ever marry?"
"Yes, to a Navy flier. He went to Vietnam and was hit by Agent Orange. He lived with cancer for five years. My son was killed in a car accident, but I am lucky to have a step daughter and also a daughter. When not baby sitting, I am learning to play bridge and take yoga to relax."
"Oh yes, I lived two years in Japan and that is where I got my spiritual qualities"
We danced a few more numbers and I gave her my card with my E mail. After dancing, I felt alive and ready to tackle life again. An easy drive back on the 8 led me to my free parking place in Old Town. I love taking the rails back to downtown from there I am getting used to the smell of real people.
I slept in this morning. I am looking forward to another dance with Marian.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Batter Up!
The San Diego Padres Baseball season begins Sunday. It is a night game so bring blankets and a heavy jacket. And by no means drive to the park. Let me take seventh inning stretch to show you Never, ever drive to Petco Park. Seven bad things will happen-I mentioned them in earlier blogs.
Those who come in from North County can park at any of the commuter station parking lots. They are free and safe. Buy a Compass ticket before boarding. Most trains run early morning or late afternoon. Check the time schedules.
Like Amtrak, you may bring drinks on board, but don't ever leave the train with an open bottle. You will be ticketed. Please don't drink when with kids. We don't wish them to get the habit too early. There are toilet closets on board. A yellow light outside the commode tells you it is in use. On most baseball day or night games on the Coaster, it is quite noisy. I use a ear plugs during baseball season. Their is a water tap next to the toilet closet.
You can transfer to a Green Line Trolley at Old Town. Again, you must purchase a ticket at the dispenser. Every fifteen minutes there is a trolley. Like the Coaster train, the scenic views are worth the price of the ticket.
Many fans like to stop at the Gas Lamp area for great food and wine. To the right of the Tin Fish Cafe is a public restroom. Go there when nature calls, and a second time if you forget, like me. For those who en-train before the game. You may wish to visit the new San Diego library if time permits. There are endless tours offered and it is only two blocks from the Stadium. Enter for the tours on Eleventh Street.
The Green Line Trolley returns you back to the Santa Fe Train Station. Drinking is forbidden after nine o'clock and there is always a late Coaster train for your departure. Also, Amtrak also offers a ride home and stops at each of the Coaster stops like Encinitas, Carlsbad and Oceanside.
Tuesday is a day game. The library opens its doors at nine thirty. You can take the Trolley to the Imperial Station and at the Baseball Park Deli there. It offers simple but filling breakfasts and lunches. You can get the feel of San Diego eating there. The Library is only two clocks north from the Deli. Those who bag it can take it to the ninth floor for a view of Tijuana, the ball park, and the Coronado Bridge. To the East is Logan and the Sherman Heights area.
The New Library offers over one hundred and fifty state of the art computers. You will be dazzled by them.
So root root root for the home team, if they don't win its a shame...but you are never out at the Old Ball...Park.
Nuts and Bolts in San Diego: No matter where you stand, San Diego's View is the same: beautiful
Those who come in from North County can park at any of the commuter station parking lots. They are free and safe. Buy a Compass ticket before boarding. Most trains run early morning or late afternoon. Check the time schedules.
Like Amtrak, you may bring drinks on board, but don't ever leave the train with an open bottle. You will be ticketed. Please don't drink when with kids. We don't wish them to get the habit too early. There are toilet closets on board. A yellow light outside the commode tells you it is in use. On most baseball day or night games on the Coaster, it is quite noisy. I use a ear plugs during baseball season. Their is a water tap next to the toilet closet.
You can transfer to a Green Line Trolley at Old Town. Again, you must purchase a ticket at the dispenser. Every fifteen minutes there is a trolley. Like the Coaster train, the scenic views are worth the price of the ticket.
Many fans like to stop at the Gas Lamp area for great food and wine. To the right of the Tin Fish Cafe is a public restroom. Go there when nature calls, and a second time if you forget, like me. For those who en-train before the game. You may wish to visit the new San Diego library if time permits. There are endless tours offered and it is only two blocks from the Stadium. Enter for the tours on Eleventh Street.
The Green Line Trolley returns you back to the Santa Fe Train Station. Drinking is forbidden after nine o'clock and there is always a late Coaster train for your departure. Also, Amtrak also offers a ride home and stops at each of the Coaster stops like Encinitas, Carlsbad and Oceanside.
Tuesday is a day game. The library opens its doors at nine thirty. You can take the Trolley to the Imperial Station and at the Baseball Park Deli there. It offers simple but filling breakfasts and lunches. You can get the feel of San Diego eating there. The Library is only two clocks north from the Deli. Those who bag it can take it to the ninth floor for a view of Tijuana, the ball park, and the Coronado Bridge. To the East is Logan and the Sherman Heights area.
The New Library offers over one hundred and fifty state of the art computers. You will be dazzled by them.
So root root root for the home team, if they don't win its a shame...but you are never out at the Old Ball...Park.
Nuts and Bolts in San Diego: No matter where you stand, San Diego's View is the same: beautiful
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
The Carlsbad Flower Fields
The Flower Fields of Carlsbad are in full bloom, somewhat early. The hot weather caught Carlsbad by surprise when buds turned to flowers overnight. I witnessed the miracle yesterday while I drove on Palomar Airport Road on my way to Costco.
Yesterday outdid the day before. My body now is getting accustomed to two dance lessons every week. My rejuvenated body stoked up my heart and brain. Everything felt wonderful, and for no reason - since - nothing has changed in my life except me.
I allowed the Amtrak to do my driving yesterday. This commuter train allowed me to ease into my day. I just love Amtrak's smooth drive with a great view of God's creation. My Coaster pass had added lots of free miles on this train. I hope to get a free ride to Portland later.
Yesterday was a productive day. I spent it at the Encinitas Computer room. After two hours of keyboard work, and a visit to Table 5 for lunch, I decided to get myself organized. I needed to put papers into my storage shed in Carlsbad. First I needed to satisfy my stomach at the Tip Top restaurant. Then I bought some vegetables at the Grand Market in back.
"How you doing Mr. Garrett. How's the blog?"
Your Texas juice oranges has done the trick. I feel great. As long as I buy and eat vegetables here, nothing can go wrong.
Vince placed a fresh head of green lettuce, with a ripe tomato and onions in my bag. I could just taste the tomatoes on top of my tuna sandwich. There is nothing like fresh fruit and vegetables-some from local farmers.
Instead of placing papers into my storage bin across the street, I decided to drive to Costco off of Palomar Road. It was time for more Kirkland Albacore Tuna. It is only $14 for eight large cans, and each can is filled with fresh tuna. It is so fresh that my tongue unravels before the fish enters my mouth.
Now my eyes wished to get into the act. The famous Carlsbad flowers danced in front of me showing off a bevy of gorgeous flowers. I even had to stop my car and take a picture of this unannounced event. Now with my eyes taken care of, my tongue needed a fix. I bought my eight cans of Albacore Tuna and then my stomach spoke. What about me?
"Now George, each Polish dog is only one sixty. And make sure to add lots of mustard covered in onions. Well who in God's name could overrule my gut? I unfastened my belt and dove into the Dog. Wow what a way to end a perfect Gorgeous Day.
Nuts and Bolts for today: What we see and eat determines how we think.
Yesterday outdid the day before. My body now is getting accustomed to two dance lessons every week. My rejuvenated body stoked up my heart and brain. Everything felt wonderful, and for no reason - since - nothing has changed in my life except me.
I allowed the Amtrak to do my driving yesterday. This commuter train allowed me to ease into my day. I just love Amtrak's smooth drive with a great view of God's creation. My Coaster pass had added lots of free miles on this train. I hope to get a free ride to Portland later.
Yesterday was a productive day. I spent it at the Encinitas Computer room. After two hours of keyboard work, and a visit to Table 5 for lunch, I decided to get myself organized. I needed to put papers into my storage shed in Carlsbad. First I needed to satisfy my stomach at the Tip Top restaurant. Then I bought some vegetables at the Grand Market in back.
"How you doing Mr. Garrett. How's the blog?"
Your Texas juice oranges has done the trick. I feel great. As long as I buy and eat vegetables here, nothing can go wrong.
Vince placed a fresh head of green lettuce, with a ripe tomato and onions in my bag. I could just taste the tomatoes on top of my tuna sandwich. There is nothing like fresh fruit and vegetables-some from local farmers.
Instead of placing papers into my storage bin across the street, I decided to drive to Costco off of Palomar Road. It was time for more Kirkland Albacore Tuna. It is only $14 for eight large cans, and each can is filled with fresh tuna. It is so fresh that my tongue unravels before the fish enters my mouth.
Now my eyes wished to get into the act. The famous Carlsbad flowers danced in front of me showing off a bevy of gorgeous flowers. I even had to stop my car and take a picture of this unannounced event. Now with my eyes taken care of, my tongue needed a fix. I bought my eight cans of Albacore Tuna and then my stomach spoke. What about me?
"Now George, each Polish dog is only one sixty. And make sure to add lots of mustard covered in onions. Well who in God's name could overrule my gut? I unfastened my belt and dove into the Dog. Wow what a way to end a perfect Gorgeous Day.
Nuts and Bolts for today: What we see and eat determines how we think.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
More with Lady Barbara
"I am sure the Mott family is behind Obama today. That is why our country is going to the dogs. Remember George when I told you George Schmidt hated my guts. It probably was the reason he wished to send my husband to Saudi-Arabia to build a power plants."
Earlier that morning, I took two dirty shirts to be dry cleaned at the cleaners on B Street across from the Santa Fe Station. There was something special about the store where the owner spoke English. Her name was Marion and she promised to change the stores name from Splendid to one more appropriate
Next store a banner had signaled the opening of the Nosh. It would be an April 1 opening. I wondered if it as a put on or real. I just knew a Jewish deli meant lots of business for the cleaners next door. I strode to the #567 Amtrak for my trip to Encinitas. I hoped that Lady Barbara's back was better. I miss her when she is not there.
For those new to my Blog, Lady Barbara married the second in command of Bechtel, and also related to numerous famous Greene's down through history. Her ancestry goes back to the Sixth Wife of Henry the Eighth. Her dislike of the Mott family goes way back when they "controlled the Democratic Party. The wife of Schmidt despised her since she was an outspoken Republican.
Again we are at Table number 5. With us today are Thomas, Ron, Abe, Leona and me. It is chicken with the trimmings. Lady Barbara continues.
"My husband Jay and I went to Mexico a few times on business. For the life of me, I did not know why some Mexican women did not shave their legs. One told me they did not wish to be mistaken for an Indian since they don't have hair on their legs. I found out about the animosity of the ruling class and the Indians. It is probably why they could not ever get ahead in life."
At that moment, Leona cut a piece of her chicken for me and a few vegetables. She is only ninety five and always repeats what her Dad told her. "Never be anything but a Democrat." I had not called for lunch since I thought I would go to the new San Diego Library. My plans change from moment to moment since I listen to Him and I don't disappoint.
Lady Barbara had her legs folded on a chair to relieve the pain from her back. She had been born with a curved spine, much like a camel. In fact, she could no take regular gym class. Now even though these are just tidbits from Table 5, I hope you will allow me to recall her story after I had told her how my Mom beat the hell out of me with a broom.
"You are not alone. After we knelt down to do our prayers, I did not fall asleep. I waited for my Dad to enter my room and I would go to the bathroom. My brother told me later on that he abused him when I wasn't there."
I told Barbara that in the forties, I sold figs from my red wagon for one penny a piece. Some ate too many and I charged them a nickle to use our toilet.
"Well George, it reminds me of when my brother and I sold lemonade on the corner. Mom got so embarrassed with us. We always went to bed a little hungry but relaxed when my Mom told my Dad to shove off. I never saw my Dad again and may have been the reason I married Jay. We both needed each other so much. Jay's Dad had divorced his Mom and he never knew his own Dad. He had been brought up in a boarding house."
"Why Jay ruled in my house. He never gave me or the kids any cross words. His words were followed with ease and piece. We made all say the Lord's prayer before bed. Each of our seven kids turned out not just OK but with great jobs."
At that point, her lift came and Ron helped her carry the bag of left overs. I came into the computer room one hour ago to make sure her story would never be forgotten. After all, she has seventeen Grand Children en and three Great Ones.
Earlier that morning, I took two dirty shirts to be dry cleaned at the cleaners on B Street across from the Santa Fe Station. There was something special about the store where the owner spoke English. Her name was Marion and she promised to change the stores name from Splendid to one more appropriate
Next store a banner had signaled the opening of the Nosh. It would be an April 1 opening. I wondered if it as a put on or real. I just knew a Jewish deli meant lots of business for the cleaners next door. I strode to the #567 Amtrak for my trip to Encinitas. I hoped that Lady Barbara's back was better. I miss her when she is not there.
For those new to my Blog, Lady Barbara married the second in command of Bechtel, and also related to numerous famous Greene's down through history. Her ancestry goes back to the Sixth Wife of Henry the Eighth. Her dislike of the Mott family goes way back when they "controlled the Democratic Party. The wife of Schmidt despised her since she was an outspoken Republican.
Again we are at Table number 5. With us today are Thomas, Ron, Abe, Leona and me. It is chicken with the trimmings. Lady Barbara continues.
"My husband Jay and I went to Mexico a few times on business. For the life of me, I did not know why some Mexican women did not shave their legs. One told me they did not wish to be mistaken for an Indian since they don't have hair on their legs. I found out about the animosity of the ruling class and the Indians. It is probably why they could not ever get ahead in life."
At that moment, Leona cut a piece of her chicken for me and a few vegetables. She is only ninety five and always repeats what her Dad told her. "Never be anything but a Democrat." I had not called for lunch since I thought I would go to the new San Diego Library. My plans change from moment to moment since I listen to Him and I don't disappoint.
Lady Barbara had her legs folded on a chair to relieve the pain from her back. She had been born with a curved spine, much like a camel. In fact, she could no take regular gym class. Now even though these are just tidbits from Table 5, I hope you will allow me to recall her story after I had told her how my Mom beat the hell out of me with a broom.
"You are not alone. After we knelt down to do our prayers, I did not fall asleep. I waited for my Dad to enter my room and I would go to the bathroom. My brother told me later on that he abused him when I wasn't there."
I told Barbara that in the forties, I sold figs from my red wagon for one penny a piece. Some ate too many and I charged them a nickle to use our toilet.
