About one month ago, a lady and her botanist husband sat across from me on good-old-567 going to Los Angeles and all intermediate stops. She asked the conductor a question that has riveted in my mind all this time. She wished to know where to sit.
"Mr Conductor, which way is the train going." Without so-much-as-blinking-an-eye he told her, "It depends. The train has two heads. One head goes this way to L.A. and the other one turns around to return to San Diego."
Well, the wife of the Rose King in St. Louis still did not get it. but at least I do. The rides feel like waking on air unless a baby is on board. Here are some of my tips to save you time, money and make it a memorable experience.
I am on a budget. Sometimes, I take the Metro-link, the Los Angeles Commuter train. It is less than half of Amtrak and is usually more congested. It costs ten dollars to go from Los Angeles to Oceanside. From Oceanside, you can take the Coaster to San Diego and all of the intermediate stops. It does stop at Solana Beach.
It is about five dollars from Oceanside to San Diego on the Coaster commuter train and three late night Amtrak's. A coaster compass card or ticket will get you on to three late night trains. The earliest leaves Oceanside at about seven o'clock. Both the Amtrak and Coaster takes you all-the-way into downtown San Diego.
The reverse is also true heading for Los Angeles. An Asian lady paid thirteen dollars for an Amtrak ticket to get to Encinitas. She could have paid a bit over three for a Coaster ticket and saved ten dollars. Remember that six Amtrak trains accept Coaster tickets.
There are commuter lots up-and-down the coast. Wearing a watch is a must, as is learning the time tables for the trains and buses. Driving into San Diego is a death march to disaster. You drink a heavily loaded soup of carbon and particles to get there. You'[ll find no parking and even when you do, the meter maids will find a reason to ticket you.
Several big events are coming up. There is Comic-Com, Del Mar Racing, and even the Mira-mar Air show. The gas money you have saved will be exchanged for food, frolic and fun. A word of caution, Amtrak-Coaster tickets may not be used on Friday through Sunday of opening day at Del Mar.
An update to the above. The #567 Amtrak took me to Encinitas. I had hoped to get a parking place on the hills overlooking Moonlight State Beach. Yes, they call it 'State" for some reason. It would be another scorcher -- a day in eighties.
My car, as always, was waiting for me at the commuter station. I felt mad that my A/C no longer worked because of my negligence. After 178,000 miles, I did not change the all the belts. At least I could open the passenger window.
At nine thirty, it was still hot. I drove down D Street across the 101. The car lot was full and many cars exited it for street parking. Then I remembered about a four man volleyball tournament. Yet I found a small curbed area in back of an SUV. I unloaded my umbrella, folding chair, and descended a path.
It seemed that every man was over six feet six inches tall. No only tall, but muscular and lean. What shame I could beef up like them. I found a spot in back of the life guard station. It had a hill overlooking the matches in front of me. I had made sure to drink lots of water before settling down.
In the forties and fifties, all we used were beach umbrellas to ward off the sun. I don't remember my Mom concerned with tanning lotion. At Santa Monica Beach, we used our bodies and rubber rafts to carry the waves to shore. But today, everything has changed. Encinitas Beach now had been marketed as the Finest Beach in the South Bay.
All around me, beach goers huddled inside small circus tents. Four to six poles held the canvas up. And the canvas was heavy to ward off the rays from the sun. Paddle boarders, board surfers, buggy boards took advantage of four to five footers.
The smell of barbecues gave me an insatiable appetite. I felt like many Latino families had brought all of their cousins from across the boarder. Sets of twenty to forty circled the barbecue pits. Planks were tossed over the pits and fired up. Everywhere the fiesta goers played catch with a soccer ball. In fact, they used their feet, later on, to play volleyball -- volleyball is not their sport.
After two hours of watching crisp digging, setting, and spiking, I needed to drink and use their modern toilets. They were clean and even had toilet paper. Wow. Outside, a a food and beverage cafe offered pizza or sandwiches with the usual, a drink and chips.
A friend came by and spoke about the new Whole Foods store on E Street above the 101. He also mentioned a fish restaurant at the Oceanside Marina. My body became too hot, even while holding an umbrella overhead. I left for my car and I drove to Keno's for a fish and chips lunch for a little over six. It included a salad and baked potato. I had enough energy to go to Leucadia and the Town and Country Center to cash my retirement check.
Somehow after taking in too much sun, I made it back to San Diego on the Coaster train. With the new resurgent San Diego Padres playing the Giants of San Francisco, there was only one seat to be had. The others were taken up with beer bottles and whiskey. (Not Edited)
Monday, June 30, 2014
San Diego's Catholic Immaculate Church.
My Day began at the Catholic Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town. I was in luck. Father Ecker would provide the service this morning. He spoke how Peter and Paul spread the word of Christianity to those who accepted Jesus as Christ.
The church was built about one hundred and fifty years ago and has a pastoral picture of Father Serra on stained glass. My spiritual powers are awakened each time I enter the sanctuary. He speaks to the congregation as if talking to each one of us. Today was no exception. At the very end He spoke to me-or it seemed.
"Tommy's Mom told him to practice the piano by the window."
"But why Mom do I need to go to the window?"
"So I can throw you out!"
Instantly I thought about my Dad Harry. I did not know that my anger towards my parents spilled over to our Spinet piano. My Mom Edith provided me with piano and dancing lessons. She knew with my speech impediment, no gals would come my way. The lessons cost five dollars one half hour in 1952 and my teacher knew I did not have the patience for classical music, but I could memorize a song in no time and play it the next week without sheet music. But it was my Mom Edith who waylaid the plans of Harry. I didn't know I also had other creative talents until much later.
In the Rectory Hall next store I pacified myself with my buddies, Max, Leonard, and of course Al Weaver. We often go next door for a pancake breakfast. Whenever I ask Al, a hero of Okinawa in World War 2, he whispers, "Am I alive?" I treasure my meeting with the boys since I pick up a few things from them, and a few sugar donuts. Yet the rest of my day turned into a nightmare.
At about one o'clock I drove to the old Lafayette Hotel in the Hillcrest area of San Diego. I felt like dancing but the hotel's lack of parking facilities, air conditioning, and new ladies made me make a decision I regretted the remainder of my day. I decided to drive to Carlsbad from Washington Street. Bad decision.
The 5 looked like it was rolling, that is until I got to the Carmel Valley area. The freeway turned into a parkway. Cars switched to other lanes only to switch back to the other. For me a local, I knew enough to bounce off the six lane freeway and exit at the Del Mar Heights off-ramp. Mistake. As soon as I got off, I noticed that many motor men had a similar idea. I crawled toward the Del Mar Beach highway. I had forgotten about the going home traffic and the San Diego Fair.
The highway going west on the 101 had three lanes: One for cars, one for bikers, and one for parking. You guessed it! It took two hours for me to survive the death march to Encinitas. I gave up the idea of getting to Carlsbad but felt lucky to have survived the long endless line. On my next blog, i will show you how to get to and out of San Diego by spending little and minimizing your stress.
Again,
The church was built about one hundred and fifty years ago and has a pastoral picture of Father Serra on stained glass. My spiritual powers are awakened each time I enter the sanctuary. He speaks to the congregation as if talking to each one of us. Today was no exception. At the very end He spoke to me-or it seemed.
"Tommy's Mom told him to practice the piano by the window."
"But why Mom do I need to go to the window?"
"So I can throw you out!"
Instantly I thought about my Dad Harry. I did not know that my anger towards my parents spilled over to our Spinet piano. My Mom Edith provided me with piano and dancing lessons. She knew with my speech impediment, no gals would come my way. The lessons cost five dollars one half hour in 1952 and my teacher knew I did not have the patience for classical music, but I could memorize a song in no time and play it the next week without sheet music. But it was my Mom Edith who waylaid the plans of Harry. I didn't know I also had other creative talents until much later.
In the Rectory Hall next store I pacified myself with my buddies, Max, Leonard, and of course Al Weaver. We often go next door for a pancake breakfast. Whenever I ask Al, a hero of Okinawa in World War 2, he whispers, "Am I alive?" I treasure my meeting with the boys since I pick up a few things from them, and a few sugar donuts. Yet the rest of my day turned into a nightmare.
At about one o'clock I drove to the old Lafayette Hotel in the Hillcrest area of San Diego. I felt like dancing but the hotel's lack of parking facilities, air conditioning, and new ladies made me make a decision I regretted the remainder of my day. I decided to drive to Carlsbad from Washington Street. Bad decision.
The 5 looked like it was rolling, that is until I got to the Carmel Valley area. The freeway turned into a parkway. Cars switched to other lanes only to switch back to the other. For me a local, I knew enough to bounce off the six lane freeway and exit at the Del Mar Heights off-ramp. Mistake. As soon as I got off, I noticed that many motor men had a similar idea. I crawled toward the Del Mar Beach highway. I had forgotten about the going home traffic and the San Diego Fair.
The highway going west on the 101 had three lanes: One for cars, one for bikers, and one for parking. You guessed it! It took two hours for me to survive the death march to Encinitas. I gave up the idea of getting to Carlsbad but felt lucky to have survived the long endless line. On my next blog, i will show you how to get to and out of San Diego by spending little and minimizing your stress.
Again,
Friday, June 27, 2014
A Return Visit to the Scripp's Mercy Hospital.
Friday is my time to take a vacation from the computer and enjoy myself. And the best weekly vacation is at in the Hillcrest Area of San Diego. I park my car in the disabled parking lot and head to the Scripp's Mercy cafeteria. Yesterday's afternoon dancing has given me a prodigious appetite for life. But it begins with the best little breakfast in San Diego, and what looks like a hospital where the employees seem content.
I look over the cafeteria counter and order two scrambled eggs, a heap of spinach and two slices of bacon The cafeteria worker fills my plate with eggs and examines the bacon . She removes two lean ones the pan. I add some toast and place some walnuts inside a small round carton.
