The New San Diego Library

It was the day the rains finally came to San Diego. What with the dust and too much carbon in the air, it arrived just in time. Yet the rain in San Diego made my day. I took a break from the Encinitas Senior Center-after all don't we all need a little variety in our lives.
   That evening at the downtown Y hotel, my buddy told me his insurance had finally returned and his heart procedure would take place at the Mercy Scripps on Monday morn. But I needed a break from reality. The other evening, I saw another blanket with a few whiskers and burned head peeping out. I felt disgusted and spent the morning at the Harbor Sheraton Hotel.
   I enjoy reading their complimentary UT newspaper over a hot coffee. I returned to my car parked a block away in back of the Marina Deli and drove to the Old Town commuter lot. From there, the Green Line Trolley took me to Imperial Station, across from Petco Field and the library.
   The elevator took me to the California Room, on the ninth floor. The elevator opened and I heard a percussion instrument playing outside. It sounded like someone playing the tin drums. I looked up and made a discovery: It was the long wavy strips of steal above the library.
   Inside the library I took up my seat in front of a digital microfiche computer and looked at the Los Angeles Times 1940 edition of the paper. Then it happened. A sea of tourists entered removing my serenity. I even saw the supervisor leading one of the many tour groups.

   "Hey Jack, this place feels more like the zoo. I don't mind them looking over my shoulders, but would like some peanuts of bananas - I feel like an animal."
   I continued to crop and copy some of the pictures, but had second thoughts of going to the downstairs computers where the homeless have homesteaded most of them. Yes, there was too, too much noise - quite unlike the downtown Riordan Library in Los Angeles. Why that one is a real library.
   The San Diego one feels like false idol-one in which my forefather told the people to remove and worship the real God, the one also of Jesus. But what is done is done. It feels to much like a bazaar. I quit the library and treated myself to a chicken salad at the Mission Cafe on J Street before returning to my cell at the Y.

  I felt relaxed but after a call from a daughter about car's break in, I went into action. My appetite told me to get to Old Town and the Wightingham House-it is the first one you hit after crossing San Diego Street. In the patio I thanked God for the flood before me. The hibernating trees had gone into action.
  Yellow shoots from the prickly pear showed off bits of yellow, as did the Concord grape arbor. Now their were little tits showing on the vines. It was simply divine to see a flood of water under it. I would most assuredly be eating fruit this summer.
  I plucked several ripe locquats from its tree, almost sinking into the mud and make my way to the fig tree. From there I sat down in front of the old cigar store and slept. Afterwards, I drove to Ralph's off of Sport Center Drive and bought a fried chicken breast along with Cole Slaw and three ripe pears.
   I walked to the Target store to eat and digest my Dickens story before returning to the Old Town Commuter lot. The rains had let up just in time for me to trolley back to my cell.