"Well George, it reminds me of when my brother and I sold lemonade on the corner. Mom got so embarrassed with us. We always went to bed a little hungry but relaxed when my Mom told my Dad to shove off. I never saw my Dad again and may have been the reason I married Jay. We both needed each other so much. Jay's Dad had divorced his Mom and he never knew his own Dad. He had been brought up in a boarding house."
"Why Jay ruled in my house. He never gave me or the kids any cross words. His words were followed with ease and piece. We made all say the Lord's prayer before bed. Each of our seven kids turned out not just OK but with great jobs."
At that point, her lift came and Ron helped her carry the bag of left overs. I came into the computer room one hour ago to make sure her story would never be forgotten. After all, she has seventeen Grand Children en and three Great Ones.
The Bull Run Trolley
In a flash the name came over me. Again, I found myself on the Blue Line in downtown San Diego. In the last three months, I have never seen any T.S.A. worker checking for tickets-since it is too dangerous. And anyway, nobody on this line has the money to pay a fine.
I needed to go to the majestic San Diego Library to beef up my blog and find out where I can take classes. So far with Google, I have been farting in the wind. My energy needs to be placed where it can produce the most good. I have not received a dime from Google-so far.
Now back to the Bull Run Express. The Blue Line stops at American Plaza every fifteen minutes to pick up their patrons. Many are going to the border towns or the East Side of San Diego. Filthy language comes on board as usual, along with the misfits of life. Two wheelchairs are lifted. One man enters with a hot dog and splashes mustard on the sitter next to him. The sitter wipes it off without any rancor.
One women sits across from me. Her body takes up the entire seat and part of the aisle. She smiles at me and asks if the "paper is mine.". A couple of shirtless coke bottles come aboard holding their tattooed skate boards. Many of the young kids carry tattoos and one man holds onto a service dog.
Thousands of exports from across the border get on the train. They are the domestics, servers, and others who do the dirty work in San Diego. I forgot to wear my nose plugs since the smell of dead sweat overcomes me
When the train arches onto Park Blvd, more tents and sleeping bags come to life. A Ralph's shopping cart is their cupboard. Bottles, cans and just about everything else are inside the Ralph's shopping cart. Ralph's doesn't care. They just increase the prices.
I get off on Market and Parks and go east towards J Street. I hear ambulances and see a squad car's driver signaling. A body is too my left. It quivers, thank God, and is picked up by the paramedics. They take him inside their meat-mobile to see what was wrong.
There are over thirty people waiting to get inside the Mission Restaurant My watch says one o'cock so I walk past the Old Broom Works and turn up Eleventh Street. Many lumber towards the library. I enter the Eleventh Street gate to avoid the rush. Yes, it is a Bull Run Rush. Many escalate to the second floor and computers. There are almost 200 state of the art computers. Each, like me, can leave reality into their new world.
After a well- needed bathroom break, they return to the computer for their two hours of heaven. they are mainly whites and blacks, but it is really an amalgamation of everyone. I run my password and my identity and write the above. The air conditioning is just the right tonic for my air filter. The air quality is quite good today. A little light rain is on the way. Clean air means my my mind is working.
It is now three o'clock and time to go upstairs to the ninth floor and the California room. It is there I work the digital microfiche computer to add more zest in my football story. I wish to crop pictures of the rest of the Trojan and some Bruins onto my book. It is exciting to read about the thirties. I wish to know more about my parents who put me through school.
Nuts and bolts for today. Bad air quality translates into poor educational performance.
I needed to go to the majestic San Diego Library to beef up my blog and find out where I can take classes. So far with Google, I have been farting in the wind. My energy needs to be placed where it can produce the most good. I have not received a dime from Google-so far.
Now back to the Bull Run Express. The Blue Line stops at American Plaza every fifteen minutes to pick up their patrons. Many are going to the border towns or the East Side of San Diego. Filthy language comes on board as usual, along with the misfits of life. Two wheelchairs are lifted. One man enters with a hot dog and splashes mustard on the sitter next to him. The sitter wipes it off without any rancor.
One women sits across from me. Her body takes up the entire seat and part of the aisle. She smiles at me and asks if the "paper is mine.". A couple of shirtless coke bottles come aboard holding their tattooed skate boards. Many of the young kids carry tattoos and one man holds onto a service dog.
Thousands of exports from across the border get on the train. They are the domestics, servers, and others who do the dirty work in San Diego. I forgot to wear my nose plugs since the smell of dead sweat overcomes me
When the train arches onto Park Blvd, more tents and sleeping bags come to life. A Ralph's shopping cart is their cupboard. Bottles, cans and just about everything else are inside the Ralph's shopping cart. Ralph's doesn't care. They just increase the prices.
I get off on Market and Parks and go east towards J Street. I hear ambulances and see a squad car's driver signaling. A body is too my left. It quivers, thank God, and is picked up by the paramedics. They take him inside their meat-mobile to see what was wrong.
There are over thirty people waiting to get inside the Mission Restaurant My watch says one o'cock so I walk past the Old Broom Works and turn up Eleventh Street. Many lumber towards the library. I enter the Eleventh Street gate to avoid the rush. Yes, it is a Bull Run Rush. Many escalate to the second floor and computers. There are almost 200 state of the art computers. Each, like me, can leave reality into their new world.
After a well- needed bathroom break, they return to the computer for their two hours of heaven. they are mainly whites and blacks, but it is really an amalgamation of everyone. I run my password and my identity and write the above. The air conditioning is just the right tonic for my air filter. The air quality is quite good today. A little light rain is on the way. Clean air means my my mind is working.
It is now three o'clock and time to go upstairs to the ninth floor and the California room. It is there I work the digital microfiche computer to add more zest in my football story. I wish to crop pictures of the rest of the Trojan and some Bruins onto my book. It is exciting to read about the thirties. I wish to know more about my parents who put me through school.
Nuts and bolts for today. Bad air quality translates into poor educational performance.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Dr. Livingston I Presume
"Dr. Livingston I presume?"
I had been dancing with Mrs. Toon when I turned left instead of right. The tall Korean's name tag said Dr. Lee. We faced each other cheek to cheek. He gave me a quizzical look and asked my name. Over forty years ago while a member of a Book-of-the-Month club I read a book about two African explorers. One was named Dr. Livingston. I could only surmise the tall Korean had made our bumping into each other a jest-full comment. Hell what else could this rigid well mannered gentlemen say when I had interrupted his lesson?
It was Sunday evening and again I had marshaled my resources to drive to the Balboa Park's Balboa Bay Ballroom. I had taken a one hour nap and picked up a energy drink at the nearby Seven Eleven. My blood pressure had cascaded down to 110/170 that morning. The lower blood pressure decreased stress and gave all of my organs a chance to rest.
One fourth of the patrons were Korean. Whereas the Koreans have three or four letters to their name, the Japanese have eight or nine and begin with a 'W' or 'Y'. My how Toon and Wong doted over me-why you would have thought I was their baby. I danced with a few others who won their Army stripes dancing with me. I just have to listen to the music. Thinking the steps does not work for me.
Over two hundred showed up tonight and I wondered why San Diego's hotels offer ballroom dancing. It was probably against the codes. Just maybe the old Sports arena could be rehabbed into a ballroom for dancing.
This Friday the Balboa Ballroom will be dark and the last Fox Trot and Salsa lessons will be taught Sunday. Earlier on Sunday, you may wish to listen to the Spreckles organ at two o'clock and then go for a few food dips at the Prado restaurant. For me, the violin soloist beside the Lily Pond fulfills my needs for serenity. The other day a party of twenty loaded up his violin case with lost of loose change.
For newcomers to the Friday and Sunday evenings classes, they begin at seven and have beginning, intermediate and advance lessons going on simultaneously. While you learn, all of your trouble will be replaced with laughter, the touch of another, and most of all music.
The San Diego Follies tickets are now on sell. Tickets range from $20 to $40. They will perform from June 19-22, 2014. Visit sandiegofollies.com for information.
I had been dancing with Mrs. Toon when I turned left instead of right. The tall Korean's name tag said Dr. Lee. We faced each other cheek to cheek. He gave me a quizzical look and asked my name. Over forty years ago while a member of a Book-of-the-Month club I read a book about two African explorers. One was named Dr. Livingston. I could only surmise the tall Korean had made our bumping into each other a jest-full comment. Hell what else could this rigid well mannered gentlemen say when I had interrupted his lesson?
It was Sunday evening and again I had marshaled my resources to drive to the Balboa Park's Balboa Bay Ballroom. I had taken a one hour nap and picked up a energy drink at the nearby Seven Eleven. My blood pressure had cascaded down to 110/170 that morning. The lower blood pressure decreased stress and gave all of my organs a chance to rest.
One fourth of the patrons were Korean. Whereas the Koreans have three or four letters to their name, the Japanese have eight or nine and begin with a 'W' or 'Y'. My how Toon and Wong doted over me-why you would have thought I was their baby. I danced with a few others who won their Army stripes dancing with me. I just have to listen to the music. Thinking the steps does not work for me.
Over two hundred showed up tonight and I wondered why San Diego's hotels offer ballroom dancing. It was probably against the codes. Just maybe the old Sports arena could be rehabbed into a ballroom for dancing.
This Friday the Balboa Ballroom will be dark and the last Fox Trot and Salsa lessons will be taught Sunday. Earlier on Sunday, you may wish to listen to the Spreckles organ at two o'clock and then go for a few food dips at the Prado restaurant. For me, the violin soloist beside the Lily Pond fulfills my needs for serenity. The other day a party of twenty loaded up his violin case with lost of loose change.
For newcomers to the Friday and Sunday evenings classes, they begin at seven and have beginning, intermediate and advance lessons going on simultaneously. While you learn, all of your trouble will be replaced with laughter, the touch of another, and most of all music.
The San Diego Follies tickets are now on sell. Tickets range from $20 to $40. They will perform from June 19-22, 2014. Visit sandiegofollies.com for information.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Balboa Park Dance Class-I got it!
"You can't play the piano!" The toothless security guard said it twice.
"Why if was thirty years younger I would knock the rest of your teeth out of your mouth! But I am smart enough to know it just ain't worth it." No longer in a serene mood, to quit the Steinway and take my legs into the Balboa Bay dance hall. Twilight on Fridays my dance lessons began at seven o'clock. Now I would only need three dollars since I had joined a few weeks earlier.
I had visited Prado's Happy Hour meal an hour earlier. The coffee's caffeine did the trick. My bronchial tubes were now in action. I could breathe. For twelve dollars I had treated myself to popcorn shrimp, fries and also two cups of strong coffee. I needed to reboot my air filter so spring time's allergies would not get the best of me.
The computer played a few waltzes and tango when the first lesson began. Swivel-Man Steve was my teacher. Tonight the blue shirt on black pants would continue with our March lessons of Salsa and Foxtrot. The lessons began and soon the piano man was forgotten. He showed us a new move. We did a quick two step wiggle forward and back and finally stop. I got it! I got it!
"Now get a partner." The women stood on one side of the room and we faced them. This time three ladies came at me. I chose the less feminine so to concentrate better. I did not wish to get to excited with the other two. The thin Japanese lady laughed each time our legs became so tangled we could not continue. Later I found out the damsel's name was Toon.
My body became hot with excitement and the joy of learning the steps of the Fox Trot. Now Cup Cake announced "One more minute" for the lesson. Then live music began for a few minutes and I put my new steps into practice After a short water break, we began to learn the Salsa. The underarm swing gave me a few problems but at the end of the second session, I did it. Again, I found myself dancing with Mrs. Toon. She was a real good sport with a perpetual smile.
The lessons had begun at seven and at eight thirty, free dancing began. Straight ahead I caught sight of Betty. I had danced with her a few weeks earlier. She was a tall vivacious blond with a perpetual smile.
"Well I am not sure about the Tango."
"Don't worry, we can struggle together." We dance several dances.
"I saw you George in Encinitas. You did not see me." Her sexy moves energized me. I could have dance forever. I invited her to Prado's next week. I had to go and catch the trolley. Oh yes the security guard was outside with a cigarette in one hand and a phone in the other I can't remember when I had been so excited. I hoped to have more run-ins with Betty since I am in the market for a mate.
"Why if was thirty years younger I would knock the rest of your teeth out of your mouth! But I am smart enough to know it just ain't worth it." No longer in a serene mood, to quit the Steinway and take my legs into the Balboa Bay dance hall. Twilight on Fridays my dance lessons began at seven o'clock. Now I would only need three dollars since I had joined a few weeks earlier.
I had visited Prado's Happy Hour meal an hour earlier. The coffee's caffeine did the trick. My bronchial tubes were now in action. I could breathe. For twelve dollars I had treated myself to popcorn shrimp, fries and also two cups of strong coffee. I needed to reboot my air filter so spring time's allergies would not get the best of me.
The computer played a few waltzes and tango when the first lesson began. Swivel-Man Steve was my teacher. Tonight the blue shirt on black pants would continue with our March lessons of Salsa and Foxtrot. The lessons began and soon the piano man was forgotten. He showed us a new move. We did a quick two step wiggle forward and back and finally stop. I got it! I got it!
"Now get a partner." The women stood on one side of the room and we faced them. This time three ladies came at me. I chose the less feminine so to concentrate better. I did not wish to get to excited with the other two. The thin Japanese lady laughed each time our legs became so tangled we could not continue. Later I found out the damsel's name was Toon.
My body became hot with excitement and the joy of learning the steps of the Fox Trot. Now Cup Cake announced "One more minute" for the lesson. Then live music began for a few minutes and I put my new steps into practice After a short water break, we began to learn the Salsa. The underarm swing gave me a few problems but at the end of the second session, I did it. Again, I found myself dancing with Mrs. Toon. She was a real good sport with a perpetual smile.
The lessons had begun at seven and at eight thirty, free dancing began. Straight ahead I caught sight of Betty. I had danced with her a few weeks earlier. She was a tall vivacious blond with a perpetual smile.
"Well I am not sure about the Tango."
"Don't worry, we can struggle together." We dance several dances.
"I saw you George in Encinitas. You did not see me." Her sexy moves energized me. I could have dance forever. I invited her to Prado's next week. I had to go and catch the trolley. Oh yes the security guard was outside with a cigarette in one hand and a phone in the other I can't remember when I had been so excited. I hoped to have more run-ins with Betty since I am in the market for a mate.
Friday, March 21, 2014
San Diego has Talent
"Sir, I have some extra dental floss. Please take this." A gorgeous blond with immaculate white teeth faced me at the Balboa Park's Hall of Champions cafe. I had been pouring over my Chuck Yeager book and waiting for my three dollar chili bowl to cool.