In back of me I notice several types of pastry. They include cakes, croissants, bagels, brownies and several others. I move over to the several types of coffee and choose Columbian. In back of me are eight types of cereal including my favorite Raisin Brand. To the side of the cereal are three types of tea, herbal, green and regular.
This time the cashier registers six dollars and change. I relished every bite. The scrambled eggs did well with the spinach. With strawberry jam on my wheat bread, I sucked every piece with flourish. In front of me was a Wimbledon teen match on a flat screen-T.V. but it was match-set-point with the best breakfast an old bloke like me could have.
It was eight o'clock, the time the library opened to doctors. Dr. Garrett strode in and sat down to his New York Times. To me, a breakfast is complete when I read the New York Times. After about one hour of reading, I went to their computers. I wished to research the cause of T.M.J and to see how it connects with Dyslexia.
I was not amazed to find out that this so-called-disability could cause many problems later on due to stress. A later E mail from my daughter approved of my find. As a reading teacher, it did not amaze me that those who couldn't read could not concentrate and were called ADD's. The lack of self esteem caused many to drop out of society.
Furthermore, I found people who lived in sunny countries had little Alzheimer's verses those in colder climates. I already new the Sun God cured most ills. The South American countries had little or no Alzheimer's disease.
At about eleven o'clock I left and but not before loading up on some delicious plumbs at Albertson's. I spent the rest of my day right here, at the downtown San Diego Library. (Not edited.)
I look over the cafeteria counter and order two scrambled eggs, a heap of spinach and two slices of bacon The cafeteria worker fills my plate with eggs and examines the bacon . She removes two lean ones the pan. I add some toast and place some walnuts inside a small round carton.
In back of me I notice several types of pastry. They include cakes, croissants, bagels, brownies and several others. I move over to the several types of coffee and choose Columbian. In back of me are eight types of cereal including my favorite Raisin Brand. To the side of the cereal are three types of tea, herbal, green and regular.
This time the cashier registers six dollars and change. I relished every bite. The scrambled eggs did well with the spinach. With strawberry jam on my wheat bread, I sucked every piece with flourish. In front of me was a Wimbledon teen match on a flat screen-T.V. but it was match-set-point with the best breakfast an old bloke like me could have.
It was eight o'clock, the time the library opened to doctors. Dr. Garrett strode in and sat down to his New York Times. To me, a breakfast is complete when I read the New York Times. After about one hour of reading, I went to their computers. I wished to research the cause of T.M.J and to see how it connects with Dyslexia.
I was not amazed to find out that this so-called-disability could cause many problems later on due to stress. A later E mail from my daughter approved of my find. As a reading teacher, it did not amaze me that those who couldn't read could not concentrate and were called ADD's. The lack of self esteem caused many to drop out of society.
Furthermore, I found people who lived in sunny countries had little Alzheimer's verses those in colder climates. I already new the Sun God cured most ills. The South American countries had little or no Alzheimer's disease.
At about eleven o'clock I left and but not before loading up on some delicious plumbs at Albertson's. I spent the rest of my day right here, at the downtown San Diego Library. (Not edited.)
The Balboa Bay Senior's Dance.
Friday afternoon, I saddled up to several ladies at the Balboa Bay Club. Remember every-other week dances are held at Balboa Park. Presidents Way is about three light south of the Zoo, when you turn left. and hope to get lucky. A few carry their dancing shoes in handbags. I have been tripping there for three years now. I am in luck, the Billy Harper band is on stage.
So as not to offend anyone, the names of my dancing partners and those who have retired to an assistant living quarters will be changed. Most are aged seventy up until their nineties. The lucky ones still come with their partners in tow.
I drove the 5 freeway from Encinitas, one of the few times I drive. I get off at the Tenth Avenue off-ramp and make two lefts until I hit Park Boulevard. Two lights further another one on President's Way and I park up the hill. I pay my three dollars and take up my perch in the back. I like to zoom in on some of these creatures from heaven.
My camera can make a beautiful God out of an old dried up turnip-guess that makes me a writer. I am wearing my new two tone saddle shoes and have used lots of Eternity Cologne on my neck. My hair, or what is left of it, is held by Brill cream hair cement.
My first dance is with Amy. She is tall and most handsome. I glance to the corner seats and see that English has made it with a few of her friends. I am delighted. The next dance I hold English firmly but not too tight. To refresh you memory, I met her at a dance in back of an industrial arts building in Encinitas. She wears blond hair and a glowing smile
"Please your crushing my hands," I warn her.
'Can't help it. You are too much fun." she replies
I twirl her a few times and nestle her closer to me. She does not flinch but readily obliges. I look down at her and her eyes meet mine. It is love at first sight. I am in love!
"She tells me that she has a boy friend, but her eyes tell me he is now history. Besides I wish to return to Dicken's country again."
A few more dances later, the band takes an intermission and we partake in refreshments. I make a few cracker cheese sandwiches and drink the lemonade. After intermission, I dance with a few others. A tall blond sitting acquiesces to my charms. She feels just right, but I notice she trembles
"What is wrong with you, Doris. Do you have Parkinson's?"
"No but this is the first time I have danced with you You are a fine dancer."
"Don't thank me, but you can thank Edith in heaven."
After the dance, I returned to Old Town and parked my car its commuter lot. I made two egg sandwiches and turned in early. I never felt better and just knew my time was about to come. At the time of this blog, I will most certainly return to this ballroom for tango lessons tomorrow night
So as not to offend anyone, the names of my dancing partners and those who have retired to an assistant living quarters will be changed. Most are aged seventy up until their nineties. The lucky ones still come with their partners in tow.
I drove the 5 freeway from Encinitas, one of the few times I drive. I get off at the Tenth Avenue off-ramp and make two lefts until I hit Park Boulevard. Two lights further another one on President's Way and I park up the hill. I pay my three dollars and take up my perch in the back. I like to zoom in on some of these creatures from heaven.
My camera can make a beautiful God out of an old dried up turnip-guess that makes me a writer. I am wearing my new two tone saddle shoes and have used lots of Eternity Cologne on my neck. My hair, or what is left of it, is held by Brill cream hair cement.
My first dance is with Amy. She is tall and most handsome. I glance to the corner seats and see that English has made it with a few of her friends. I am delighted. The next dance I hold English firmly but not too tight. To refresh you memory, I met her at a dance in back of an industrial arts building in Encinitas. She wears blond hair and a glowing smile
"Please your crushing my hands," I warn her.
'Can't help it. You are too much fun." she replies
I twirl her a few times and nestle her closer to me. She does not flinch but readily obliges. I look down at her and her eyes meet mine. It is love at first sight. I am in love!
"She tells me that she has a boy friend, but her eyes tell me he is now history. Besides I wish to return to Dicken's country again."
A few more dances later, the band takes an intermission and we partake in refreshments. I make a few cracker cheese sandwiches and drink the lemonade. After intermission, I dance with a few others. A tall blond sitting acquiesces to my charms. She feels just right, but I notice she trembles
"What is wrong with you, Doris. Do you have Parkinson's?"
"No but this is the first time I have danced with you You are a fine dancer."
"Don't thank me, but you can thank Edith in heaven."
After the dance, I returned to Old Town and parked my car its commuter lot. I made two egg sandwiches and turned in early. I never felt better and just knew my time was about to come. At the time of this blog, I will most certainly return to this ballroom for tango lessons tomorrow night
Thursday, June 26, 2014
A New Pair of Shoes.
Change is in the air. and it is I, yes I.
No longer am I eager to rise up in the morning. I wish to kiss the morn'in fog. But not today. I love to drink the free 'Y' coffee while sitting on the stops of the re-named 500 building. Most walkers hold a Starbucks Mocha or Smoothie to get them through the day. Most look like they are going to get their first Polio shot.
I have noticed the first suede shoes. I saw two today, in fact one said "try me out for size".
I replied, "I already bought a pair of saddle shoes colored tan and brown", but have a good day anyway."
Five years ago, my then girl friend Gloria told me "the mark of a man is his hair and shoes." Finally, on a dare, I bought some shoes at Carlsbad Outlet Store in back of Starbucks. The store is located on Avenue of Cars off of Palomar Road. They had been advertised for $200 and I got them for $50 and threw in another ten for black socks. And what an investment it turned out to be. Gloria was right on!
Of course It dawned upon me that the rawhide was a bit stiff, until I took a good look at my feet. Of course they spoke. "Trim me or else. The shoes are strangling me." I took out my nail file and trimmed the nails. Too my surprise the shoes fit.
Yesterday at one thirty, I risked it. In back of the Napa car store on Encinitas Blvd is a dancing club. It meets every Wednesday from one until three. I entered and saw a problem. The 101 room had fans running everywhere. Now ow on earth could anyone with chronic asthma dance there. I paid the three dollars admission and did, just for thirty minutes.
Inside the room held about fifty people, from seventy until ninety. Of course I love the old wrinkled ladies. Like old prunes, their sweetness overwhelms me. Yet the one I fancied most sat in a corner and threw an enticing smile my way. I asked her to dance and she had already risen before I go to the word dance. She darn right strangle me. I felt like a piece of wood on a vice.
"Miss, where are you from?..London...Well here in America we don't crush bodies or hands...Don't you know the war is over."
When I looked straight at her face, she still smiled and hugged me even harder. Now I did not wish to get too excited, since I had more writing to do. Her dress did reveal a small bra strap stuck outside her shoulder. She told me that her family still lives in England and she came her in the eighties.
There is something about an English accent that turns me on. I found English girls well grounded in the affairs of men. "Hey, what about you and me going on the Titanic back to England."
I returned to the Encinitas Senior Center to practice Camelot on their well tuned piano. Today I felt like Richard Burton. In the key of B flat, I practiced the main song Camelot. The snow may never slush upon a hillside...