"I really don't need it, but thank you. I lost most of my teeth the last couple of years so no longer use them. Too bad I didn't use them a long time ago."
The heavy set blond did not budge. She stood looking at me. I knew she probably came for the security convention here. Over one hundred well dressed patrons had gathered along with exhibitors of the latest devices.
Well like most of my chats, one thing leads to another and off I go. "Your teeth are perfect and so white. You must have been born with a tooth brush in your hand."
"Well all of them have been capped. My parents were alcoholics and never raised me. One of my six sisters did, and she turned out great. I worked on the interior of old cars until I could not live with my parents in Boston anymore"
"I drove to Santa Barbara and took care of older people in exchange for their garage. I met my husband while he sold insurance. Later I saw him again and we married. Unlike other law enforcement men, he was calm."
She spoke about the Salinas Valley and it produces more wine than the Napa Valley. The mother of three daughters invited me to her home in Salinas where her husband serves as the Police Chief. The rest of what she told me was private. In any case, I wished to get to the San Diego Talent Show and see if anybody had better talent than your writer-they did, and-how.
The five dollars admission fee provided me with one hundred dollars worth of entertainment. Over two hundred old folks paid and got their moneys worth. The event took place at the Balboa Park Club house where I take my ballroom dancing lessons.
There were about twenty acts. It was not the singing but the tape dancing of these stars that excited me. Now I wish to take tap dance lessons. It was La Jolla's Peggy Padilla's tap dancing shoes that stole the show. How in God's name could anybody dance that way-why at her age? Now there's one gal I would like to marry. Just maybe she could teach me a lesson or two.
One act featured a comedy routine as a promo for the San Diego Follies in June. I could not get over how perfect and well conditioned their bodies looked. The Follies are coming in June, and what you didn't see today you can later when June will be busting out all over.
My fingers itched to do their tape dance on the San Diego's Library computers. And I never deny my fingers when they have the itch to write. The number 7 bus took me down below where I transferred on a Blue Trolley for the library. i spent two hours there before returning to the 'Y". But the day would never end.
At five thirty I rode the five thirty Coaster to Encinitas. I needed to see the twilight sun go down and maybe get in a game of volleyball or two. I didn't get to play but got a relaxed ride home on the Amtrak out of :Los Angeles.
It was and end to a perfect San Diego Day.
"I really don't need it, but thank you. I lost most of my teeth the last couple of years so no longer use them. Too bad I didn't use them a long time ago."
The heavy set blond did not budge. She stood looking at me. I knew she probably came for the security convention here. Over one hundred well dressed patrons had gathered along with exhibitors of the latest devices.
Well like most of my chats, one thing leads to another and off I go. "Your teeth are perfect and so white. You must have been born with a tooth brush in your hand."
"Well all of them have been capped. My parents were alcoholics and never raised me. One of my six sisters did, and she turned out great. I worked on the interior of old cars until I could not live with my parents in Boston anymore"
"I drove to Santa Barbara and took care of older people in exchange for their garage. I met my husband while he sold insurance. Later I saw him again and we married. Unlike other law enforcement men, he was calm."
She spoke about the Salinas Valley and it produces more wine than the Napa Valley. The mother of three daughters invited me to her home in Salinas where her husband serves as the Police Chief. The rest of what she told me was private. In any case, I wished to get to the San Diego Talent Show and see if anybody had better talent than your writer-they did, and-how.
The five dollars admission fee provided me with one hundred dollars worth of entertainment. Over two hundred old folks paid and got their moneys worth. The event took place at the Balboa Park Club house where I take my ballroom dancing lessons.
There were about twenty acts. It was not the singing but the tape dancing of these stars that excited me. Now I wish to take tap dance lessons. It was La Jolla's Peggy Padilla's tap dancing shoes that stole the show. How in God's name could anybody dance that way-why at her age? Now there's one gal I would like to marry. Just maybe she could teach me a lesson or two.
One act featured a comedy routine as a promo for the San Diego Follies in June. I could not get over how perfect and well conditioned their bodies looked. The Follies are coming in June, and what you didn't see today you can later when June will be busting out all over.
My fingers itched to do their tape dance on the San Diego's Library computers. And I never deny my fingers when they have the itch to write. The number 7 bus took me down below where I transferred on a Blue Trolley for the library. i spent two hours there before returning to the 'Y". But the day would never end.
At five thirty I rode the five thirty Coaster to Encinitas. I needed to see the twilight sun go down and maybe get in a game of volleyball or two. I didn't get to play but got a relaxed ride home on the Amtrak out of :Los Angeles.
It was and end to a perfect San Diego Day.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
The Balboa Park Rose Garden
Today I felt I needed change in my diet. Why it was the fist day of spring in San Diego. Balboa Park beckoned so I didn't even shave, since the Roses at the Balboa Garden would not care how I looked. Little did I know that Steve Smith was giving my Roses a haircut.
At about nine o'clock I had left the downtown "Y' and the Manager Thomas sent me on my way with a cup of complimentary coffee. I walked a few blocks east for the Number 7 bus. I met a muscle bound gentleman and struck up a conversation.
"I left home and worked on merchant ships until I hurt my back. I received $900 a month and use it for food and my 24 Hour Fitness membership. Originally I was from Boston."
May I ask where you going now?
"Every Monday and Thursday, I get a free breakfast at the church on 25th and University. I am waiting for the number 15 bus. Sometimes I eat at the Salvation Army but their meal is not close to the meal offered at the church. (The 15 bus comes every thirty minutes and drops you off at State College.)
My number 7 arrived and I tapped my Compass card while getting aboard. The bus driver ignored me when I bid him a "good morning". My first stop would be the Rose Garden to the east of the bridge. My stop was one before the Zoo on Park Blvd.
I sat down on logs to the south of the cactus garden. Their thorns reminded me of my girl friend Shelly Feltnot. If you touch them it bleeds, but wait awhile and the thorns turn to flowers. One might say they are bipolar. You might say they are bipolar. I had brought along a herring sandwich, four eggs, and two bananas. Over me a mighty Elm peered down.
"I am tired of eating all of these nuts. Can you throw an egg up at me?"
It felt fishy that a tree would speak to me. Scared, I branched off south to the Rose Garden. Four years ago, I made the Garden of Roses my home away from home. The Roses served as food for my tired soul. Besides they looked divine and produced a nice scent. Each Rose bed had a different name. Some beds were named Betty Boop, Apricot Drift, Ice Berg, Dick Clark and a host of others.
I noticed a man giving a haircut to some of the Rose Bushes.
"Guess you are cutting the deadwood."
"Yes, the vines without buds must go. As you can see they are doing just fine after the rain we had a week ago. Raccoon and some ground squirrels give me most of my problems. They eat away at the Roses."
Now since my reader might be getting bored, I lumped his story into two paragraphs. Steve Smith dressed in blue and wore black gloves. Thin and neat, no motion went wasted as he cut and cut away.
"I moved here in 1955. I had served in Vietnam and lived in Japan. I worked for a company here that put up the statue of the sailor kissing the nurse next to the Midway. Originally, a traveling company had placed the couple here but they soon went out of business. In about 2006, the Port Authority of San Diego and Midway came up with the money to build the statue as you see it. Also, I was in charge of the Bob Hope exhibit right next to it. Connie Stevens, Norm Crosby and Rachel Welsh came to the unveiling of the Bob Hope Memorial.
"I began living here in 1955. The weather then was much cooler but I don't mind. I have three children and thirteen grand ones. I divorced about twenty five years ago. Well I got to go now, my Japanese friend is coming over."
From the Rose Garden I marched to the senior center but found it closed. To my chagrin, I found out it was closed due to a talent show at the Balboa Club. My next blog will be about the senior citizen talent show.
At about nine o'clock I had left the downtown "Y' and the Manager Thomas sent me on my way with a cup of complimentary coffee. I walked a few blocks east for the Number 7 bus. I met a muscle bound gentleman and struck up a conversation.
"I left home and worked on merchant ships until I hurt my back. I received $900 a month and use it for food and my 24 Hour Fitness membership. Originally I was from Boston."
May I ask where you going now?
"Every Monday and Thursday, I get a free breakfast at the church on 25th and University. I am waiting for the number 15 bus. Sometimes I eat at the Salvation Army but their meal is not close to the meal offered at the church. (The 15 bus comes every thirty minutes and drops you off at State College.)
My number 7 arrived and I tapped my Compass card while getting aboard. The bus driver ignored me when I bid him a "good morning". My first stop would be the Rose Garden to the east of the bridge. My stop was one before the Zoo on Park Blvd.
I sat down on logs to the south of the cactus garden. Their thorns reminded me of my girl friend Shelly Feltnot. If you touch them it bleeds, but wait awhile and the thorns turn to flowers. One might say they are bipolar. You might say they are bipolar. I had brought along a herring sandwich, four eggs, and two bananas. Over me a mighty Elm peered down.
"I am tired of eating all of these nuts. Can you throw an egg up at me?"
It felt fishy that a tree would speak to me. Scared, I branched off south to the Rose Garden. Four years ago, I made the Garden of Roses my home away from home. The Roses served as food for my tired soul. Besides they looked divine and produced a nice scent. Each Rose bed had a different name. Some beds were named Betty Boop, Apricot Drift, Ice Berg, Dick Clark and a host of others.
I noticed a man giving a haircut to some of the Rose Bushes.
"Guess you are cutting the deadwood."
"Yes, the vines without buds must go. As you can see they are doing just fine after the rain we had a week ago. Raccoon and some ground squirrels give me most of my problems. They eat away at the Roses."
Now since my reader might be getting bored, I lumped his story into two paragraphs. Steve Smith dressed in blue and wore black gloves. Thin and neat, no motion went wasted as he cut and cut away.
"I moved here in 1955. I had served in Vietnam and lived in Japan. I worked for a company here that put up the statue of the sailor kissing the nurse next to the Midway. Originally, a traveling company had placed the couple here but they soon went out of business. In about 2006, the Port Authority of San Diego and Midway came up with the money to build the statue as you see it. Also, I was in charge of the Bob Hope exhibit right next to it. Connie Stevens, Norm Crosby and Rachel Welsh came to the unveiling of the Bob Hope Memorial.
"I began living here in 1955. The weather then was much cooler but I don't mind. I have three children and thirteen grand ones. I divorced about twenty five years ago. Well I got to go now, my Japanese friend is coming over."
From the Rose Garden I marched to the senior center but found it closed. To my chagrin, I found out it was closed due to a talent show at the Balboa Club. My next blog will be about the senior citizen talent show.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Red Blood on the Blue Line.
A patron of the Blue Line Trolley was stabbed yesterday at about three o'clock. I had been on the same line, but two hours earlier. It happened in the Logan Heights area of San Diego. The Heights sits below the Coronado Bridge and just east of the Imperial Station. I don't know if the train advanced towards the Mexico border or had returned and advanced towards the downtown area of San Diego.
Seldom, if ever, have I seen a TSA officer deployed on a Blue Line train. They usually are stationed at one of the train's stops with a coffee in one hand and cell phone in the other. Why yesterday some were arrested for smuggling drugs out of Lindbergh Field. Only a few of these incompetents do their job. There are hundreds of these buffoons looking over San Diego. Few have graduated even high school but they still carry guns.
Cole Porter wrote a song called, Anything Goes. Trolley follies can be seen on any Line, but most of all on the Blue. During the day the Blue Trolley takes teenagers to City College or their homes in the East Village. Many domestics and laborers use it to come and go from San Diego back to their homes across the border
Many students have their pants parked just below their underwear. With ear phones, they dance to some rap music. Instead of notebooks, many carry skateboards. A few stay on all day with nothing better to do. Various offices award them with Compass cards so they can go everywhere.
A common meeting area is the library for some. Some like me get off on Market and walk the block to the library. There, they can elude reality and go into a word of fantasy playing games, or just watching porno.
Of course the homeless live below freeways, at train stations or the Petco Park. Some live in tents along C street or Park Blvd. Several toilet stalls are set up on Fifth Avenue. The good news is that when drunk with don't drive.
My buddy Max just got back from across the border. He had been in a 41 day lock up in Vista for a DUI of .281. It had been his second offense. He lived across the border for a few weeks and became depressed. A hospital in Tijuana sent him to San Diego and the Scripps Mercy one. His lawyer told him his harsh sentence was because of his high blood count.
Every-other-day a motorcyclist is killed on the San Diego freeways. Heroin, alcohol, and energy drinks have made San Diego its home. Every corner houses a Seven Eleven or Starbucks Coffee that offer quick fixes in the form of sugar and caffeine. The quick fix is everywhere.
Nuts and Bolts: Never leave a train with a bag of booze in your hands. You will be arrested or given a citation.
Seldom, if ever, have I seen a TSA officer deployed on a Blue Line train. They usually are stationed at one of the train's stops with a coffee in one hand and cell phone in the other. Why yesterday some were arrested for smuggling drugs out of Lindbergh Field. Only a few of these incompetents do their job. There are hundreds of these buffoons looking over San Diego. Few have graduated even high school but they still carry guns.
Cole Porter wrote a song called, Anything Goes. Trolley follies can be seen on any Line, but most of all on the Blue. During the day the Blue Trolley takes teenagers to City College or their homes in the East Village. Many domestics and laborers use it to come and go from San Diego back to their homes across the border
Many students have their pants parked just below their underwear. With ear phones, they dance to some rap music. Instead of notebooks, many carry skateboards. A few stay on all day with nothing better to do. Various offices award them with Compass cards so they can go everywhere.
A common meeting area is the library for some. Some like me get off on Market and walk the block to the library. There, they can elude reality and go into a word of fantasy playing games, or just watching porno.
Of course the homeless live below freeways, at train stations or the Petco Park. Some live in tents along C street or Park Blvd. Several toilet stalls are set up on Fifth Avenue. The good news is that when drunk with don't drive.
My buddy Max just got back from across the border. He had been in a 41 day lock up in Vista for a DUI of .281. It had been his second offense. He lived across the border for a few weeks and became depressed. A hospital in Tijuana sent him to San Diego and the Scripps Mercy one. His lawyer told him his harsh sentence was because of his high blood count.
Every-other-day a motorcyclist is killed on the San Diego freeways. Heroin, alcohol, and energy drinks have made San Diego its home. Every corner houses a Seven Eleven or Starbucks Coffee that offer quick fixes in the form of sugar and caffeine. The quick fix is everywhere.
Nuts and Bolts: Never leave a train with a bag of booze in your hands. You will be arrested or given a citation.
The Most Highly Decorated Mexican Flier
General Robert Cardenas was the most highly decorated Mexican flier while in the air force. The celebration of his 94th birthday was held at the Veteran's Memorial Park Museum. I happened to crash in this last Saturday afternoon of the 15th of March.
I had been going to this Museum, off and on, for the last three years. Balboa Park is where several chapters of my football story take place. Amby Schindler lived just in back of the Park, the Golden Hills area of San Diego, also called Goat's Hill. On wanted to get a phone number from Captain Hays, in charge of the Veterans Museum. On my arrival, I saw men my age dressed up in their military garb.
I had no idea it was a birthday party for a veteran of several wars dating back to World War 2. No longer did he resemble the picture of an young air force flier who began his career in the National Guard and resurfaced at San Diego State College with his lieutenant wings.
Shot down over Germany during World War 2 he swam to safety. After the war he flew the plane that held the X 1 and Chuck Yeager. They set the speed record then.
The internet will tell you more about this highly decorated American flier since I must describe the Museum in hopes you will visit it.
When I first came upon Balboa Park, it was the Rose Garden and cactus plants that mesmerized me. It took me awhile to enter the area that was once a Naval Hospital during World War 2. Below the hospital sat this chapel that now was a museum. On the walls were stories of veterans of all of our wars, dating back from the Revolutionary one. Exhibits showed the attire of our fighting forces. One day while admiring the many pictures accompanied with stories, a young grey haired man, like myself, walked up to me.
"Notice you've been a coming here often. Who are you?"
Well I came to San Diego to write a story about Ambrose Schindler. He served in the Navy and was the Superintendent of the Lilly Pond at Balboa Park during the war. He rehabbed sailors in the water there. My name is George Garrett.
"You are always welcomed here Mr. Garrett. I am Captain Hays and when you have finished your book, you can have a book signing here. I am the Chairman of this Veterans Memorial Chapel.
I had been going to this Museum, off and on, for the last three years. Balboa Park is where several chapters of my football story take place. Amby Schindler lived just in back of the Park, the Golden Hills area of San Diego, also called Goat's Hill. On wanted to get a phone number from Captain Hays, in charge of the Veterans Museum. On my arrival, I saw men my age dressed up in their military garb.
Shot down over Germany during World War 2 he swam to safety. After the war he flew the plane that held the X 1 and Chuck Yeager. They set the speed record then.
The internet will tell you more about this highly decorated American flier since I must describe the Museum in hopes you will visit it.
When I first came upon Balboa Park, it was the Rose Garden and cactus plants that mesmerized me. It took me awhile to enter the area that was once a Naval Hospital during World War 2. Below the hospital sat this chapel that now was a museum. On the walls were stories of veterans of all of our wars, dating back from the Revolutionary one. Exhibits showed the attire of our fighting forces. One day while admiring the many pictures accompanied with stories, a young grey haired man, like myself, walked up to me.
"Notice you've been a coming here often. Who are you?"
Well I came to San Diego to write a story about Ambrose Schindler. He served in the Navy and was the Superintendent of the Lilly Pond at Balboa Park during the war. He rehabbed sailors in the water there. My name is George Garrett.
"You are always welcomed here Mr. Garrett. I am Captain Hays and when you have finished your book, you can have a book signing here. I am the Chairman of this Veterans Memorial Chapel.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
A Visit to East Village, San Diego.
"Dis is ma table. I kin eat here." I was removing the shell from an egg when a rotten one sat down across from me. It was her again. The last time the Polish hag sat down at my kitchen table at the 'Y' was two weeks ago. Then she screamed, "Das table fo eating not to read books."
The hag wore a multicolored nightgown, so low it swept the floor. She carried a face only a witch could love with a nonstop mouth. Her last name had lots of w's and y's inside the thirteen later Polish name. My friend Tom told her to take another table.
To relax, I removed myself to my cell and felt thankful my new Target bottom pajamas had kept out the roaches and bed bugs. My scarred legs had time now to heal. I lay back and remembered better times. A time when I dated a Jewish Princess five years ago. Hag face vanished when I remembered Stella.
The Carlsbad Motel Six was where we had celebrated my seventieth birthday. My girl friend took the plunged and treated me to a weekend vacation in Carlsbad. I was the second man in her life. The first had driven off with an eighteen year old body and said good-by to the sixty one year old. Stella's forty seven year old marriage had many twists and turns, but now only depression and then anger took hold of her life.
I will never forget that early morning in August, when ripened figs and flowers adorn Southern California. Her lexis swept into Carlsbad about nine o'clock in the morning. I ordered up a king bed at the Motel Six. Across the street at Big John's Tip Top we satisfied our hungry stomachs with beacon and eggs. Oh yes, I forgot to tell you her name. Her name was Stella Bloomberg.
I carried here into the bridle sweet in room 206. I can remember being so excited. Her hazel eyes and gorgeous body made me fell like a king for a day. I threw off the bed cover and threw Shelly on the bed. I wished to play with my fish and not bring it in too fast.
We embraced and and soon our lips locked in a deadly grip like two spiders. She removed her black decorated blouse. I wished to go slow with this Jewish Princess. I spent the first hour touching and kissing her fingers and earlobes. I felt in heaven with my right hand locked just under her golden arches. I will leave the rest for another day.
Now the old hag forgotten, I took the Tijuana Trolley to the downtown library and got off at Market and Park Blvd. A few skateboarders also left and I decided to visit the Mission Cafe on J and 12th Street.I walked up Island Street and stumbled on an old Victorian house corner house. It stood out since newer apartments obliterated its serenity and hid it from public view.
It was one of those four story old Victorian ones. It had small red wooden panels cover it with columns and ornaments that put it into a class by itself. Stained windows covered the entrance that included a large porch area. The fortress had elegant black iron surrounding this mansion.
Above on the third level it read, 1886. The address read 485. For about ten minutes I just stood there and marveled at this beauty. I wondered who it had married all of these years and if they still lived and had stories to tell.
Then I strode into the Mission Cafe. It looked older than the old house. In fact, this two story dwelling had been moved a few times to take up residence on J Street. I walked inside and looked over the menu. I found out that three people had bought it and turned it over into a restaurant.
Most of the breakfast consisted of all types of pancakes, French toast, fruit bowls etc.
"I'll take the naked lady.", meaning plain regular pancakes
"What do you wish to drink?"
"Do you have green tea?"
She returned with a bowl of hot water with a drowning tea bag inside. While I waited for the bag to release its seeds, the waitress returned with three enormous pancakes. I sipped the bowl of its tea and began my adventure with the hot cakes. I had submerged them in maple syrup.
I read from old newspaper copies of sports stories and asked the waitress for a container. The rest I would save fir lunch. After my exit, my eyes locked into a small wooden commercial building. On the top rafter it read: Broom Factory. Now it served as a loft for artists. a loft for artists.
I continued to walk and avoid several homeless sleeping on the cement. One came out from a group of shrubs. Several tents shook while Ralph's baskets were removed for another day. A few clocks South was Petco Park's parking lot. The San Diego Padres would soon be belting homers over the wall. In the distance east were taller cranes building new apartments. Soon, East Village would resemble the Harbor District.
Again a herd of homeless entered the library as if it was post time at Del Mar's First Race. Soon the escalators were jammed with customers. At my table now were six of them belching, farting, and coughing. At least they can forget reality for a few hours and excite themselves with games and illicit girly films. A big mouth lady just threw her bag next to me. Her heavy fingers made the keyboard jump. She began to speak to computer number 502. Too bad her husband probably left her for a quieter one.
I have learned to filter out the crap at the downtown library and focus on the good. Soon, I will travel to the ninth floor and release the rest on my pancakes into my stomach.
The hag wore a multicolored nightgown, so low it swept the floor. She carried a face only a witch could love with a nonstop mouth. Her last name had lots of w's and y's inside the thirteen later Polish name. My friend Tom told her to take another table.
To relax, I removed myself to my cell and felt thankful my new Target bottom pajamas had kept out the roaches and bed bugs. My scarred legs had time now to heal. I lay back and remembered better times. A time when I dated a Jewish Princess five years ago. Hag face vanished when I remembered Stella.
The Carlsbad Motel Six was where we had celebrated my seventieth birthday. My girl friend took the plunged and treated me to a weekend vacation in Carlsbad. I was the second man in her life. The first had driven off with an eighteen year old body and said good-by to the sixty one year old. Stella's forty seven year old marriage had many twists and turns, but now only depression and then anger took hold of her life.
I will never forget that early morning in August, when ripened figs and flowers adorn Southern California. Her lexis swept into Carlsbad about nine o'clock in the morning. I ordered up a king bed at the Motel Six. Across the street at Big John's Tip Top we satisfied our hungry stomachs with beacon and eggs. Oh yes, I forgot to tell you her name. Her name was Stella Bloomberg.
I carried here into the bridle sweet in room 206. I can remember being so excited. Her hazel eyes and gorgeous body made me fell like a king for a day. I threw off the bed cover and threw Shelly on the bed. I wished to play with my fish and not bring it in too fast.
We embraced and and soon our lips locked in a deadly grip like two spiders. She removed her black decorated blouse. I wished to go slow with this Jewish Princess. I spent the first hour touching and kissing her fingers and earlobes. I felt in heaven with my right hand locked just under her golden arches. I will leave the rest for another day.
Now the old hag forgotten, I took the Tijuana Trolley to the downtown library and got off at Market and Park Blvd. A few skateboarders also left and I decided to visit the Mission Cafe on J and 12th Street.I walked up Island Street and stumbled on an old Victorian house corner house. It stood out since newer apartments obliterated its serenity and hid it from public view.
It was one of those four story old Victorian ones. It had small red wooden panels cover it with columns and ornaments that put it into a class by itself. Stained windows covered the entrance that included a large porch area. The fortress had elegant black iron surrounding this mansion.
Above on the third level it read, 1886. The address read 485. For about ten minutes I just stood there and marveled at this beauty. I wondered who it had married all of these years and if they still lived and had stories to tell.
Then I strode into the Mission Cafe. It looked older than the old house. In fact, this two story dwelling had been moved a few times to take up residence on J Street. I walked inside and looked over the menu. I found out that three people had bought it and turned it over into a restaurant.
Most of the breakfast consisted of all types of pancakes, French toast, fruit bowls etc.
"I'll take the naked lady.", meaning plain regular pancakes
"What do you wish to drink?"
"Do you have green tea?"
She returned with a bowl of hot water with a drowning tea bag inside. While I waited for the bag to release its seeds, the waitress returned with three enormous pancakes. I sipped the bowl of its tea and began my adventure with the hot cakes. I had submerged them in maple syrup.
I read from old newspaper copies of sports stories and asked the waitress for a container. The rest I would save fir lunch. After my exit, my eyes locked into a small wooden commercial building. On the top rafter it read: Broom Factory. Now it served as a loft for artists. a loft for artists.
I continued to walk and avoid several homeless sleeping on the cement. One came out from a group of shrubs. Several tents shook while Ralph's baskets were removed for another day. A few clocks South was Petco Park's parking lot. The San Diego Padres would soon be belting homers over the wall. In the distance east were taller cranes building new apartments. Soon, East Village would resemble the Harbor District.
Again a herd of homeless entered the library as if it was post time at Del Mar's First Race. Soon the escalators were jammed with customers. At my table now were six of them belching, farting, and coughing. At least they can forget reality for a few hours and excite themselves with games and illicit girly films. A big mouth lady just threw her bag next to me. Her heavy fingers made the keyboard jump. She began to speak to computer number 502. Too bad her husband probably left her for a quieter one.
I have learned to filter out the crap at the downtown library and focus on the good. Soon, I will travel to the ninth floor and release the rest on my pancakes into my stomach.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
When Al met Henry Ford
'I met Mr. Ford at their assembly plant at Denver, Colorado in 1936. I began to drive a Ford away and take it to our showroom in Blanca, about ninety miles from Denver. I was about sixteen at the time. Our Blanca dealership had too many troubles with cars just off the freight cars. The cars had too many dents and other problems. I recognized him just as I was pulling away with a new Ford."
"How you doing Mr. Ford.?"
"Call me Henry!"
Again I am at the Rectory of the Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town. For new guests to my blog, Al Weaver spoke about his life fixing cars in Blanca, Colorado. He was sixteen when he met Mr Henry Ford. We shared donuts and talk at the Catholic Rectory right next to the old church. I had been sketching his live now for several months.
At our corner table are Max, Leonard, Arnold and of course 92 year old Mr. Allen Weaver. To remind you, his Dad wished him to farm their field but he had been inclined to fix and maintain the tractors and other equipment on the farm. I witnessed an earlier story about how he developed a gadget to save the gears on the first Old's transmission. My Dad was good also in fixing things and blew a gasket anytime I got out of line.
The dealer and me came into this factory every month to pick up at least two Fords and drove them back to his own dealership. Mr. Ford always was there to greet me and he seemed like a swell man to talk to.
"Now I know Al that the new transmissions had been developed in 1938. But what were the gears like in the old cars"
"There were four floor pedals:one for first gear, a middle one and one four third. The last peddle was for reverse. The Denver plant added the extras to the car such as the radio and floor and seat covers. The new Ford outclassed the Old's."
We were interrupted by Dave. I had met him an hour earlier after our eight thirty Mass with Father Peter presiding. He wished to know who Father Serra was and of course I had the answer.
"He was sent here by Spain to build missions up and down California. He wished to make sure the state stayed in Spanish hands and colonize and Baptiste the Indians. The many fruit trees you see here in Old Town Father Serra brought over from Spain...Where you from?
"Green Bay and here with my wife for one more day."
"Join us for coffee, donuts and bagels next door."
He joined our table and after introductions spoke about his earlier career with Mobile Gas. Now he was a consultant for docks and marinas in the Great Lake area. He was from the sister city of Green Bay, called De Pere. Since he docked here, I will not interrupt the engineer. .
"I got my degree from Hawaii University and worked for Mobile Oil building their stations. Before the oil embargo, I put up stations faster than anybody. I also needed to convert the lead Ethel gas into unleaded. However, there was a quota on how much gas Mobile obtained. It depended on our supply number a year earlier."
"Where did they get the term Ethel.?"
"It was Standard Oil that came up with it. Ethel got a bad rap since it lead caused cancer. The lead was needed, however, for the durability of the engine. Standard wished to calm the nerves of American drivers with a ladies name. Today, the engine rods and pistons are coated with an alloy that maintains these parts without the need for lead."