No longer am I eager to rise up in the morning. I wish to kiss the morn'in fog. But not today. I love to drink the free 'Y' coffee while sitting on the stops of the re-named 500 building. Most walkers hold a Starbucks Mocha or Smoothie to get them through the day. Most look like they are going to get their first Polio shot.
I have noticed the first suede shoes. I saw two today, in fact one said "try me out for size".
I replied, "I already bought a pair of saddle shoes colored tan and brown", but have a good day anyway."
Five years ago, my then girl friend Gloria told me "the mark of a man is his hair and shoes." Finally, on a dare, I bought some shoes at Carlsbad Outlet Store in back of Starbucks. The store is located on Avenue of Cars off of Palomar Road. They had been advertised for $200 and I got them for $50 and threw in another ten for black socks. And what an investment it turned out to be. Gloria was right on!
Of course It dawned upon me that the rawhide was a bit stiff, until I took a good look at my feet. Of course they spoke. "Trim me or else. The shoes are strangling me." I took out my nail file and trimmed the nails. Too my surprise the shoes fit.
Yesterday at one thirty, I risked it. In back of the Napa car store on Encinitas Blvd is a dancing club. It meets every Wednesday from one until three. I entered and saw a problem. The 101 room had fans running everywhere. Now ow on earth could anyone with chronic asthma dance there. I paid the three dollars admission and did, just for thirty minutes.
Inside the room held about fifty people, from seventy until ninety. Of course I love the old wrinkled ladies. Like old prunes, their sweetness overwhelms me. Yet the one I fancied most sat in a corner and threw an enticing smile my way. I asked her to dance and she had already risen before I go to the word dance. She darn right strangle me. I felt like a piece of wood on a vice.
"Miss, where are you from?..London...Well here in America we don't crush bodies or hands...Don't you know the war is over."
When I looked straight at her face, she still smiled and hugged me even harder. Now I did not wish to get too excited, since I had more writing to do. Her dress did reveal a small bra strap stuck outside her shoulder. She told me that her family still lives in England and she came her in the eighties.
There is something about an English accent that turns me on. I found English girls well grounded in the affairs of men. "Hey, what about you and me going on the Titanic back to England."
I returned to the Encinitas Senior Center to practice Camelot on their well tuned piano. Today I felt like Richard Burton. In the key of B flat, I practiced the main song Camelot. The snow may never slush upon a hillside...
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
San Diego City Council Meeting
Long, elegant long black pointed heals took up the seats at the San Diego's Tuesday morning meeting. The ladies must have gone to a beauty salon the day before the morning meeting. .
I settled back in my chair. I made sure my named was on the public speakers agenda. It was my first time at a council meeting in over over two years. Two years ago I spoke about my need for an air conditioner. Today I would do a repeat, but with one difference, no longer do I have a trigger or react to bureaucrats.
A deluge of black police officers took up the aisles. I wondered who was minding the streets outside. Each hugged and swarmed over each other like Spawning Salmon. Could this be a Baptist revival meeting? Over fifty blue shirts flooded the chambers. They had come to honor two retiring officers, Lieutenant James Filley and Captain Tony McElroy.
To an outsider, it reminded me of the tea party in Alice in Wonderland. I wondered if even Obama might show up. Everywhere they hugged, exchanged cards, and spoke about the new retirees -- that is all except me. A soon-to-be seventy five- I was too young to retire.
I wanted to know why Gloria's secretary never got back to me, and why they gave us at the 500 building a 60 day termination notice. The new Egyptian owners never introduced themselves. They fired the building engineer and the Thomas Cartwright. The new owners celebrated by having a barbecue in the patio area of the old YMCA. An off balance billiard table has been placed in the lobby as was a box of cheep yellow glasses.
I had arrived at nine o'clock and was the first speaker on the public agenda. Nothing could bother me today and I dropped the microphone and spoke up. I showed a piece of a dusty filter and inquired why it was impossible to get an A/C. Of course I knew the answer: Mr. Hem and Haw
I felt sorry for the public who spoke after me. Three grammar school kids produced a DVD that showed an unsafe pedestrian walkway. Many from a middle school named Monroe Something spoke about a pot or cigarette shop across the street. And an apartment owner wished to know why a bus stopped every five minutes in front of her apartments and belched out fumes.
Of course for me the main problem was global warming and to stop the planes from flying over my head at night. Even Counsil memberAlvarez appeared to have asthma, the leading cause of death in San Diego.
But for me I took delight that I lived long enough to watch my two grandchildren come into this world. And just as important, to leave a DVD of my family that goes back to the forties.
Nuts and bolts from San Diego: There will be more red flag alerts and we saw just a preview in May, the merry-month-of-May. Why not have electric cars park free in downtown and give San Diego a three day work week. Monitors throughout the city should show the air quality each day.
I settled back in my chair. I made sure my named was on the public speakers agenda. It was my first time at a council meeting in over over two years. Two years ago I spoke about my need for an air conditioner. Today I would do a repeat, but with one difference, no longer do I have a trigger or react to bureaucrats.
A deluge of black police officers took up the aisles. I wondered who was minding the streets outside. Each hugged and swarmed over each other like Spawning Salmon. Could this be a Baptist revival meeting? Over fifty blue shirts flooded the chambers. They had come to honor two retiring officers, Lieutenant James Filley and Captain Tony McElroy.
To an outsider, it reminded me of the tea party in Alice in Wonderland. I wondered if even Obama might show up. Everywhere they hugged, exchanged cards, and spoke about the new retirees -- that is all except me. A soon-to-be seventy five- I was too young to retire.
I wanted to know why Gloria's secretary never got back to me, and why they gave us at the 500 building a 60 day termination notice. The new Egyptian owners never introduced themselves. They fired the building engineer and the Thomas Cartwright. The new owners celebrated by having a barbecue in the patio area of the old YMCA. An off balance billiard table has been placed in the lobby as was a box of cheep yellow glasses.
I had arrived at nine o'clock and was the first speaker on the public agenda. Nothing could bother me today and I dropped the microphone and spoke up. I showed a piece of a dusty filter and inquired why it was impossible to get an A/C. Of course I knew the answer: Mr. Hem and Haw
I felt sorry for the public who spoke after me. Three grammar school kids produced a DVD that showed an unsafe pedestrian walkway. Many from a middle school named Monroe Something spoke about a pot or cigarette shop across the street. And an apartment owner wished to know why a bus stopped every five minutes in front of her apartments and belched out fumes.
Of course for me the main problem was global warming and to stop the planes from flying over my head at night. Even Counsil memberAlvarez appeared to have asthma, the leading cause of death in San Diego.
But for me I took delight that I lived long enough to watch my two grandchildren come into this world. And just as important, to leave a DVD of my family that goes back to the forties.
Nuts and bolts from San Diego: There will be more red flag alerts and we saw just a preview in May, the merry-month-of-May. Why not have electric cars park free in downtown and give San Diego a three day work week. Monitors throughout the city should show the air quality each day.
A Scene from the YMCA
No longer can I get a hot shower. The new Egyptian owners must have turned down the water heater. What the hell, so I took a long warm shower and shaved. The hot coffee is made at seven o'clock, and to save a bit or two, I pour a cup and sit on the steps of the downtown 'Y'.
Almost everyone holds a Starbucks coffee. Nobody cracks a smile. The corner coffee clutch is busy as usual. He sells over three hundred coffees a day. And no wonder. Thousands of sleep walkers enter the downtown area of San Diego. Across from me the National Bank is draped with cloth. It is being remodeled. Next door, the Bank of America isn't open, but the bagel shop is busy and I can smell the onion ones a block away.
It feels great to get some fresh harbor air, since my cell offers dank humid air. I return to my second floor room and feel like eating the rest of my left-overs from the Tip Top Restaurant. I notice that the jabber-mouth is not inside the large kitchen.
I take the rest of my New York steak with potatoes to the kitchen. I am thankful that Nightgown is not there. She monopolizes the room with her endless cackling and chatter. She is a Polish reject and her name begins with a P which is followed with lots of 'W's and 'K's. I microwave it and sit...well try to sit down at the round table, but a ugly mop gets into my way. It is Nightgown.
"Dis is ma seat. Vat is matter vis yu." I can't believe it. I didn't tell nightgown 'to get lost.' I held my trigger. You can have it but don't talk."
I finished my Big John leftovers and left to my room. I needed to make my bed and pray for our President's head. I gave Edith a kiss and said good-by to my room. There is nothing like good air and of course, airing out my dirty linen to our corrupt City Council.
Outside, I felt exuberant. A steady Harbor breeze caressed my face. I turned the corner of Kettner and noticed the Sleeping Bag asleep next to the paper rack. I worried that he had finally succumbed to his fate several years too early.
The pedestrians no longer look. Sleeping bag city wakes up in the early morning hours. I take out my New York Times and sit beside the #567 Amtrak. In back of me the Green Line Trolley stopped and let its passengers link up with the Orange Line. Some crossed the tracks on their way to work. There wasn't a smile on any face.
While I ate the first page of the Times, Conductor Chris walked across from me. He unlocks the doors at about eight ten. "Hi Chris! Got four more months to go. How long you worked on railroad? "Forty and one half years George. How your book coming along. My mind is as clear as ever. I gorge myself on our miserable world. Why the paper even mentioned that a soccer player bit another.
I slide into a compartment and read the Times. I am the only passenger inside. I get off at Encinitas and thank God for another day. Tutor Tony helps me to place pictures inside my football book. Horst has proofread part of what I had written.
At table five, Barbara is not there. Horst complains of not sleeping a wink and he has pain in both legs. I asked him who he thinks about before he goes to bed. "My wife and my daughter. Elizabeth's ashes are in the living room."
Well got to go now. There is a dance up the street. It is only a CD dance, but at least the gals still make music.