"I remember another chemical that caused cancer. Women painted it on new watches so they would glow in the dark. Many came down with skin cancer."
"What is going to happen with all of that ice on Lake Superior.?"
'The weather will not go above fifty in the early summer. The large ice flow will certainly affect the weather." His wife showed up and was eager to set sail in a different direction I said "Good-by" to Mr. David Wentland, P.E. and returned to our table. My friends had left so I cleaned.
Mr. Harry Chertkow, a a late comer reminded me to use his name if the bedbugs were not taken care of in my hotel. "And as far as having only one running elevator, an inspector should be called."
I returned on the Green Line Trolley and got off at the India station. I needed to buy some Hydocortisone for my itchy leg. The pharmacist insisted that I wear pajamas from now on with knee-high socks.
Nuts and bolts for today: "Nothing has changed in my life-except me, and those around me"
"How you doing Mr. Ford.?"
"Call me Henry!"
Again I am at the Rectory of the Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town. For new guests to my blog, Al Weaver spoke about his life fixing cars in Blanca, Colorado. He was sixteen when he met Mr Henry Ford. We shared donuts and talk at the Catholic Rectory right next to the old church. I had been sketching his live now for several months.
At our corner table are Max, Leonard, Arnold and of course 92 year old Mr. Allen Weaver. To remind you, his Dad wished him to farm their field but he had been inclined to fix and maintain the tractors and other equipment on the farm. I witnessed an earlier story about how he developed a gadget to save the gears on the first Old's transmission. My Dad was good also in fixing things and blew a gasket anytime I got out of line.
The dealer and me came into this factory every month to pick up at least two Fords and drove them back to his own dealership. Mr. Ford always was there to greet me and he seemed like a swell man to talk to.
"Now I know Al that the new transmissions had been developed in 1938. But what were the gears like in the old cars"
"There were four floor pedals:one for first gear, a middle one and one four third. The last peddle was for reverse. The Denver plant added the extras to the car such as the radio and floor and seat covers. The new Ford outclassed the Old's."
We were interrupted by Dave. I had met him an hour earlier after our eight thirty Mass with Father Peter presiding. He wished to know who Father Serra was and of course I had the answer.
"He was sent here by Spain to build missions up and down California. He wished to make sure the state stayed in Spanish hands and colonize and Baptiste the Indians. The many fruit trees you see here in Old Town Father Serra brought over from Spain...Where you from?
"Green Bay and here with my wife for one more day."
"Join us for coffee, donuts and bagels next door."
He joined our table and after introductions spoke about his earlier career with Mobile Gas. Now he was a consultant for docks and marinas in the Great Lake area. He was from the sister city of Green Bay, called De Pere. Since he docked here, I will not interrupt the engineer. .
"I got my degree from Hawaii University and worked for Mobile Oil building their stations. Before the oil embargo, I put up stations faster than anybody. I also needed to convert the lead Ethel gas into unleaded. However, there was a quota on how much gas Mobile obtained. It depended on our supply number a year earlier."
"Where did they get the term Ethel.?"
"It was Standard Oil that came up with it. Ethel got a bad rap since it lead caused cancer. The lead was needed, however, for the durability of the engine. Standard wished to calm the nerves of American drivers with a ladies name. Today, the engine rods and pistons are coated with an alloy that maintains these parts without the need for lead."
"I remember another chemical that caused cancer. Women painted it on new watches so they would glow in the dark. Many came down with skin cancer."
"What is going to happen with all of that ice on Lake Superior.?"
'The weather will not go above fifty in the early summer. The large ice flow will certainly affect the weather." His wife showed up and was eager to set sail in a different direction I said "Good-by" to Mr. David Wentland, P.E. and returned to our table. My friends had left so I cleaned.
Mr. Harry Chertkow, a a late comer reminded me to use his name if the bedbugs were not taken care of in my hotel. "And as far as having only one running elevator, an inspector should be called."
I returned on the Green Line Trolley and got off at the India station. I needed to buy some Hydocortisone for my itchy leg. The pharmacist insisted that I wear pajamas from now on with knee-high socks.
Nuts and bolts for today: "Nothing has changed in my life-except me, and those around me"
Friday, March 14, 2014
A Day with Cruis'n George
The Blue Line Trolley had a few passengers inside. A lone hooded man slept soundly in the rear-no doubt from four in the morning. Another man caned on board the trolley. He huffed and puffed while he spoke into his cell phone.
"That good-for-nothing. In no way can he send that kid to his grandfather! Hell, he already had kicked him out several times. Got to get off the phone. Need to call somebody." The heavy set man with a short cut for his bright white hair caned down to leave the trolley. To my right an old prominent building stood out on Fifth Avenue. Advertised on the outside wall was horse racing at the Caliente Race Track. The Mexican track had long been dark.
I trolley advance east towards Park before it swiveled south towards the new San Diego Library. I got off on Market and noticed two white helmets. An outside sign advertised "Market, Bar, and Restaurant to open soon". I leaned in and a worker told me the super was outside and the building "belonged to the school around the corner."
I found one of the owners and gave him my card. I walked around the corner since I had time. The library would open in ten minutes at nine thirty. Two students were having a light and a large man began to enter. I asked him about the Thomas Jefferson School of Law.
"I was a cop and entered the school two years ago. It had been here about three years and earlier it had planted itself in Old Town. Besides Law, they help with the veterans and several other things. I will e mail you with what we do"
Inscribed on his card was Criminal Law Fellow and J.D Candidate. His deep, clear and intelligent voice supported the etchings on his George Washington pictured card.
My day advanced as usual. I arose at three for my early morning shower. I carried my Bic razor, and white towel and limped slowly down the hall to one of the 'Y's unisex bathrooms. I had used the same razor for over one month. I speak to Him in the shower while I shampoo my face in the shower before my Bic razor has its turn. I just love taking a long shower at the 'Y' at three.
I return and take a quick snooze before turning on my light by my side. This morning it is Dickens' Oliver Twist. Like my shaver, I can't get over how easy the story penetrates my mind. I guess I have felt like Oliver many times in my life-hungry for love.
At about six o'clock I removed my last two eggs and potted them with water at the second floor kitchen. I returned to remove my apple jelly and two slices of onion bread and returned. I sat and watched two men look for cans inside the dumpster and another relieve himself against the wall. I call it Pissers Corner.
After breakfast I returned to my room but my walk stalled. Two penguins could not get ice from the machine. I showed them.
Where you from?
"We are from Minnesota and are Amish."
I had seen twenty of these Penguins come into the 'Y' last afternoon. I could not get over how happy they seemed and now four of them could sleep in one room-two doors from me. Wow what a simply fantastic life.
Wait. let me give you my business card. You have a computer?
"No we don't." After a few tries the sensor key allowed them a bathroom visit. Obvious to me they had never seen a sensor key.
Nuts and Bolts for today: Keep things simple, and when trouble comes up, get out of your way.
"That good-for-nothing. In no way can he send that kid to his grandfather! Hell, he already had kicked him out several times. Got to get off the phone. Need to call somebody." The heavy set man with a short cut for his bright white hair caned down to leave the trolley. To my right an old prominent building stood out on Fifth Avenue. Advertised on the outside wall was horse racing at the Caliente Race Track. The Mexican track had long been dark.
I trolley advance east towards Park before it swiveled south towards the new San Diego Library. I got off on Market and noticed two white helmets. An outside sign advertised "Market, Bar, and Restaurant to open soon". I leaned in and a worker told me the super was outside and the building "belonged to the school around the corner."
I found one of the owners and gave him my card. I walked around the corner since I had time. The library would open in ten minutes at nine thirty. Two students were having a light and a large man began to enter. I asked him about the Thomas Jefferson School of Law.
"I was a cop and entered the school two years ago. It had been here about three years and earlier it had planted itself in Old Town. Besides Law, they help with the veterans and several other things. I will e mail you with what we do"
Inscribed on his card was Criminal Law Fellow and J.D Candidate. His deep, clear and intelligent voice supported the etchings on his George Washington pictured card.
My day advanced as usual. I arose at three for my early morning shower. I carried my Bic razor, and white towel and limped slowly down the hall to one of the 'Y's unisex bathrooms. I had used the same razor for over one month. I speak to Him in the shower while I shampoo my face in the shower before my Bic razor has its turn. I just love taking a long shower at the 'Y' at three.
I return and take a quick snooze before turning on my light by my side. This morning it is Dickens' Oliver Twist. Like my shaver, I can't get over how easy the story penetrates my mind. I guess I have felt like Oliver many times in my life-hungry for love.
At about six o'clock I removed my last two eggs and potted them with water at the second floor kitchen. I returned to remove my apple jelly and two slices of onion bread and returned. I sat and watched two men look for cans inside the dumpster and another relieve himself against the wall. I call it Pissers Corner.
After breakfast I returned to my room but my walk stalled. Two penguins could not get ice from the machine. I showed them.
Where you from?
"We are from Minnesota and are Amish."
I had seen twenty of these Penguins come into the 'Y' last afternoon. I could not get over how happy they seemed and now four of them could sleep in one room-two doors from me. Wow what a simply fantastic life.
Wait. let me give you my business card. You have a computer?
"No we don't." After a few tries the sensor key allowed them a bathroom visit. Obvious to me they had never seen a sensor key.
Nuts and Bolts for today: Keep things simple, and when trouble comes up, get out of your way.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
More with Horst Cahn
I want to tell you something. The other day I went to Von's. An employee walked up to me and asked, "Did you find what you were looking for?'
"I told him 'No'. She would not come with me."
Again we meet at the Oak Cafe in Encinitas. Lady Barbara is not in attendance, probably because of chronic back trouble. So today, I honed in on Cahn - and that was easy. The only time his mouth stops is at the dentist when the good doctor tells him "to open wide."
Even Ellen can't get over how great Horst looks, the only living survivor of a Auschwitz camp at 88. I sat down next to him and allowed him to spill more about his life. I knew the persons, places and things have a chance to outlive us-only if I write them down.
"After the war, a Czech farmer took me in. i weighed only eighty pounds then. I met the love of my life there, Gezel Kleinnot.. We married and stayed there for two years-long enough for the birth of our first born, David. David today is a teaching doctor who lives in Buffalo. We crossed the border and lived in East Munich for a few years. I worked for as a tailor for Mr. Westerhamor. We became the best of friends."
The roast beef was coupled with a baked potato. Alongside to ease the digestion were broccoli, and cauliflower. Horst ate everything except the baked potato. I did not order but still got a nice looking dish for a few bucks.
Linda came to the front on ice cream day. Buckets of ice cream with chocolate syrup and nuts sat on a long back table. My taste buds went into action. I had placed my stomach on hold after I made the error of eating just before my bed time.
"George I want to tell you something. I went to a restaurant and found the meet too fatty to eat. My false teeth told me they wanted out, and they had the nerve to speak to me. 'Now you can eat it'."
Again, you can hear and see God's miracle survivor at Oceanside High School on the eighth of April. He will be there five hours. "Do you know they will pick me up in the morning and take me to my five hours there.
"I told him 'No'. She would not come with me."
Again we meet at the Oak Cafe in Encinitas. Lady Barbara is not in attendance, probably because of chronic back trouble. So today, I honed in on Cahn - and that was easy. The only time his mouth stops is at the dentist when the good doctor tells him "to open wide."
Even Ellen can't get over how great Horst looks, the only living survivor of a Auschwitz camp at 88. I sat down next to him and allowed him to spill more about his life. I knew the persons, places and things have a chance to outlive us-only if I write them down.
"After the war, a Czech farmer took me in. i weighed only eighty pounds then. I met the love of my life there, Gezel Kleinnot.. We married and stayed there for two years-long enough for the birth of our first born, David. David today is a teaching doctor who lives in Buffalo. We crossed the border and lived in East Munich for a few years. I worked for as a tailor for Mr. Westerhamor. We became the best of friends."
The roast beef was coupled with a baked potato. Alongside to ease the digestion were broccoli, and cauliflower. Horst ate everything except the baked potato. I did not order but still got a nice looking dish for a few bucks.
Linda came to the front on ice cream day. Buckets of ice cream with chocolate syrup and nuts sat on a long back table. My taste buds went into action. I had placed my stomach on hold after I made the error of eating just before my bed time.
"George I want to tell you something. I went to a restaurant and found the meet too fatty to eat. My false teeth told me they wanted out, and they had the nerve to speak to me. 'Now you can eat it'."
Again, you can hear and see God's miracle survivor at Oceanside High School on the eighth of April. He will be there five hours. "Do you know they will pick me up in the morning and take me to my five hours there.
To a Wild Rose
Lady Barbara waited for the taxi driver to place her walker under the front door.She climbed down and she held on to her walker. She gave me a book and I told her more about a famous relative called Edward MacDowell.
My feather friend sat down next to me with her hand on my knee. "My research of Edward MacDowell proved he was one of the true great early American composers. In fact, there are CD's of his many compositions. And guess what? Our government made a stamp of him along with four others. You can purchase it from a stamp store. His face is on a forty cent stamp. (Two hours later I found his likeness on a 1940 stamp next to four other composers.
Lady Barbara's excitement opened up a few brain cells later. The Oak Cafe featured meat balls and noodles. Barbara's mind became fewer noodles but more gravy. She had more to say about the MacDowells.
"I remember when Edward's wife visited us in Santa Monica. I must have been six or seven but still remember the encounter. I must have been in the early thirties that we met in Marian's hotel room. Now it comes back to me. The sweet lady told us how she met and later married MacDowell. 'My parents sent me to France to learn how to play the piano. I expected a French teacher, but instead Ed showed up. It took three years of lessons until he proposed. We wanted children but I couldn't have any.'"
Now how I came up with this story had begun two mornings ago. My mind kept playing a song over and over again. I could not get it out of my head. I asked Lady Barbara about the song she played so well and so often. I wondered if it had a name, by chance.
"Why a relative of ours published the tune many years ago. My Mom could play it and so did I. The French recognized MacDowell as the first great American composer. Later he lived in upstate New York My Mom always spoke about him, in fact we drove to Santa Monica to meet her. The song I played was To a Wild Rose."
Do you know the name of Ed's wife?
"No I forgot it."
She slowly unhinged her back from her chair and walked to the grand piano to play To a Wild Rose. My frail feathered friend played it softly, and I shut my eyes to savor every note. I had her play Ave Maria for me when Citizen Cahn came towards her. He gave her a hug. "You can't touch Lady, I saw her first." "Is she upset? Then there is no use complaining for the one you love. ,
Let me interrupt my interlude with Lady to let you know Horst will be speaking in April at Oceanside High School. He is the only living survivor of an Auschwitz camp and will be speaking about the Holocaust and how hate can kill. Today like always, my 88 year old friends dresses in a golfers cap wearing immaculate sporting clothes.
We now sat down to eat, that is all except me. I can't stand a chicken filled with cheese, but I sponged off some of the rolls. I decided to play, for the first time, To a Wild Rose. Barbara came to the piano. "Now listen George." She played and I noticed she brought her hands down two octaves to provide richness to the flower. I thanked her and then her taxi arrived.
After she left I ran to the Encinitas Computer Center. I just couldn't believe my Royal Highness ancestor was celebrated in France, but I knew if I hummed it she could play it. I checked out the internet and sure enough, he was listed as our foremost American composer.
The name of Edward MacDowell was listed in the Internet. In fact, what she had told me about him was not only correct, but I found that he was one of five noted composers to be placed on a forty cent stamp. He was born in 1860 and studied mainly in France. He composed, performed, and gave lessons.
Furthermore, my research showed a cab injury contributed to his early dementia and finally death in 1906. A Hansom cab injury contributed to his dementia and early death in 1906. The lady that Lady Barbara met at Santa Monica beach was Marian MacDowell. She survived him long after her piano teacher's death, and long enough to to meet Barbara and her mother.
Lady Barbara's family had their own combo in their living room. "Mom played the piano, an uncle the tuba and another the flute. Mom could not play the piano too well , but it did not matter. It is too bad I didn't keep all of her hymns and stories."
Lady Barbara can play any tune if she knows the melody. She could have been a prodigy if given piano lessons for more than six weeks.
My feather friend sat down next to me with her hand on my knee. "My research of Edward MacDowell proved he was one of the true great early American composers. In fact, there are CD's of his many compositions. And guess what? Our government made a stamp of him along with four others. You can purchase it from a stamp store. His face is on a forty cent stamp. (Two hours later I found his likeness on a 1940 stamp next to four other composers.
Lady Barbara's excitement opened up a few brain cells later. The Oak Cafe featured meat balls and noodles. Barbara's mind became fewer noodles but more gravy. She had more to say about the MacDowells.
"I remember when Edward's wife visited us in Santa Monica. I must have been six or seven but still remember the encounter. I must have been in the early thirties that we met in Marian's hotel room. Now it comes back to me. The sweet lady told us how she met and later married MacDowell. 'My parents sent me to France to learn how to play the piano. I expected a French teacher, but instead Ed showed up. It took three years of lessons until he proposed. We wanted children but I couldn't have any.'"
Now how I came up with this story had begun two mornings ago. My mind kept playing a song over and over again. I could not get it out of my head. I asked Lady Barbara about the song she played so well and so often. I wondered if it had a name, by chance.
"Why a relative of ours published the tune many years ago. My Mom could play it and so did I. The French recognized MacDowell as the first great American composer. Later he lived in upstate New York My Mom always spoke about him, in fact we drove to Santa Monica to meet her. The song I played was To a Wild Rose."
Do you know the name of Ed's wife?
"No I forgot it."
She slowly unhinged her back from her chair and walked to the grand piano to play To a Wild Rose. My frail feathered friend played it softly, and I shut my eyes to savor every note. I had her play Ave Maria for me when Citizen Cahn came towards her. He gave her a hug. "You can't touch Lady, I saw her first." "Is she upset? Then there is no use complaining for the one you love. ,
Let me interrupt my interlude with Lady to let you know Horst will be speaking in April at Oceanside High School. He is the only living survivor of an Auschwitz camp and will be speaking about the Holocaust and how hate can kill. Today like always, my 88 year old friends dresses in a golfers cap wearing immaculate sporting clothes.
We now sat down to eat, that is all except me. I can't stand a chicken filled with cheese, but I sponged off some of the rolls. I decided to play, for the first time, To a Wild Rose. Barbara came to the piano. "Now listen George." She played and I noticed she brought her hands down two octaves to provide richness to the flower. I thanked her and then her taxi arrived.
After she left I ran to the Encinitas Computer Center. I just couldn't believe my Royal Highness ancestor was celebrated in France, but I knew if I hummed it she could play it. I checked out the internet and sure enough, he was listed as our foremost American composer.
The name of Edward MacDowell was listed in the Internet. In fact, what she had told me about him was not only correct, but I found that he was one of five noted composers to be placed on a forty cent stamp. He was born in 1860 and studied mainly in France. He composed, performed, and gave lessons.
Furthermore, my research showed a cab injury contributed to his early dementia and finally death in 1906. A Hansom cab injury contributed to his dementia and early death in 1906. The lady that Lady Barbara met at Santa Monica beach was Marian MacDowell. She survived him long after her piano teacher's death, and long enough to to meet Barbara and her mother.
Lady Barbara's family had their own combo in their living room. "Mom played the piano, an uncle the tuba and another the flute. Mom could not play the piano too well , but it did not matter. It is too bad I didn't keep all of her hymns and stories."
Lady Barbara can play any tune if she knows the melody. She could have been a prodigy if given piano lessons for more than six weeks.
Monday, March 10, 2014
The Balboa Park Dancers
"Now Goge, put left foot back before you slide."
I will try it again Toko.
The sweet Japanese lady had more patience than a anyone I had ever seen. I never did get the hang of the fox trout but that did not stop her.
"At lest you get excize."
The Balboa Bay Club meets every Friday and Sunday evening. Tonight over two hundred showed up to learn the Foxtrot and Salsa. The groups form inside the ballroom. There is beginning, intermediate and advanced.
I plunked down my twenty dollars to become a member of the Ballroom Park Dancers. Three dollars is all I will need for admission from now on. My objective is to put my name up there with other greats: Fred Astaire, Kelly and Ginger Rodgers and etc
Tonight I decided to move up to the intermediate class and let Mr. Cup Cake work with the less talented. My instructor now was Mr. Swiveler. Like me, he wore black pants and a blue shirt to go with his blond hair and great personality.
The smallish Japanese girl tried to help me with the Foxtrot . "Count four steps and put back foot back...that better." I can't remember having more fun. My shoes no longer fit and no longer did I perspire profusely. I was getting myself into ballroom shape. I thought now about saving a couple hundred and buying dancing shoes.
I sat in the corner to take a break. A lean Japanese man scribbled notes on a pad of paper. Ease dropping, numbers and lines marked his notepad. Cameras from two others filmed some of his steps while Mr. Swiveler move his mentor, hips in and out - as well as up and down. He was poetry in motion-and I wanted it.
One Japanese dancer was instructing her awkward husband how to move his hips. He just did not get the hang of it. Slogans like "touch heal", "bend knee" "half turn" and of course "swivel your hips" were called out by our mentor.
After the hour lesson we took a water break before entertaining the Salsa. Tired earlier, now I felt wound up like the old Elgen watches of the forties. Salsa was a lot easier for me. I found steps from one dance crossed over to another. My body felt fine tuned like that old Elgen 50 dollar watch.
The free dancing began later, but I felt too tired now to continue. After all, this was my second weekend night of lessons. The next Friday dance is Party night. Finger food, and dips is also on the ballroom menu. Cruisin is looking forward to seeing ya. Remember, Park Blvd and make a left on Presidents Way to get there.
I will try it again Toko.
The sweet Japanese lady had more patience than a anyone I had ever seen. I never did get the hang of the fox trout but that did not stop her.
"At lest you get excize."
The Balboa Bay Club meets every Friday and Sunday evening. Tonight over two hundred showed up to learn the Foxtrot and Salsa. The groups form inside the ballroom. There is beginning, intermediate and advanced.
I plunked down my twenty dollars to become a member of the Ballroom Park Dancers. Three dollars is all I will need for admission from now on. My objective is to put my name up there with other greats: Fred Astaire, Kelly and Ginger Rodgers and etc
Tonight I decided to move up to the intermediate class and let Mr. Cup Cake work with the less talented. My instructor now was Mr. Swiveler. Like me, he wore black pants and a blue shirt to go with his blond hair and great personality.
The smallish Japanese girl tried to help me with the Foxtrot . "Count four steps and put back foot back...that better." I can't remember having more fun. My shoes no longer fit and no longer did I perspire profusely. I was getting myself into ballroom shape. I thought now about saving a couple hundred and buying dancing shoes.
I sat in the corner to take a break. A lean Japanese man scribbled notes on a pad of paper. Ease dropping, numbers and lines marked his notepad. Cameras from two others filmed some of his steps while Mr. Swiveler move his mentor, hips in and out - as well as up and down. He was poetry in motion-and I wanted it.
One Japanese dancer was instructing her awkward husband how to move his hips. He just did not get the hang of it. Slogans like "touch heal", "bend knee" "half turn" and of course "swivel your hips" were called out by our mentor.
After the hour lesson we took a water break before entertaining the Salsa. Tired earlier, now I felt wound up like the old Elgen watches of the forties. Salsa was a lot easier for me. I found steps from one dance crossed over to another. My body felt fine tuned like that old Elgen 50 dollar watch.
The free dancing began later, but I felt too tired now to continue. After all, this was my second weekend night of lessons. The next Friday dance is Party night. Finger food, and dips is also on the ballroom menu. Cruisin is looking forward to seeing ya. Remember, Park Blvd and make a left on Presidents Way to get there.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
The Immaculate Conception Catholic Church
Father Eckar's sermon put me in my spiritual frame of mind. His story about a man accosted by another on a Brooklyn bus in the Bronx made my muffle my laughter with my hands. I will paraphrase some of it.
A rapper hit a tall black clothed man on a Bronx bus at sundown. He held a gun to the back of the gentleman.
"You have a choice. Give me your money or your life."
The gentleman turned around.
"Oh it is you Father. Forgive me. I did not see your white collar."
Mr. White collar poked his hands inside his pocket and removed a package of Marlboro's.
"I can't smoke now. Let me remind you it is Lent."
With the sermon now over at nine thirty, the vocalist reminded everyone, including the many tourists, that a five dollar breakfast could be had next door at the Rectory.
After I applauded the organ player up in the balcony, I went to the building next door. I grabbed an orange juice before lining up for the pancake meal that included sausages, scramble eggs, canned peaches, I poured myself more coffee.
Larry kept interrupting me at the table so I allowed his mouth to flow, as long as it chewed gum. He had worked at Wrigglies, I remembered, and wished to know more about the gum factory. (I changed his name until he gives me clearance for the take off.)
"In early sixty three, I met with Mr. Wriggly and his controller. I confessed to Mr. Wriggly, now an older man I did not route for the Chicago Cubs, instead the White Stockings. He was impressed with my degree in engineering and put me in charge of production and four hundred me under me."
"Juicy Fruit was our best seller. A close second was Spearmint and then Black Jack gum. We also made other flavors for show, just to keep our patent rights."
Why my favorite was Juicy Fruit. I used to chew it for several minutes before sticking it under my desk in junior high school. When the gum machine was out of Juicy Fruit, I chose Black Jack since the taste of licorice was my favorite candy.
"Later, we had distribution centers all over the word. I traveled to Australia unannounced. When the receptionist found out who I was, the heads of every department came down to great me."
By this time I had finished off my pancake plate and refilled our coffee cups. The gummy man left and now the words of Albert spoke about an incident that happened to his son across the border in Guadalajara.
"I told my son not to vote for Obama. I saw him on television and thought he was dumb. He never voted on any bill while a Illinois senator. He never wished to take sides. Yes, he could understand books, but that was it. He had no inclination as the thoughts of people."
Was that your second son?
"Yes it was one year before he died in Mexico. He never returned from Mexico and the authorities told me he had drowned. I did not believe it. He had gone there with his pecker looking wife to bring back furniture. It was his second wife. His first was perfect but upset with him. My sons were not lucky like me."
"Not satisfied with the police in Mexico, I hired to Mexican investigators up front. I gave five thousand to each without results. I received call later and another investigator asked me to meet him on a border bridge. I drove out there thinking I must have been out of my mind."
"Until I get information about him. Don't give me a cent. He returned with a picture of my son with his head blasted. He told me one would die in jail and the one with the gun would also get his." Not finished
A rapper hit a tall black clothed man on a Bronx bus at sundown. He held a gun to the back of the gentleman.
"You have a choice. Give me your money or your life."
The gentleman turned around.
"Oh it is you Father. Forgive me. I did not see your white collar."
Mr. White collar poked his hands inside his pocket and removed a package of Marlboro's.
"I can't smoke now. Let me remind you it is Lent."
With the sermon now over at nine thirty, the vocalist reminded everyone, including the many tourists, that a five dollar breakfast could be had next door at the Rectory.
After I applauded the organ player up in the balcony, I went to the building next door. I grabbed an orange juice before lining up for the pancake meal that included sausages, scramble eggs, canned peaches, I poured myself more coffee.
Larry kept interrupting me at the table so I allowed his mouth to flow, as long as it chewed gum. He had worked at Wrigglies, I remembered, and wished to know more about the gum factory. (I changed his name until he gives me clearance for the take off.)
"In early sixty three, I met with Mr. Wriggly and his controller. I confessed to Mr. Wriggly, now an older man I did not route for the Chicago Cubs, instead the White Stockings. He was impressed with my degree in engineering and put me in charge of production and four hundred me under me."
"Juicy Fruit was our best seller. A close second was Spearmint and then Black Jack gum. We also made other flavors for show, just to keep our patent rights."
Why my favorite was Juicy Fruit. I used to chew it for several minutes before sticking it under my desk in junior high school. When the gum machine was out of Juicy Fruit, I chose Black Jack since the taste of licorice was my favorite candy.
"Later, we had distribution centers all over the word. I traveled to Australia unannounced. When the receptionist found out who I was, the heads of every department came down to great me."
By this time I had finished off my pancake plate and refilled our coffee cups. The gummy man left and now the words of Albert spoke about an incident that happened to his son across the border in Guadalajara.
"I told my son not to vote for Obama. I saw him on television and thought he was dumb. He never voted on any bill while a Illinois senator. He never wished to take sides. Yes, he could understand books, but that was it. He had no inclination as the thoughts of people."
Was that your second son?
"Yes it was one year before he died in Mexico. He never returned from Mexico and the authorities told me he had drowned. I did not believe it. He had gone there with his pecker looking wife to bring back furniture. It was his second wife. His first was perfect but upset with him. My sons were not lucky like me."