Almost everyone holds a Starbucks coffee. Nobody cracks a smile. The corner coffee clutch is busy as usual. He sells over three hundred coffees a day. And no wonder. Thousands of sleep walkers enter the downtown area of San Diego. Across from me the National Bank is draped with cloth. It is being remodeled. Next door, the Bank of America isn't open, but the bagel shop is busy and I can smell the onion ones a block away.
It feels great to get some fresh harbor air, since my cell offers dank humid air. I return to my second floor room and feel like eating the rest of my left-overs from the Tip Top Restaurant. I notice that the jabber-mouth is not inside the large kitchen.
I take the rest of my New York steak with potatoes to the kitchen. I am thankful that Nightgown is not there. She monopolizes the room with her endless cackling and chatter. She is a Polish reject and her name begins with a P which is followed with lots of 'W's and 'K's. I microwave it and sit...well try to sit down at the round table, but a ugly mop gets into my way. It is Nightgown.
"Dis is ma seat. Vat is matter vis yu." I can't believe it. I didn't tell nightgown 'to get lost.' I held my trigger. You can have it but don't talk."
I finished my Big John leftovers and left to my room. I needed to make my bed and pray for our President's head. I gave Edith a kiss and said good-by to my room. There is nothing like good air and of course, airing out my dirty linen to our corrupt City Council.
Outside, I felt exuberant. A steady Harbor breeze caressed my face. I turned the corner of Kettner and noticed the Sleeping Bag asleep next to the paper rack. I worried that he had finally succumbed to his fate several years too early.
The pedestrians no longer look. Sleeping bag city wakes up in the early morning hours. I take out my New York Times and sit beside the #567 Amtrak. In back of me the Green Line Trolley stopped and let its passengers link up with the Orange Line. Some crossed the tracks on their way to work. There wasn't a smile on any face.
While I ate the first page of the Times, Conductor Chris walked across from me. He unlocks the doors at about eight ten. "Hi Chris! Got four more months to go. How long you worked on railroad? "Forty and one half years George. How your book coming along. My mind is as clear as ever. I gorge myself on our miserable world. Why the paper even mentioned that a soccer player bit another.
I slide into a compartment and read the Times. I am the only passenger inside. I get off at Encinitas and thank God for another day. Tutor Tony helps me to place pictures inside my football book. Horst has proofread part of what I had written.
At table five, Barbara is not there. Horst complains of not sleeping a wink and he has pain in both legs. I asked him who he thinks about before he goes to bed. "My wife and my daughter. Elizabeth's ashes are in the living room."
Well got to go now. There is a dance up the street. It is only a CD dance, but at least the gals still make music.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Horst Cahn-Mr. Clean
I have been chatting with Horst Cahn for almost six months. His stories, like those of others, come to me without effort. It is comparable to eating a fine dinner. Without knowing it, you eat the plate. Today Lady Barbara is home nursing her back. I hope to go to the Spine Institute in San Diego with a picture of her x-rays.
This is my last day taking Penicillin. I needed to conserve my energy and allowed Horst to speak. Anyhow, the new George learns more by keeping his mouth shut and allowing his ears to do the job. It is Salisbury steak day at the Li'l Old Cafe in Encinitas.
"My four kids told me my marriage must have been a good one, since I was married for 58 years. I met her in Czechoslovakia where a farmer brought her to help with the farm. We became fast friends for one year and decided to marry."
"My two sons were born there. She was slim and the four came out without effort. I will never forget when Elizabeth gave birth to our first daughter in Rochester, New York. I took off from the Country Club where I worked as Chef and drove down a one-way-street to the hospital.
"A nurse came out to greet me. 'Mr Cahn, your wife beat the midwife, and you had a baby girl. Of course I needed to return to the Rochester Country Club to prepare meals for the club members. A Jewish family service placed us in a home. They only fun I had was to take my family out for a walk or picnic. We lived between Lake Eerie and Lake Ontario. We did go to Canada several times and go to their underground shopping center in Toronto, Canada.
What is it that you remember about when the Hahn Transport ship arrived in New York?
"The underground was filthy. I found out the street cleaners never worked on the weekend. We stayed on twenty second street and one day I asked somebody where the Metropolitan Opera house was."
"You are standing in front of it. The front door looked like a barn...I had trouble swimming since my body was all muscle and bone."
For newcomers to my many interviews with Cahn, he is the only living survivor of a 4000 inmate camp in Auschwitz. In a few earlier interviews. he spoke about how his sister and parents met their ends, and now resourceful he was to stay alive. His guile and personality kept him alive. Of course he was and still is a man of steal. He had won most medals several athletic tournaments. At sixteen, he and his parents boarded a train to Auschwitz.He witnessed his parents go the way of death while he took the other road to work. His story will live forever, and I will see to it.
To be one in four thousand is miraculous but seeing him is believing him. No matter what I say, he always interrupts me and others with "George, I want to tell you something...." and of course he speaks until the lunch time is over. For instance before his lift arrived I spoke about my experience in Dortmund, Germany and now clean the streets were compared to our in the United States.
'I want to tell you something...Inside our barracks, we had to shower every day and brush our teeth. Our beds would be run over by bugs if we failed to do this." Today, Horst could be mistaken for a golfer or a lover. He still yearns for women, and why not, he is a man's man and a Cohan or High Priest...as a matter of fact, I have nicknamed him Mr. Clean.
He wishes everyone to remember what happened to his and all Jewish families during the Holocaust. When somebody wishes his number, he shows the numbers tattooed to his left arm. The title of his book will be of course, "I want to tell you something..."
This is my last day taking Penicillin. I needed to conserve my energy and allowed Horst to speak. Anyhow, the new George learns more by keeping his mouth shut and allowing his ears to do the job. It is Salisbury steak day at the Li'l Old Cafe in Encinitas.
"My four kids told me my marriage must have been a good one, since I was married for 58 years. I met her in Czechoslovakia where a farmer brought her to help with the farm. We became fast friends for one year and decided to marry."
"My two sons were born there. She was slim and the four came out without effort. I will never forget when Elizabeth gave birth to our first daughter in Rochester, New York. I took off from the Country Club where I worked as Chef and drove down a one-way-street to the hospital.
"A nurse came out to greet me. 'Mr Cahn, your wife beat the midwife, and you had a baby girl. Of course I needed to return to the Rochester Country Club to prepare meals for the club members. A Jewish family service placed us in a home. They only fun I had was to take my family out for a walk or picnic. We lived between Lake Eerie and Lake Ontario. We did go to Canada several times and go to their underground shopping center in Toronto, Canada.
What is it that you remember about when the Hahn Transport ship arrived in New York?
"The underground was filthy. I found out the street cleaners never worked on the weekend. We stayed on twenty second street and one day I asked somebody where the Metropolitan Opera house was."
"You are standing in front of it. The front door looked like a barn...I had trouble swimming since my body was all muscle and bone."
For newcomers to my many interviews with Cahn, he is the only living survivor of a 4000 inmate camp in Auschwitz. In a few earlier interviews. he spoke about how his sister and parents met their ends, and now resourceful he was to stay alive. His guile and personality kept him alive. Of course he was and still is a man of steal. He had won most medals several athletic tournaments. At sixteen, he and his parents boarded a train to Auschwitz.He witnessed his parents go the way of death while he took the other road to work. His story will live forever, and I will see to it.
To be one in four thousand is miraculous but seeing him is believing him. No matter what I say, he always interrupts me and others with "George, I want to tell you something...." and of course he speaks until the lunch time is over. For instance before his lift arrived I spoke about my experience in Dortmund, Germany and now clean the streets were compared to our in the United States.
'I want to tell you something...Inside our barracks, we had to shower every day and brush our teeth. Our beds would be run over by bugs if we failed to do this." Today, Horst could be mistaken for a golfer or a lover. He still yearns for women, and why not, he is a man's man and a Cohan or High Priest...as a matter of fact, I have nicknamed him Mr. Clean.
He wishes everyone to remember what happened to his and all Jewish families during the Holocaust. When somebody wishes his number, he shows the numbers tattooed to his left arm. The title of his book will be of course, "I want to tell you something..."
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Little Italy
A few blocks from the downtown 'Y' I made a date with Little Italy. Even though a few minutes late, I wished to fix my camera, scout apartments, and just hang out. A Mozart evening at the Balboa Theater would be my last event in the day.
I left my hot house cell at three o'clock and ambled north down India Street. To avoid another panhandler, I crossed over to the west side of the street, and avoid the afternoon sun. A north wind threw the fog back into the ocean.
I felt a bit dirty since I couldn't shower. The Y.M.C.A. water heater had been on the blink so I had to make do with a cold one. Of course, it was the new owners way of saying good-by to more tenants. Yet the open air market was just what I needed to forget May and live another day. I would walk to Little Italy. (The new owners probably wished to save on their use of water.)
I passed out my blog to a few apartments and condos on the way. After a few burger and coffee shops, I noticed sexy legs in front of me. I appeared that every long legged gal in San Diego walked my way. Their pumped up horn heals made them appear taller and more inviting than ever.
With the northwest winds my lungs opened up. I could smell the Italian food up ahead. After Date Street, white table cloth's opened their arms to me. "Not quite yet," I replied. "Just wait until I get my book published and I will wrap your table cloth over me."
I could not get over how dressed up the small hamlet looked. Unlike the Gas Lamp area, I felt like a European in Sicily. All I saw were legs, and more legs. I made it finally to Nelson's Photo, and a sales clerk told me my camera needed a new hearty battery.
Across the street watching me was my friend. It had to be over a hundred years old and colored like a candy store. A couple of months ago, I took my picture at the old ginger bread house. Again I returned the other way. I felt good that my camera worked. I stopped a happy-go-lucky tourist.
What do you like about Little Italy?
"Well my son lives here. We are on a long vacation. We began in British Columbia and a few people told us to go to Felipe's . We did and were not disappointed. "
Well for me, the Harbor to the west, and the planes overhead taking their final approach make me feel on a vacation. Of course this is June, and everywhere in San Diego the city is bursting with tourists. Are you staying for Del Mar racing?"