"Not satisfied with the police in Mexico, I hired to Mexican investigators up front. I gave five thousand to each without results. I received call later and another investigator asked me to meet him on a border bridge. I drove out there thinking I must have been out of my mind."
"Until I get information about him. Don't give me a cent. He returned with a picture of my son with his head blasted. He told me one would die in jail and the one with the gun would also get his." Not finished
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Balboa Park Dancing Lessons
Now everyone get into a circle. The men are to go counterclockwise. George, you dummy, the other way. I stopped and she hit me straight in my face. She hit me with the deep guttural voice of a man. Her name also was Billy.
The Balboa Bay Dance Club met that Friday evening at seven. Often over two hundred show up. Earlier I had refreshed my 74 year old body at the Prado restaurant next to the main buildings. I took advantage of the early bird specials and treated myself to a chicken skewer plate with lemon capers and humus. The meal including two cups of coffee came to $8.75.
With my stomach re-energized, I ambled back to the ballroom that sat in back of the Organ Pavilion and paid my five dollars. Slowly, the members filed in. I Japanese couple tangoed better than Ginger Rodgers. and Fred Astaire. A few others could have won on Dancing with the Stars. It was free dancing until seven thirty.
The dancing club meets Friday and Sunday evenings at seven o'clock. Admission is five dollars. There are three groups of lessons given the same time: intermediate, beginning, and advanced. It costs twenty dollars to join which gets you into their free finger licking good Friday parties
"One minute to go!" That was cup cake. Well this funny little agile comedian kept us all in stitches- of course one step at a time. "Get into a circle and walk clockwise for your partner. That was when I met Deep Throat.
"My name is Billy. My you have beautiful eyes." Her eyes collided with mine. She grabbed my hands and pressed down. Her raspy voice was a note below my baritone one.
'Hey take at easy! Those fingers are insured by the Rothschild's for one million dollars. My second profession is piano playing."
Then cup cake began the foxtrot lesson. Why he is so cute you could almost eat him up. "Now bend your right knee and take two steps together and slide to the left. I will do it again Follow me. Take two steps forward, hesitate and one left. Don't take long steps and talk to the other. By all means talk."
Besides Billy, I danced with another one named Janice. She owned beautiful sparkling eyes with a smile to match. And what curves - why a camel should be so endowed. We dance later on and I just knew I would be seeing her again.
Salsa was our next lesson. We took a ten minute water break to talk and change socks. I noticed other bevies and was able to dance with them all. Some did not like my way of dancing. I apologized to them. "How do I know what my left legs is going to do. It never talks to me. Thank God my right legs follows it. . At about nine the lessons were over and I felt like a new born babe. I danced a few numbers and threw away my age for one hour. No longer ancient, I felt like a kid in a brand new candy shop.
The merry-go-round was over at ten and I retreated to my car and back to the Trolley parking lot. A Trolley took me home after a ten minute wait. Now I was five pounds lighter as both of my shoes swam in my shoes.
Note next Friday is party night. Twenty dollars will get you in with a membership. I believe there is a band.
The Balboa Bay Dance Club met that Friday evening at seven. Often over two hundred show up. Earlier I had refreshed my 74 year old body at the Prado restaurant next to the main buildings. I took advantage of the early bird specials and treated myself to a chicken skewer plate with lemon capers and humus. The meal including two cups of coffee came to $8.75.
With my stomach re-energized, I ambled back to the ballroom that sat in back of the Organ Pavilion and paid my five dollars. Slowly, the members filed in. I Japanese couple tangoed better than Ginger Rodgers. and Fred Astaire. A few others could have won on Dancing with the Stars. It was free dancing until seven thirty.
The dancing club meets Friday and Sunday evenings at seven o'clock. Admission is five dollars. There are three groups of lessons given the same time: intermediate, beginning, and advanced. It costs twenty dollars to join which gets you into their free finger licking good Friday parties
"One minute to go!" That was cup cake. Well this funny little agile comedian kept us all in stitches- of course one step at a time. "Get into a circle and walk clockwise for your partner. That was when I met Deep Throat.
"My name is Billy. My you have beautiful eyes." Her eyes collided with mine. She grabbed my hands and pressed down. Her raspy voice was a note below my baritone one.
'Hey take at easy! Those fingers are insured by the Rothschild's for one million dollars. My second profession is piano playing."
Then cup cake began the foxtrot lesson. Why he is so cute you could almost eat him up. "Now bend your right knee and take two steps together and slide to the left. I will do it again Follow me. Take two steps forward, hesitate and one left. Don't take long steps and talk to the other. By all means talk."
Besides Billy, I danced with another one named Janice. She owned beautiful sparkling eyes with a smile to match. And what curves - why a camel should be so endowed. We dance later on and I just knew I would be seeing her again.
Salsa was our next lesson. We took a ten minute water break to talk and change socks. I noticed other bevies and was able to dance with them all. Some did not like my way of dancing. I apologized to them. "How do I know what my left legs is going to do. It never talks to me. Thank God my right legs follows it. . At about nine the lessons were over and I felt like a new born babe. I danced a few numbers and threw away my age for one hour. No longer ancient, I felt like a kid in a brand new candy shop.
The merry-go-round was over at ten and I retreated to my car and back to the Trolley parking lot. A Trolley took me home after a ten minute wait. Now I was five pounds lighter as both of my shoes swam in my shoes.
Note next Friday is party night. Twenty dollars will get you in with a membership. I believe there is a band.
Friday, March 7, 2014
The World's Finest City-San Diego
The Coaster train weaved in and out of the Sorrento Valley. I was on my way back to San Diego from Encinitas. The heavy set gentleman sat across from me asleep. It was three thirty. My eyes began to open while my lungs unclogged. I sneezed.
The gentleman wore tattered blue jeans and a three day growth of facial hair. His triple chinned face looked like it had been in a 15 round fight. Out of the mist Mr. Son said hello to me at one o'clock sun time. It set later each day.
Humid air gave way to clear sunshine. My air filter opened. . I sneezed. The bearded one woke up and peaked out the window. The coaster entered the Sorrento Valley area. It curved like a serpent over tall hills. The Oaks smiled with more leafs-due to the rain. Five minutes later, the Coaster hit the straight away. The pines and oaks followed a crease in the valley holding water.
"Next stop, Old Town. Make sure to remove everything before descending."
I spilled my bag of finished juice oranges and stepped down wearing my nap sack Whereas Encinitas had been fogged in holding too much smog and pollen, carrying too much smog and , the San Diego Harbor breeze pushed the sludge out of my way. Below me swam the San Diego River, a bit higher after the rains. The Mission Valley with its Sea World were to my west.
I stepped down the steps and crossed to the light. The big white house in front of me beckoned. I sat down in the patio area of the Wrightington House. Now underneath the Spanish eves, I had my first look at the beginning of spring. The Concord grape showed off its first leaf. The mighty fig already had a couple of ripe fruit ready to be eaten. Today I would treat myself to a coned rainbow ice cream. . I first took my weight at the old silver scale. It felt good to breath again.
But San Diego is not just the home to Old Town. There is also Little Italy, the Gas Lamp, Zoo, Balboa Park, Seaport Village and the Midway aircraft carrier The Asians flock to see the sailor kissing the nurse on the south side. The thin Japanese with their camera may have lost the war, but they now claimed part of San Diego as their own.
Not to be outdone, the taller Chinese love Old Town. Many come to look rather than buy. Those from overseas dress in bright colors with a perpetual smile. They carry cameras. One told me they had never seen a Palm Tree before or the great San Diego weather. Whereas the Japanese have a dead panned expression, the Chinese are always jovial, and why not, they have our money.
It was late afternoon and time for my nap. I returned to the Old Town train station and removed a book parked inside its lot. I then took the Green Line back to my hotel. At the Santa Fe station I spilled out, buffeted by a heavy Harbor breeze. The air temperature had dropped five degrees also. A middle aged couple looked lost.
Can I help you?
"Yes, we wish to get to the airport bus stop."
Why just follow me. I live a block from it. Where you from?
"Texas. And it it bitter cold."
Are you taking a flight?
"No, we wish to return to the Sheraton."
Get off at the first terminal. The walk is only two long blocks south. Here is my blog. They call me 'Cruisin' George around these parts.
I left to take my nap and eat my salad before turning in a seven. Yes, I am an early riser.
The gentleman wore tattered blue jeans and a three day growth of facial hair. His triple chinned face looked like it had been in a 15 round fight. Out of the mist Mr. Son said hello to me at one o'clock sun time. It set later each day.
Humid air gave way to clear sunshine. My air filter opened. . I sneezed. The bearded one woke up and peaked out the window. The coaster entered the Sorrento Valley area. It curved like a serpent over tall hills. The Oaks smiled with more leafs-due to the rain. Five minutes later, the Coaster hit the straight away. The pines and oaks followed a crease in the valley holding water.
"Next stop, Old Town. Make sure to remove everything before descending."
I spilled my bag of finished juice oranges and stepped down wearing my nap sack Whereas Encinitas had been fogged in holding too much smog and pollen, carrying too much smog and , the San Diego Harbor breeze pushed the sludge out of my way. Below me swam the San Diego River, a bit higher after the rains. The Mission Valley with its Sea World were to my west.
I stepped down the steps and crossed to the light. The big white house in front of me beckoned. I sat down in the patio area of the Wrightington House. Now underneath the Spanish eves, I had my first look at the beginning of spring. The Concord grape showed off its first leaf. The mighty fig already had a couple of ripe fruit ready to be eaten. Today I would treat myself to a coned rainbow ice cream. . I first took my weight at the old silver scale. It felt good to breath again.
But San Diego is not just the home to Old Town. There is also Little Italy, the Gas Lamp, Zoo, Balboa Park, Seaport Village and the Midway aircraft carrier The Asians flock to see the sailor kissing the nurse on the south side. The thin Japanese with their camera may have lost the war, but they now claimed part of San Diego as their own.
Not to be outdone, the taller Chinese love Old Town. Many come to look rather than buy. Those from overseas dress in bright colors with a perpetual smile. They carry cameras. One told me they had never seen a Palm Tree before or the great San Diego weather. Whereas the Japanese have a dead panned expression, the Chinese are always jovial, and why not, they have our money.
It was late afternoon and time for my nap. I returned to the Old Town train station and removed a book parked inside its lot. I then took the Green Line back to my hotel. At the Santa Fe station I spilled out, buffeted by a heavy Harbor breeze. The air temperature had dropped five degrees also. A middle aged couple looked lost.
Can I help you?
"Yes, we wish to get to the airport bus stop."
Why just follow me. I live a block from it. Where you from?
"Texas. And it it bitter cold."
Are you taking a flight?
"No, we wish to return to the Sheraton."
Get off at the first terminal. The walk is only two long blocks south. Here is my blog. They call me 'Cruisin' George around these parts.
I left to take my nap and eat my salad before turning in a seven. Yes, I am an early riser.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Horst Cahn/Survivor
"We needed to get married a second time or the Germans would not allow us to reenter the American sector...Just after the war, the Germans told me to remove the pants from a dead soldier...I told them as a Cohan, or High Jewish Priest, I obeyed the ten commandments."
Again we sit at table 5, and as usual, the last living survivor of a death march in Buna Camp says, "I want to tell you something." There is Lady Barbara, Gregorio, Abe, Thomas also at the Oak Cafe table. He spoke about his experiences inside death camp Auschwitz.
"Look here George. See the scars on my leg. I was building parts of a bridge to bring liquid into our camp. A German soldier watched and screamed up to me. 'What do you think you are doing, getting a sun tan up there.'
"He shot me with his rifle and one bullet hit me here and entered there, just missing my ankle bone. I threw my wrench at him and hit his leg. He needed to go to the infirmary. I told the commandant the wrench had slipped out of my hand."
Horst was in a mood to talk and slipped his fried chicken and rice plate to me. We all listened to the last living survivor of his barracks, called Buna.
"Some high school kids wished me to be a tour guide back to Auschwitz. I told them, after considerable thought, I had seen enough of it. Here is another scar on my ear where another German tried to kill me with his bayonet. I turned at the last second and it went through my ear. See."
Do you remember your first good meat with your Czechoslovakian wife?
"A farmer gave us some potatoes and peas. We saw a truck that carried canned goods. I stole a few cans of meat and made a hole for the potatoes. It is against our traditions to leave food. I buried it....speaking of food, I received my first job in Rochester, New York as a Chef in a Jewish restaurant. I worked five days a week but they paid for six. I observed the Jewish holidays just like my parents."
I asked him about his parents. What were they like?
"Well," he always began his sentences with "well", They wished me to take violin lessons but I did not wish to hurt my shoulder. Their music was listening to me and my sister. He owned a office supply factory. His family had come from Cologne. They had no idea the resettlement camp the Germans took us to would take there lives the first day."
"Like I told you George, I was happy they did not have to suffer in the camp. Nobody knew what went on inside these camps since nobody ever got out."
Now Lady Barbara decided to play. Her entire family has musical talent. Her Mom had played the flute and she told me her mother's cousin was the first accepted American composer. She played the song the French so admired.
The lifts and taxis had arrived. They left and for me, I went to the computer room to write what you read-or at least I hope you can.
Again we sit at table 5, and as usual, the last living survivor of a death march in Buna Camp says, "I want to tell you something." There is Lady Barbara, Gregorio, Abe, Thomas also at the Oak Cafe table. He spoke about his experiences inside death camp Auschwitz.
"Look here George. See the scars on my leg. I was building parts of a bridge to bring liquid into our camp. A German soldier watched and screamed up to me. 'What do you think you are doing, getting a sun tan up there.'
"He shot me with his rifle and one bullet hit me here and entered there, just missing my ankle bone. I threw my wrench at him and hit his leg. He needed to go to the infirmary. I told the commandant the wrench had slipped out of my hand."
Horst was in a mood to talk and slipped his fried chicken and rice plate to me. We all listened to the last living survivor of his barracks, called Buna.
"Some high school kids wished me to be a tour guide back to Auschwitz. I told them, after considerable thought, I had seen enough of it. Here is another scar on my ear where another German tried to kill me with his bayonet. I turned at the last second and it went through my ear. See."
Do you remember your first good meat with your Czechoslovakian wife?
"A farmer gave us some potatoes and peas. We saw a truck that carried canned goods. I stole a few cans of meat and made a hole for the potatoes. It is against our traditions to leave food. I buried it....speaking of food, I received my first job in Rochester, New York as a Chef in a Jewish restaurant. I worked five days a week but they paid for six. I observed the Jewish holidays just like my parents."
I asked him about his parents. What were they like?
"Well," he always began his sentences with "well", They wished me to take violin lessons but I did not wish to hurt my shoulder. Their music was listening to me and my sister. He owned a office supply factory. His family had come from Cologne. They had no idea the resettlement camp the Germans took us to would take there lives the first day."
"Like I told you George, I was happy they did not have to suffer in the camp. Nobody knew what went on inside these camps since nobody ever got out."
Now Lady Barbara decided to play. Her entire family has musical talent. Her Mom had played the flute and she told me her mother's cousin was the first accepted American composer. She played the song the French so admired.
The lifts and taxis had arrived. They left and for me, I went to the computer room to write what you read-or at least I hope you can.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Moonlight Beach,, Encinitas
Moonlight Beach lies about twenty miles north of San Diego. The hidden cove lies at the feet of Encinitas Blvd., a small city known for flowers and surfing. I stumbled on it four years ago after I had driven from San Diego for fresh air and a new life. Four years ago I landed there by accident. I needed to try and rebuild my life.
It was an early Sunday morning and my car, Dolly, and I needed to rest for awhile. My girl friend Shelly had told me back in L.A. I was "ugly and boring" and broke up with me. My own daughter had thrown my possessions inside a dumpster, and on top of that, my head had to deal with two abscessed molars. I parked my exhausted car on the 101 and ambled towards some bushes across Encinitas Blvd.
There was a beautiful botanical garden in front of me. I trailed down a path that led me to tennis courts. In back of the courts was a small pool of water with benches above it. I sat down and examined my life. Sleep overcame me. Below many baby guppy fish swam around with a hawk perched overhead, and watching me. I walked west towards the smell of the ocean. Above me a large Palm tree winked. I climbed out of this dream and got my first glimpse of the bay on this August day of 2010.
A few black wet suits returned from the water and scrubbed their boards. Other early morning owls practiced their sets on two volleyball courts. I bought a Sunday Times and tried to remove bad times from my mind.
A few people slowly walked down the road and set up their chairs in a circle. I could not believe my luck. It had to be a 12 step Al Anon group. I joined in to reboot my program-already ten years in program. I could barely hear the speakers but their talk gave me a lift. I remembered two of my tools: take it easy, and one day at a time. Yet today, four years later I had graduated. Moonlight beach also graduated into a first class beach for families, volleyball players, surfers or just beach-goers. I go there for clambakes, there are several pits or just relax to get ample doses of vitamin D.
I did not know about was the lovely Senior Center a mile or two up the hills. That is where I met the love of my life, Lady Barbara, at Lucky Table Number 5.
At that miracle table sits six of us who have become best of friends. Laughter is our dessert while we indulge ourselves in a different nutritious lunchtime meal -donations are welcomed. There is also a billiard room, bridge games, pickle ball, and a lot of other senior events. There is another dance scheduled this month for St. Patrick's Day.
An updated computer room allows me to play a different type of instrument-it is called a computer. Kris, Tony, and Linda tutor me, with lots of patients. / Excuse the interruption. I have to open the piano for Lady Barbara so she can play tunes her Mom Agnes played many years ago.
She plays one hell of a Ave Maria and is getting ready to play Easter Parade. Gregorio, the mad Russian is in love with my Lady. Unshaven Thomas laughs up some food. Abe listens and eats his ready-made tuna salad, and then...oh my here he comes our Auschwitz survivor. Horst Cahn. I grab a chair and sit by My Lady.
"George my back hurts too much today. Can you play?"
I sit down, not to write a letter, but to play a few tunes from South Pacific like Some Enchanted Evening, and Don't Throw Bouquets at Me.
Horst comes over and begins to dance with a reluctant Lady Barbara. Soon, everyone is laughing including the piano. Now who has heard of a piano that can laugh? Before you leave my blog, sing along with me: We were sailing along, on Moon Light Bay...
To visit my beach get off at the Encinitas off ramp from the 5 freeway and turn west, or east on it
for the senior center.
Note: sorry I headed you in the wrong direction towards Tijuana. At the border it may take an hour to get out, but head north thirty miles the other way. Tonight I dance to the sounds of the Moonlight Sonata on University and 55th Street. It is next to K Mart
It was an early Sunday morning and my car, Dolly, and I needed to rest for awhile. My girl friend Shelly had told me back in L.A. I was "ugly and boring" and broke up with me. My own daughter had thrown my possessions inside a dumpster, and on top of that, my head had to deal with two abscessed molars. I parked my exhausted car on the 101 and ambled towards some bushes across Encinitas Blvd.
There was a beautiful botanical garden in front of me. I trailed down a path that led me to tennis courts. In back of the courts was a small pool of water with benches above it. I sat down and examined my life. Sleep overcame me. Below many baby guppy fish swam around with a hawk perched overhead, and watching me. I walked west towards the smell of the ocean. Above me a large Palm tree winked. I climbed out of this dream and got my first glimpse of the bay on this August day of 2010.
A few black wet suits returned from the water and scrubbed their boards. Other early morning owls practiced their sets on two volleyball courts. I bought a Sunday Times and tried to remove bad times from my mind.A few people slowly walked down the road and set up their chairs in a circle. I could not believe my luck. It had to be a 12 step Al Anon group. I joined in to reboot my program-already ten years in program. I could barely hear the speakers but their talk gave me a lift. I remembered two of my tools: take it easy, and one day at a time. Yet today, four years later I had graduated. Moonlight beach also graduated into a first class beach for families, volleyball players, surfers or just beach-goers. I go there for clambakes, there are several pits or just relax to get ample doses of vitamin D.
I did not know about was the lovely Senior Center a mile or two up the hills. That is where I met the love of my life, Lady Barbara, at Lucky Table Number 5.
At that miracle table sits six of us who have become best of friends. Laughter is our dessert while we indulge ourselves in a different nutritious lunchtime meal -donations are welcomed. There is also a billiard room, bridge games, pickle ball, and a lot of other senior events. There is another dance scheduled this month for St. Patrick's Day.
An updated computer room allows me to play a different type of instrument-it is called a computer. Kris, Tony, and Linda tutor me, with lots of patients. / Excuse the interruption. I have to open the piano for Lady Barbara so she can play tunes her Mom Agnes played many years ago.
She plays one hell of a Ave Maria and is getting ready to play Easter Parade. Gregorio, the mad Russian is in love with my Lady. Unshaven Thomas laughs up some food. Abe listens and eats his ready-made tuna salad, and then...oh my here he comes our Auschwitz survivor. Horst Cahn. I grab a chair and sit by My Lady.
"George my back hurts too much today. Can you play?"
I sit down, not to write a letter, but to play a few tunes from South Pacific like Some Enchanted Evening, and Don't Throw Bouquets at Me.
Horst comes over and begins to dance with a reluctant Lady Barbara. Soon, everyone is laughing including the piano. Now who has heard of a piano that can laugh? Before you leave my blog, sing along with me: We were sailing along, on Moon Light Bay...
To visit my beach get off at the Encinitas off ramp from the 5 freeway and turn west, or east on it
for the senior center.
Note: sorry I headed you in the wrong direction towards Tijuana. At the border it may take an hour to get out, but head north thirty miles the other way. Tonight I dance to the sounds of the Moonlight Sonata on University and 55th Street. It is next to K Mart
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Another Lady Barbara Story
Today Lady Barbara played the piano again at the Encinitas Senior Center. She played songs from Fiddler on the Roof. . I sing and she plays since her eyes now fail her. She played and sang from Wish I was a Rich Man, and Sunrise Sunset. She was in fine spirits since the rain brings out the best in my Lady.
She has problems recalling melodies. But when I can hum the tune, she has the gift to hit the right black and whites on the piano. My do we have fun.
Yesterday I spent the entire day in the hospital to make sure my friend got the best of care-and he did. That evening, I felt pooped. I ate a left over tuna sandwich and called it a night at seven o'clock. There would be no blood pressure pill for me tonight. My research made me think twice before swallowing my blood thinner and dehydrate.
I arose once to shower at twelve and slept till six. I hopped on the 6:25 coaster to my parked car in Old Town and winged it to first Coco's and then the Encinitas' Senior Center. I blogged about my experience at the Scripps Hospital before taking some sheet music for the senior lunch at 11:00.
Of course I played You were only fooling when Lady Barbara came up and finished with "when I was falling in love..." I played a few songs and she sat and played Easter Parade and when Irish Eyes were Smiling. Another old time gal sat down and tried to sing. I could tell in her day she had it.
It was baked chicken and rice day. Gregorio, the mad Russian picked up his chicken with both hands and forgot about time. Of course he made time with the chicken. Barbara,, now happy, spoke more about her family and dropped a piece of chicken
"I made a royal mistake." Don't worry Lady Barbara, tell me more about the McDowell s?
"My Uncle Ed, who lived in upstate New York, composed music. He composed To a wild Rose and other songs. He became the first accepted American composer in France. He arranged music for CBS radio among the other radio stations." My other uncle was the one who got me music lessons. He played the French horn and played in the Los Angeles Philharmonic orchestra."
I had overheard her speaking about her Mom's teaching job in Pueblo, Colorado. I wished to know why her family settled in Colorado
"My Grandfather had the biggest meat packing business in upstate New York. He came down with a lung disease and his doctors told him to move west. He moved and began to distribute grocery products to stores. He bought items in bulk."
He probably came down with consumption or asthma. Tuberculosis was the big killer than along with Diphtheria. Tell me more.
"They bought some twenty acres of land before they sold it to an oil company. They kept the mineral rights. He moved then to Arizona where he died in his fifties. My brother in Oregon has all the papers. Both of us own the rights for any oil found on our property."Her Mom told her that she taught sixth grade in a Pueblo school house using McGuffey readers. Many of her students spoke foreign languages and their Dad's worked close by mining steel.
At that point during lunch, everyone began to leave. Their taxis and lifts arrived. Some took the free bread while I bused the Table 5 dishes. Stories from Lady Barbara will be edited into a book.
At another lunch, I asked her what made Jay McAfee so special-or what was the chemical attraction.
"He had no faults. He was nice with his fellow employees and the letters sent to him during and after his death bear this out. Even today, I sign my name with his name in the middle."
"When Steve took us to Palo Verde, Arizona , I know he wished to get to know Jay better. Jay never was good in sports but did attempt to play golf. The other Bechtel golfers made fun of him but he wanted to be one of them."
"I remember reading in a business magazine that Steve Bechtel may have been the richest man in the United States. He owned all of his stock and gave some to his executives."
"He was smallish and thin compared to his rather heavy wife. I remember we had to go up a tall tower to look over the land. Mrs. Bechtel climbed but not me. My husband forced me to climb the ladder, but I could not look down. Steve rented a Ford to take us around when he could have rented a more stylish car."
I told her that I woke up singing the song that her Uncle Eddie McDowell wrote. She played it on the piano. Her feeling for words and her piano playing has improved.
"George, do you know that most houses carried a piano?
Well Barbara, without a song the day would never end or even begin.
She has problems recalling melodies. But when I can hum the tune, she has the gift to hit the right black and whites on the piano. My do we have fun.
Yesterday I spent the entire day in the hospital to make sure my friend got the best of care-and he did. That evening, I felt pooped. I ate a left over tuna sandwich and called it a night at seven o'clock. There would be no blood pressure pill for me tonight. My research made me think twice before swallowing my blood thinner and dehydrate.
I arose once to shower at twelve and slept till six. I hopped on the 6:25 coaster to my parked car in Old Town and winged it to first Coco's and then the Encinitas' Senior Center. I blogged about my experience at the Scripps Hospital before taking some sheet music for the senior lunch at 11:00.
Of course I played You were only fooling when Lady Barbara came up and finished with "when I was falling in love..." I played a few songs and she sat and played Easter Parade and when Irish Eyes were Smiling. Another old time gal sat down and tried to sing. I could tell in her day she had it.
It was baked chicken and rice day. Gregorio, the mad Russian picked up his chicken with both hands and forgot about time. Of course he made time with the chicken. Barbara,, now happy, spoke more about her family and dropped a piece of chicken
"I made a royal mistake." Don't worry Lady Barbara, tell me more about the McDowell s?
"My Uncle Ed, who lived in upstate New York, composed music. He composed To a wild Rose and other songs. He became the first accepted American composer in France. He arranged music for CBS radio among the other radio stations." My other uncle was the one who got me music lessons. He played the French horn and played in the Los Angeles Philharmonic orchestra."
I had overheard her speaking about her Mom's teaching job in Pueblo, Colorado. I wished to know why her family settled in Colorado
"My Grandfather had the biggest meat packing business in upstate New York. He came down with a lung disease and his doctors told him to move west. He moved and began to distribute grocery products to stores. He bought items in bulk."
He probably came down with consumption or asthma. Tuberculosis was the big killer than along with Diphtheria. Tell me more.
"They bought some twenty acres of land before they sold it to an oil company. They kept the mineral rights. He moved then to Arizona where he died in his fifties. My brother in Oregon has all the papers. Both of us own the rights for any oil found on our property."Her Mom told her that she taught sixth grade in a Pueblo school house using McGuffey readers. Many of her students spoke foreign languages and their Dad's worked close by mining steel.
At that point during lunch, everyone began to leave. Their taxis and lifts arrived. Some took the free bread while I bused the Table 5 dishes. Stories from Lady Barbara will be edited into a book.
At another lunch, I asked her what made Jay McAfee so special-or what was the chemical attraction.
"He had no faults. He was nice with his fellow employees and the letters sent to him during and after his death bear this out. Even today, I sign my name with his name in the middle."
"When Steve took us to Palo Verde, Arizona , I know he wished to get to know Jay better. Jay never was good in sports but did attempt to play golf. The other Bechtel golfers made fun of him but he wanted to be one of them."
"I remember reading in a business magazine that Steve Bechtel may have been the richest man in the United States. He owned all of his stock and gave some to his executives."
"He was smallish and thin compared to his rather heavy wife. I remember we had to go up a tall tower to look over the land. Mrs. Bechtel climbed but not me. My husband forced me to climb the ladder, but I could not look down. Steve rented a Ford to take us around when he could have rented a more stylish car."
I told her that I woke up singing the song that her Uncle Eddie McDowell wrote. She played it on the piano. Her feeling for words and her piano playing has improved.
"George, do you know that most houses carried a piano?
Well Barbara, without a song the day would never end or even begin.
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