'No we are leaving for Vegas in a few days. Here is my card, I will keep in touch."
I continued to walk until my legs told me a rest was needed. I sat and my nose stood up. A small Pizzeria with "Na" for a prefix beckoned. I ordered a veggie and was not disappointed. It had heavy crispy crust and lots of olives and mushrooms. (One week later I returned and ordered a Pollo-Salad.)
I took my time and let my eyes wander to the table next to me. My pupils bolted out. A tall Chinese doll sat with her bearded boy friend.Now all she carried were legs, but what legs! I could have had three lunches on those legs and tossed out the salad and the potatoes. The stings-beans were enough.
Again, on my way back to the Y, every couple had legs. I could not get over how sophisticated and gorgeous the young ladies looked. I felt sure some would carry their legs to the opening day at Del Mar, but his time wear long bright wide hats. Most of those with long beautiful legs carried a large diamond, and why not, most certainly their legs deserve it.
The one thing that marred the day is I went to the wrong theater. At least the movie about Italy was by far better than any Mozart concert.
I left my hot house cell at three o'clock and ambled north down India Street. To avoid another panhandler, I crossed over to the west side of the street, and avoid the afternoon sun. A north wind threw the fog back into the ocean.
I felt a bit dirty since I couldn't shower. The Y.M.C.A. water heater had been on the blink so I had to make do with a cold one. Of course, it was the new owners way of saying good-by to more tenants. Yet the open air market was just what I needed to forget May and live another day. I would walk to Little Italy. (The new owners probably wished to save on their use of water.)
I passed out my blog to a few apartments and condos on the way. After a few burger and coffee shops, I noticed sexy legs in front of me. I appeared that every long legged gal in San Diego walked my way. Their pumped up horn heals made them appear taller and more inviting than ever.
With the northwest winds my lungs opened up. I could smell the Italian food up ahead. After Date Street, white table cloth's opened their arms to me. "Not quite yet," I replied. "Just wait until I get my book published and I will wrap your table cloth over me."
I could not get over how dressed up the small hamlet looked. Unlike the Gas Lamp area, I felt like a European in Sicily. All I saw were legs, and more legs. I made it finally to Nelson's Photo, and a sales clerk told me my camera needed a new hearty battery.
Across the street watching me was my friend. It had to be over a hundred years old and colored like a candy store. A couple of months ago, I took my picture at the old ginger bread house. Again I returned the other way. I felt good that my camera worked. I stopped a happy-go-lucky tourist.
What do you like about Little Italy?
"Well my son lives here. We are on a long vacation. We began in British Columbia and a few people told us to go to Felipe's . We did and were not disappointed. "
Well for me, the Harbor to the west, and the planes overhead taking their final approach make me feel on a vacation. Of course this is June, and everywhere in San Diego the city is bursting with tourists. Are you staying for Del Mar racing?"
'No we are leaving for Vegas in a few days. Here is my card, I will keep in touch."
I continued to walk until my legs told me a rest was needed. I sat and my nose stood up. A small Pizzeria with "Na" for a prefix beckoned. I ordered a veggie and was not disappointed. It had heavy crispy crust and lots of olives and mushrooms. (One week later I returned and ordered a Pollo-Salad.)
I took my time and let my eyes wander to the table next to me. My pupils bolted out. A tall Chinese doll sat with her bearded boy friend.Now all she carried were legs, but what legs! I could have had three lunches on those legs and tossed out the salad and the potatoes. The stings-beans were enough.
Again, on my way back to the Y, every couple had legs. I could not get over how sophisticated and gorgeous the young ladies looked. I felt sure some would carry their legs to the opening day at Del Mar, but his time wear long bright wide hats. Most of those with long beautiful legs carried a large diamond, and why not, most certainly their legs deserve it.
The one thing that marred the day is I went to the wrong theater. At least the movie about Italy was by far better than any Mozart concert.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Trucking to Seattle
Sometimes God sends me a gift that I refuse to open. I know he sent me Seattle John to prepare me for my up-in-coming trip up north. I opened the package this week.
I first spotted John at the Encinitas Senior Center. Every Tuesday, the Senior Center has billiard tournaments. The men are dressed to kill. Some wear wore special cue gloves and own their own stick. A chalk board keeps score of the round-robin tournament. The lost soul sits and watches every move of these billiard gladiators.
Each of the fifteen players stroked his stick like his life depended upon it. I began speaking to him about six months ago. Something about him reminded me of me three years ago. He, like me, owned a tooth or two. He needed a hair cut, and his clothes reminded me of an old wrinkled prune. Everything about him spelled homeless.
Up until this week, we chatted now and then, but always in the billiard-piano room. I also had card-him to the Encinitas'train station. He lived in Oceanside with his trucking friend. They owned one and almost owned the other. He wore a long back pack and seemed somewhat lonely, just like me.
The Encinitas' Senior Center locks up at three thirty so I invited him to go for dinner at Keno's off Highway 101. The old iconic restaurant provides one more for the buck than all others. He placed his back pack inside my trunk and we left. I ordered the fish and chips and he ordered the same. It came to $6.42 with all of the trimmings.
So John tell me how you got started in the trucking business.
"I was a machinist in Seattle in the sixties and made about twenty two an hour, good money then. Somebody named Gates and another gentleman began made a computer. I jumped at the chance to buy some of their stock. It shot up to the sky and went up ten times in price. Since I didn't have social security, I thought about getting into the trucking business."
Since I am soon to go to north in a week or so, can you tell me why I should relocate to Seattle?
"It is dirt cheap. You can find an apartment there for less than five hundred dollars. My mobile home I bought from the stock. When hungry, all I have to do is dip my hands in a nearby river and steal the largest and juiciest rainbow trouts."
Sorry for the interruption but Wheel Chair Mike sits across from me in the library. . The dust man is speaking to his white snack. No matter where I am, he is always there. He is now speaking, scratching his nose and linking up with a computer. You can find him sitting or pushing his wheel chair. No longer do I see him with his dog. His gal sits and watches his every move. He owns a deep growling voice. tobacco and dead sweat add a few pounds on him.
Well I know it rains a lot in Seattle. What do you do most of the time?
"The city owns more book stores than any other. You'll find the people more sophisticated. No Mexicans live here and we have an abundance of people from India and Canadians who come across every day. They are taking up most of the computer jobs and buying the choicest of homes. The Gates library is second to none. It has several floors and endless computers."
Tell me more about your trucks.
"They are stationed in Houston. I pay about four hundred a month for insurance. The trucking company makes sure the drivers are reputable and care for my two trucks. Mine skip the truck stops since they carry a special sensor that tells the officials the weight of my cargo. It also tells them if my trucks are being maintained."
"I hire the drivers and the cargo but my partner monitors the drivers. Our two trucks are hauling loads into Florida this month. Our business is all cash. Once I carried twenty two thousand on me."
Tell me more about your mobile home.
"It is on four acres and has lots of trees. I cut off a few limbs every year for fire wood. It is about twenty miles from downtown Seattle. By the way, our transportation is great. do you know we have a one dollar bus that takes you to Portland."
"Well John, it is getting close to five. Let's go so we can catch our train...no, I don't want your potato." At the commuter station he goes south to Oceanside on the Coaster. My 5:20 is packaged with San Diego fans. They play the Dodgers tonight.
Nuts and Bolts from San Diego: Will listen to Mozart tonight at the Broadway Balboa theater. Will leave the library at 12:00 to get to Little Italy's largest Farmer's market ii San Diego...Oh yes, the Padres came back to win in the ninth with some timely hitting.
I first spotted John at the Encinitas Senior Center. Every Tuesday, the Senior Center has billiard tournaments. The men are dressed to kill. Some wear wore special cue gloves and own their own stick. A chalk board keeps score of the round-robin tournament. The lost soul sits and watches every move of these billiard gladiators.
Each of the fifteen players stroked his stick like his life depended upon it. I began speaking to him about six months ago. Something about him reminded me of me three years ago. He, like me, owned a tooth or two. He needed a hair cut, and his clothes reminded me of an old wrinkled prune. Everything about him spelled homeless.
Up until this week, we chatted now and then, but always in the billiard-piano room. I also had card-him to the Encinitas'train station. He lived in Oceanside with his trucking friend. They owned one and almost owned the other. He wore a long back pack and seemed somewhat lonely, just like me.
The Encinitas' Senior Center locks up at three thirty so I invited him to go for dinner at Keno's off Highway 101. The old iconic restaurant provides one more for the buck than all others. He placed his back pack inside my trunk and we left. I ordered the fish and chips and he ordered the same. It came to $6.42 with all of the trimmings.
So John tell me how you got started in the trucking business.
"I was a machinist in Seattle in the sixties and made about twenty two an hour, good money then. Somebody named Gates and another gentleman began made a computer. I jumped at the chance to buy some of their stock. It shot up to the sky and went up ten times in price. Since I didn't have social security, I thought about getting into the trucking business."
Since I am soon to go to north in a week or so, can you tell me why I should relocate to Seattle?
"It is dirt cheap. You can find an apartment there for less than five hundred dollars. My mobile home I bought from the stock. When hungry, all I have to do is dip my hands in a nearby river and steal the largest and juiciest rainbow trouts."
Sorry for the interruption but Wheel Chair Mike sits across from me in the library. . The dust man is speaking to his white snack. No matter where I am, he is always there. He is now speaking, scratching his nose and linking up with a computer. You can find him sitting or pushing his wheel chair. No longer do I see him with his dog. His gal sits and watches his every move. He owns a deep growling voice. tobacco and dead sweat add a few pounds on him.
Well I know it rains a lot in Seattle. What do you do most of the time?
"The city owns more book stores than any other. You'll find the people more sophisticated. No Mexicans live here and we have an abundance of people from India and Canadians who come across every day. They are taking up most of the computer jobs and buying the choicest of homes. The Gates library is second to none. It has several floors and endless computers."
Tell me more about your trucks.
"They are stationed in Houston. I pay about four hundred a month for insurance. The trucking company makes sure the drivers are reputable and care for my two trucks. Mine skip the truck stops since they carry a special sensor that tells the officials the weight of my cargo. It also tells them if my trucks are being maintained."
"I hire the drivers and the cargo but my partner monitors the drivers. Our two trucks are hauling loads into Florida this month. Our business is all cash. Once I carried twenty two thousand on me."
Tell me more about your mobile home.
"It is on four acres and has lots of trees. I cut off a few limbs every year for fire wood. It is about twenty miles from downtown Seattle. By the way, our transportation is great. do you know we have a one dollar bus that takes you to Portland."
"Well John, it is getting close to five. Let's go so we can catch our train...no, I don't want your potato." At the commuter station he goes south to Oceanside on the Coaster. My 5:20 is packaged with San Diego fans. They play the Dodgers tonight.
Nuts and Bolts from San Diego: Will listen to Mozart tonight at the Broadway Balboa theater. Will leave the library at 12:00 to get to Little Italy's largest Farmer's market ii San Diego...Oh yes, the Padres came back to win in the ninth with some timely hitting.
Friday, June 20, 2014
Time to Buy an A/C.
Well, spring turns to summer tomorrow. I was time for to buy an air conditioner. I knew the new owners of the Y.M.C.A. wished me out, one way or another. Yet I had not paid for a grave site just yet. it was time to look for backward heaters-air conditioners. I looked on the Internet and found one of two Fry's electronics in San Marcus, a little hamlet between Escondido and Oceanside on the 78 freeway.
I used my daughter's Father's Day $50 debit card. I ordered a steak and eggs at the Tip Top restaurant in Carlsbad. I felt happy to be alive-what with the fire storms and loss of my state retirement check. Yet nobody from the U.S. Mail has ever been fired for a mistake. They would have to kill somebody. I asked a waitress how to get to Fry's. She didn't know but a man swallowing a sausage interrupted his breakfast to help me.
"Just go on the #78 until you get to San Marcus Blvd. and turn right."
I thanked the man and bused my plate. The Ranch Market, in back, had a sell on mangoes: two for three dollars. I plunked down three for two big juicy ones. About ten minutes later I found my way to Fry's, about the size of two Costco's.
Like the man said, after my right turn, a found the back entrance of Fry's. You could barely see the entrance. I asked one with a badge the location of a restroom.
"Come with me, that is where I am also going." Chuck sat in one stall and me next to his. We spoke about the recent fires in San Marcos. In between flushes, we spilled our guts out to each other.
I came here to buy an A/C unit. I was told the best buys are here at Fry's.
"Well south of us you'll see where too many homes had been burnt to the ground. The homes left standing came here during the fire storm to buy an air conditioner or fan. Make sure to go to Big John. He is in charge of our air-conditioners."
"Here is my blog and think you'll like it." I handed the man with my other hand my card under the stall, washed my hand and looked for Big John Donnelly, the A/C man. I couldn't miss him. He wore a white shirt, little hair, and big head to go with his hands.
Look'n for an A/C. I hope the Y will consider and let me put one in...Got a bad case of asthma...Mom smoked Kent's while pregnant with me and afterwards..
'Join the club. I left Seattle after Mt. Helena blew up. While a thirty year old student at Washington University. I ate ash for a few weeks until it suffocated me. It felt like a snake had coiled around me. That is probably why I sell air conditioners today."
Show me what you got and I will buy one and send customers to you.
"Well the cheapest window unit is $140. It is the one over there and is probably too big for your walk-in-closet cell at the Y. The mobile ones are about one hundred more a unit. We sold out after the big fire storms here...Remember I work on commission."
From there I returned to the 78, but this time went west to the harried number 5. It was not rush time but already the freeways tangled up. I got to the Encinitas Center just in time to eat bread with all five of us.
I am now writing the above getting ready to put on my dancing shoes. The lunch area turns into a ballroom this afternoon at two o'clock. It is a Luau Dance and I already have a lay around my neck. Five dollars get you inside to hear the Cradit Union. Chips and dips are tabled at the intermission. Call (760) 943-2250 for the next dance. Usually they come on the third Friday of the month.)
I used my daughter's Father's Day $50 debit card. I ordered a steak and eggs at the Tip Top restaurant in Carlsbad. I felt happy to be alive-what with the fire storms and loss of my state retirement check. Yet nobody from the U.S. Mail has ever been fired for a mistake. They would have to kill somebody. I asked a waitress how to get to Fry's. She didn't know but a man swallowing a sausage interrupted his breakfast to help me.
"Just go on the #78 until you get to San Marcus Blvd. and turn right."
I thanked the man and bused my plate. The Ranch Market, in back, had a sell on mangoes: two for three dollars. I plunked down three for two big juicy ones. About ten minutes later I found my way to Fry's, about the size of two Costco's.
Like the man said, after my right turn, a found the back entrance of Fry's. You could barely see the entrance. I asked one with a badge the location of a restroom.
"Come with me, that is where I am also going." Chuck sat in one stall and me next to his. We spoke about the recent fires in San Marcos. In between flushes, we spilled our guts out to each other.
I came here to buy an A/C unit. I was told the best buys are here at Fry's.
"Well south of us you'll see where too many homes had been burnt to the ground. The homes left standing came here during the fire storm to buy an air conditioner or fan. Make sure to go to Big John. He is in charge of our air-conditioners."
"Here is my blog and think you'll like it." I handed the man with my other hand my card under the stall, washed my hand and looked for Big John Donnelly, the A/C man. I couldn't miss him. He wore a white shirt, little hair, and big head to go with his hands.
Look'n for an A/C. I hope the Y will consider and let me put one in...Got a bad case of asthma...Mom smoked Kent's while pregnant with me and afterwards..
'Join the club. I left Seattle after Mt. Helena blew up. While a thirty year old student at Washington University. I ate ash for a few weeks until it suffocated me. It felt like a snake had coiled around me. That is probably why I sell air conditioners today."
Show me what you got and I will buy one and send customers to you.
"Well the cheapest window unit is $140. It is the one over there and is probably too big for your walk-in-closet cell at the Y. The mobile ones are about one hundred more a unit. We sold out after the big fire storms here...Remember I work on commission."
From there I returned to the 78, but this time went west to the harried number 5. It was not rush time but already the freeways tangled up. I got to the Encinitas Center just in time to eat bread with all five of us.
I am now writing the above getting ready to put on my dancing shoes. The lunch area turns into a ballroom this afternoon at two o'clock. It is a Luau Dance and I already have a lay around my neck. Five dollars get you inside to hear the Cradit Union. Chips and dips are tabled at the intermission. Call (760) 943-2250 for the next dance. Usually they come on the third Friday of the month.)
Thursday, June 19, 2014
The Li'l Oak Cafe
So Susan, what was it that turned you on to Sammy.
"Well George, to be honest, nothing. Both of us lived in Upstate New York. Corning was the name of our town...But I met him at party my at my nursing college..He invited me to see Oklahoma-and the little theater had it for three nights." Just then, Sammy butt in.
"My Mom called me the night of the movie. She was coming up from Rochester to visit me, her only son. So I called Susie to cancel our date...." Susie interrupted.
"And I forced you to take me anyway!"
"That was the first time my Mom went on a date with me. Since I was her only son, she really didn't take a liking to you."
The long legged couple sat down with Abe, Thomas and me at the usual Encinitas' cafe. a different lunch was served up at 11:30 but always with too much cheese. I sat in for Lady Barbara who canceled at the last minute due to a bad back. I didn't particularly care for Enchiladas but at least my company gave me the spice I needed. The Jones, from Corning, New York sat down at our table, and of course I need to find out more about their marriage. I finished my cake, salad and milk and soaked them for information.
Let me get you some coffee. But first Susan, what was it that turned you on to Sam?
" Nothing, but I yearned to see Oklahoma at our small theater...We dated off and on while I studied to become a nurse..I began to enjoy our conversations and couldn't get enough of his curly red hair...And besides, he had a job!"
Both had come down from New York after they sold their first home. The other was in Florida. He had originally come from Hammond, New York. He spoke about the first Navy museum established by a boy wonder by the name of Curtis. Sammy no longer had red hair but at least he had lots of grey. He wore white shorts that revealed ungainly white legs. All he needed was a Kramer tennis racket and white hat.
"My little town of three hundred was made famous by a child genius He was the first to put a motor on his bike and take it for a ninety-mile-an-hour jaunt to another city...He helped to build our first naval aircraft command. His flying machine was called the Curtis. He had a hand in building the first flying ship. You wouldn't believe the museum we have there."
They came to Encinitas to stay with their daughter. They had two others. But time flew and they intended on playing bridge in the next room. I told them I would change their names and present them with what you are now reading.
You never know who you'll meet at the Li'l Oak Cafe.
.
Opening Day, Del Mar Racing
San Diego kicks off the Fourth of July with a gigantic display of fire works on the bay. Many come from all around and cluster by the Harbor or on the Broadway pier to see this gala event. But July hold other events you might also consider.
The Del Mar racing season is kicked off on the 17th as is Comic-com. Comic-book heroes come alive at the Convention Center. Of course the Green Line Trolley drops you off. Tickets are sold out every year but San Diego becomes a mecca for your favorite screen or comic book hero. It is a place to just hang out and relive you childhood.
So a word for the wise. Never drive into San Diego in July. It rains people and besides, gas prices ar on the rise. Never-ever drive to San Diego -- it is not worth it! Instead take a bus, train, bike or link up with Peter Pan to get to the great race track. Last year's experience can be found in my July 31st blog in 2013.
But the good news is Amtrak is pitch hitting for the Coaster with two trains out of the Santa Fe Station. Two Amtrak trains leave the station at 8:24, and 10:42 in the morning. Your coaster ticket is good all season except - yes except the first week of the meet. However Coaster trains leave at 6:28, 7:46, 9:48 and 12:38.
My July 31st blog in 1013 describes the fun and frolic you can share where the sea meets the sod at beautiful Del Mar. Come early and you can tan-up at the famous beaches across the street but first you must walk deep stairs or elevator it to the top where a bridge can take you to a waiting bus.
To save money, I buy a long sub-sand across the street and fill up my water thermos before going on the bus. If you are lucky, a smiling Hawaiian strums a Uke to the tune of When the surf meets the turf at Old Del Mar...The smell of booze, joints, and perfume make it a ride to remember. A word of caution. Drink inside the train or the police will ticket you for having an open bottle. Te ride on the double-decker British bus is worth the price of admission.
Oh? You are coming from Los Angeles. No problem. Try to get on the early Metro-link commuter trains. They leave early in the morning and make the usual stops at Orange, Santa Ana and the rest. It is ten dollars one way and they deposit you in Oceanside. You can take the #101 bus or a Coaster train to the track. I enjoy the bus ride since I can look out at the lovely Carlsbad beaches before arriving in Solana Beach.
Those who must can get lucky and find a place at Solana Beach commuter lot. If full, their are many residential spots on a hill. If I am in Encinitas, I go early and usually find a spot. No longer do I go opening day. All the gals snow off their Easter hats and it is like a herd trying to get to the only water bucket.
Got to go now. I am eating lunch at the Lit'l Oak Cafe at the Encinitas Senior Center. A farmer has just brought in several hundred homeless oranges. They have blotches or are not round but like the Good Book says, you can't judge one from the outside. These fruits are worth the lunch.
The Del Mar racing season is kicked off on the 17th as is Comic-com. Comic-book heroes come alive at the Convention Center. Of course the Green Line Trolley drops you off. Tickets are sold out every year but San Diego becomes a mecca for your favorite screen or comic book hero. It is a place to just hang out and relive you childhood.
So a word for the wise. Never drive into San Diego in July. It rains people and besides, gas prices ar on the rise. Never-ever drive to San Diego -- it is not worth it! Instead take a bus, train, bike or link up with Peter Pan to get to the great race track. Last year's experience can be found in my July 31st blog in 2013.
But the good news is Amtrak is pitch hitting for the Coaster with two trains out of the Santa Fe Station. Two Amtrak trains leave the station at 8:24, and 10:42 in the morning. Your coaster ticket is good all season except - yes except the first week of the meet. However Coaster trains leave at 6:28, 7:46, 9:48 and 12:38.
My July 31st blog in 1013 describes the fun and frolic you can share where the sea meets the sod at beautiful Del Mar. Come early and you can tan-up at the famous beaches across the street but first you must walk deep stairs or elevator it to the top where a bridge can take you to a waiting bus.
To save money, I buy a long sub-sand across the street and fill up my water thermos before going on the bus. If you are lucky, a smiling Hawaiian strums a Uke to the tune of When the surf meets the turf at Old Del Mar...The smell of booze, joints, and perfume make it a ride to remember. A word of caution. Drink inside the train or the police will ticket you for having an open bottle. Te ride on the double-decker British bus is worth the price of admission.
Oh? You are coming from Los Angeles. No problem. Try to get on the early Metro-link commuter trains. They leave early in the morning and make the usual stops at Orange, Santa Ana and the rest. It is ten dollars one way and they deposit you in Oceanside. You can take the #101 bus or a Coaster train to the track. I enjoy the bus ride since I can look out at the lovely Carlsbad beaches before arriving in Solana Beach.
Those who must can get lucky and find a place at Solana Beach commuter lot. If full, their are many residential spots on a hill. If I am in Encinitas, I go early and usually find a spot. No longer do I go opening day. All the gals snow off their Easter hats and it is like a herd trying to get to the only water bucket.
Got to go now. I am eating lunch at the Lit'l Oak Cafe at the Encinitas Senior Center. A farmer has just brought in several hundred homeless oranges. They have blotches or are not round but like the Good Book says, you can't judge one from the outside. These fruits are worth the lunch.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
What is Up Doc?
I finally saw the Kaiser Doctor at six o'clock. I had been battling a cold too-long. The month of May seemed more like August. My immune system took a direct hit. After I returned from the downtown new library, I decided to take action and end my bad cold.
I drove Dolly down the eight and got off at the Mission Valley Kaiser, about three miles from Old Town. The Mission Gorge off-ramp is not easy to navigate so watch the signs or you'll end up in Vegas on the 15.
Nurse Gonzales took me inside for the usual, a weight and blood pressure test. She seemed a bit agitated. She strapped me into a rubber sleeve and began to cough and drink some liquid. It troubled me to hear her cough and drink, and repeat itself like a two-step-dance. She hit the button and the monitor looked at me.
"Mr. Garrett, are you coughing a lot?..Do you smoke?...Ho much exercise are you getting?"
Well anybody knows when a machine is taking your blood pressure, idle chatter can juice up your blood pressure, more so with the coughing and drinking.
The monitor checked out at 155/100. With more coughing it registered 160/95. The Latina tried to lead me into a vacant room, but was beaten to the punch. I removed myself to the lobby and waited for an empty room.
Then minutes later, a cute young doctor appeared. Her name was Carolyn and she told me she usually worked in Clairemont. She was covering for another doctor. She looked at the table top monitor.
"Looks like you had trouble with your inhaler. It says it broke down and you almost died."
Yes, apparently during May when we had several fire storms, m spray got injured and wouldn't work. At Carlsbad, a pharmacist told me to clean the shell every week, and that to keep it in a cool place with clean air.
"Do you need another one."
No this one works. And did the nurse give you a paper for my YMCA hotel. My Doctor Foss wants them to provided an A/C for my room.
"You'll need to take that up with your doctor. I don't work here."
I provided her with address of my hotel and told her to give it to the receptionist. I wished them to send it to my hotel. She checked my nose and throat, and took a swab. She seemed efficient.
"I am prescribing three medications. Take the steroid once a day. Also, the penicillin should be taking once a day also. The next one might make you nauseous so take only after food."
Since I don't wish to bore you, I will summarize the rest of the early evening. I thought it might be a one hour wait, so I left for the Hometown Buffet across the street. When I returned my prescription was ready for me.
I paid the co-pay of eighteen and out the door I flew. I downed two pills at once. An hour later, my lungs worked without effort.
I
I drove Dolly down the eight and got off at the Mission Valley Kaiser, about three miles from Old Town. The Mission Gorge off-ramp is not easy to navigate so watch the signs or you'll end up in Vegas on the 15.
Nurse Gonzales took me inside for the usual, a weight and blood pressure test. She seemed a bit agitated. She strapped me into a rubber sleeve and began to cough and drink some liquid. It troubled me to hear her cough and drink, and repeat itself like a two-step-dance. She hit the button and the monitor looked at me.
"Mr. Garrett, are you coughing a lot?..Do you smoke?...Ho much exercise are you getting?"
Well anybody knows when a machine is taking your blood pressure, idle chatter can juice up your blood pressure, more so with the coughing and drinking.
The monitor checked out at 155/100. With more coughing it registered 160/95. The Latina tried to lead me into a vacant room, but was beaten to the punch. I removed myself to the lobby and waited for an empty room.
Then minutes later, a cute young doctor appeared. Her name was Carolyn and she told me she usually worked in Clairemont. She was covering for another doctor. She looked at the table top monitor.
"Looks like you had trouble with your inhaler. It says it broke down and you almost died."
Yes, apparently during May when we had several fire storms, m spray got injured and wouldn't work. At Carlsbad, a pharmacist told me to clean the shell every week, and that to keep it in a cool place with clean air.
"Do you need another one."
No this one works. And did the nurse give you a paper for my YMCA hotel. My Doctor Foss wants them to provided an A/C for my room.
"You'll need to take that up with your doctor. I don't work here."
I provided her with address of my hotel and told her to give it to the receptionist. I wished them to send it to my hotel. She checked my nose and throat, and took a swab. She seemed efficient.
"I am prescribing three medications. Take the steroid once a day. Also, the penicillin should be taking once a day also. The next one might make you nauseous so take only after food."
Since I don't wish to bore you, I will summarize the rest of the early evening. I thought it might be a one hour wait, so I left for the Hometown Buffet across the street. When I returned my prescription was ready for me.
I paid the co-pay of eighteen and out the door I flew. I downed two pills at once. An hour later, my lungs worked without effort.
I
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
The Best Breakfast in San Diego-Bar None
It wasn't easy, but over the weekend that I became a Jew. Can you imagine me going to the little San Diego store-front synagogue the entire weekend: two times Saturday and once on Sunday. Yet in order to pray, your mind needs soul foods. So I need to mind what I eat.
Once a week, I breakfast at the Scripp's Mercy Hospital. It is San Diego's oldest and can be found in the University area of San Diego off of Washington Blvd. Before I before I describe the choicest of all menus, let me drive you there.
My car is always parked at the Old Town commuter lot. As long as you move it every twenty four hours, you can park all-day-free and safely.
From Old Town, I travel south on the Pacific Coast Highway. Keep to the right or you'll end up on the 5 on-ramp. The next light is Washington. At the first light go left and cross the tracks. You may gas-up at the Mobile Station to the right. Go up a steep rickety hill up to the Hillscrest area. The tall hospital is a few streets after Ralph's and Albertson's.
After you park your car, enter and follow the signs to the cafeteria. Breakfast time is between six thirty and ten o'clock. You turn left from the corridor and take a peek at an assortment of fried spinach, greens, scrambled eggs, lean bacon, and various nuts. Several types of bread are to the right, or if you prefer, you can choose from a large assortment of bagels and rolls. ( I park inside their disabled lot.)
Somehow, the spinach gave the rest of the meal the wallop I sorely needed. It must have been the way the vegetable made the the other vegetables taste better.
Most of the doctors hover over the hot oat meal. They apply lots of nuts and small fruits inside to hide the rough taste. But for me I can't wait to munch on my spinach leaves. Inside my mouth, it evaporates. My body jumps into overdrive.
There are five types of coffee, but today, I allow the spinach to provide my lift. I also place some walnuts and dried fruit into a cup and go to the register.
"Can you place the cup on the scale...Thank you...That will be three dollars and thirty two cents.."
The strong coffee is one dollar and sixty cents, so that is why my bill is less than four dollars.
Now I eat and edit my manuscript. At about eight o'clock, I bus my dishes and leave to the hospital library. Bet you didn't know the Mercy had one? I read the New York Times and their local paper. The good food and clean air are just what the doctor had ordered. And believe it or not, they have an internet.
Featured in the UT Newspaper is the life of Tony Gwynn. Like me, he is remembered not for what he did on the field, but the manner in way he giggled. The Padre manager mentioned you could hear his laugh from harbor to sea. But apparently what struck him out was not a baseball, but chewing tobacco.
Well, I got to go now. I need to return my car to the commuter lot and take the Green Line Trolley to the library. That is where I am now, on the computer telling my story to you.
(The number 10 bus drops you off in front of the library. You can pick up the number at the Old Town Transit Station.)
Today the 13th of October, I met the Chef Cindy in back of the counter while I ordered the spinach and scrabbled eggs minus the bacon. It was about seven o'clock and I came to visit Sam the Taxi man who was run over by a truck in Mexico.
"I want you to know that your breakfast is the finest in all of Southern California. Here is my card...And the Pepper Steak I had last night was superb."
The maiden took my card and smiled "Why thank you for placing it into my blog."
I told her where to find Sam the Taxi man and took my three dollar tray to the cashier.
In fact th
Once a week, I breakfast at the Scripp's Mercy Hospital. It is San Diego's oldest and can be found in the University area of San Diego off of Washington Blvd. Before I before I describe the choicest of all menus, let me drive you there.
My car is always parked at the Old Town commuter lot. As long as you move it every twenty four hours, you can park all-day-free and safely.
From Old Town, I travel south on the Pacific Coast Highway. Keep to the right or you'll end up on the 5 on-ramp. The next light is Washington. At the first light go left and cross the tracks. You may gas-up at the Mobile Station to the right. Go up a steep rickety hill up to the Hillscrest area. The tall hospital is a few streets after Ralph's and Albertson's.
After you park your car, enter and follow the signs to the cafeteria. Breakfast time is between six thirty and ten o'clock. You turn left from the corridor and take a peek at an assortment of fried spinach, greens, scrambled eggs, lean bacon, and various nuts. Several types of bread are to the right, or if you prefer, you can choose from a large assortment of bagels and rolls. ( I park inside their disabled lot.)
Somehow, the spinach gave the rest of the meal the wallop I sorely needed. It must have been the way the vegetable made the the other vegetables taste better.
Most of the doctors hover over the hot oat meal. They apply lots of nuts and small fruits inside to hide the rough taste. But for me I can't wait to munch on my spinach leaves. Inside my mouth, it evaporates. My body jumps into overdrive.
There are five types of coffee, but today, I allow the spinach to provide my lift. I also place some walnuts and dried fruit into a cup and go to the register.
"Can you place the cup on the scale...Thank you...That will be three dollars and thirty two cents.."
The strong coffee is one dollar and sixty cents, so that is why my bill is less than four dollars.
Now I eat and edit my manuscript. At about eight o'clock, I bus my dishes and leave to the hospital library. Bet you didn't know the Mercy had one? I read the New York Times and their local paper. The good food and clean air are just what the doctor had ordered. And believe it or not, they have an internet.
Featured in the UT Newspaper is the life of Tony Gwynn. Like me, he is remembered not for what he did on the field, but the manner in way he giggled. The Padre manager mentioned you could hear his laugh from harbor to sea. But apparently what struck him out was not a baseball, but chewing tobacco.
Well, I got to go now. I need to return my car to the commuter lot and take the Green Line Trolley to the library. That is where I am now, on the computer telling my story to you.
(The number 10 bus drops you off in front of the library. You can pick up the number at the Old Town Transit Station.)
Today the 13th of October, I met the Chef Cindy in back of the counter while I ordered the spinach and scrabbled eggs minus the bacon. It was about seven o'clock and I came to visit Sam the Taxi man who was run over by a truck in Mexico.
"I want you to know that your breakfast is the finest in all of Southern California. Here is my card...And the Pepper Steak I had last night was superb."
The maiden took my card and smiled "Why thank you for placing it into my blog."
I told her where to find Sam the Taxi man and took my three dollar tray to the cashier.
In fact th
Monday, June 16, 2014
The Day I Became a Jew
I woke up Sunday morning in hopes of trimming my football story inside the main San Diego Library. That is until I heard a voice inside the stall shower of the YMCA. HE said, "Go to the little shop that plays synagogue today. It is eight thirty on Saturday.
Well I never go against HIS word. Whatever I felt like doing, I scrubbed for the church that wore a skull hat. I walked the entire mile to the little store front on Third and Island street in downtown San Diego. I wished to know more about our Torah but Cantor Shlomo never came.
And you'll never guess what happened. I opened up a book about the Old Testament and the name of Gershom, my Hebrew name, looked up at me. I put my head into book and studied the laws of Moses. Well, it felt good doing HIS command.
A few more people arrived and then there was ten. It meant we had a minion and could proceed with our religious business of the day. Sam the Taxi Man arrived and smiled. There was Steve, Howard and a few others. Something hit me on my head. I looked up and it was the bearded one, or - the Rabbi. The long bearded one spoke.
"Give me your weaker arm...take off your watch Gershom! ...Let me show you how to wrap this tape over your arm seven times." Why the last time a man touched me was my Dad many moons ago. It felt strange but who could resist. It had been a long time since my blood pressure had been taken.
"Now Gershom, doon't move your head...There."Now I had a tiny box on my forehead and also my arm.
But it was what the bearded one said on Saturday that kept my mind busy Sunday in San Diego. I will try to paraphrase the one who wore a long black robe.
"When is a friend a friend?" He read a scripture from the bible.
"When somebody does a favor and expects one from you, he is a fraud. One who gives unconditionally is a true friend." Then the Reb hit me where it hurts. It convinced me that I never had any relationship with Gloria.
"A good relationship is a mix of ingredients that make for a perfect marriage. Nothing is expected of you and your relationship sizzles with time -- much like marinating a piece of meat."
Would you believe I spent the the entire Saturday at the Synagogue also But it was my mixing with God that mattered. That's when I became a Jew
Well I never go against HIS word. Whatever I felt like doing, I scrubbed for the church that wore a skull hat. I walked the entire mile to the little store front on Third and Island street in downtown San Diego. I wished to know more about our Torah but Cantor Shlomo never came.
And you'll never guess what happened. I opened up a book about the Old Testament and the name of Gershom, my Hebrew name, looked up at me. I put my head into book and studied the laws of Moses. Well, it felt good doing HIS command.
A few more people arrived and then there was ten. It meant we had a minion and could proceed with our religious business of the day. Sam the Taxi Man arrived and smiled. There was Steve, Howard and a few others. Something hit me on my head. I looked up and it was the bearded one, or - the Rabbi. The long bearded one spoke.
"Give me your weaker arm...take off your watch Gershom! ...Let me show you how to wrap this tape over your arm seven times." Why the last time a man touched me was my Dad many moons ago. It felt strange but who could resist. It had been a long time since my blood pressure had been taken.
"Now Gershom, doon't move your head...There."Now I had a tiny box on my forehead and also my arm.
But it was what the bearded one said on Saturday that kept my mind busy Sunday in San Diego. I will try to paraphrase the one who wore a long black robe.
"When is a friend a friend?" He read a scripture from the bible.
"When somebody does a favor and expects one from you, he is a fraud. One who gives unconditionally is a true friend." Then the Reb hit me where it hurts. It convinced me that I never had any relationship with Gloria.
"A good relationship is a mix of ingredients that make for a perfect marriage. Nothing is expected of you and your relationship sizzles with time -- much like marinating a piece of meat."
Would you believe I spent the the entire Saturday at the Synagogue also But it was my mixing with God that mattered. That's when I became a Jew
Friday, June 13, 2014
An Early Bird at the Prado Restaurant
Every other Thursday Balboa Park offers a dance at their ballroom. A four piece band usually plays favorites of the big band era. I have attended every one - well almost Today, the 12th of June, I was walking on air. The Harper band started at one o'clock at the Balboa Bay Club on President's Way.
Today I wished to test my new dancing shoes I bought them in the Carlsbad Outlet of stores, and what a buy. These two toners cost only fifty dollars, and eighty percent reduction. They were a perfect fit. My ex girl friend Dolly told me she "Judges a man by how they comb there hair and the shoes they wear."
The Tango lessons I had learned gave me a boost to my ego. I knew that no gal could refuse this blue eyes blond-me, and they didn't. A Miss Hung walked up to my back table. She was Vietnamese with a cutest face I had ever seen.
On the dance floor, we played a game of bump-the-rump. I twirled her, picked her up, and let my hands fall where they may. Miss Hung was excitement and I couldn't quite get rid of her, but I did. The band played a circle dance and that is when I saw Miss Drink-of-Water in the corner. I had promised her a drink and snacks a month ago, but she needed to return to St. Paul to visit an ailing son.
She is a mite under six feet and here dimensions are-well we won't go there but they are nothing to write home about. She aloud me to fondle her a bit-too-much and I did take advantage. The band had begun at one and at about three thirty ended their medley.
Miss Drink consented to a glass of red wine and a few dips at the most romantic restaurant in San Diego. She wished to sit in the outside patio area. There were several tables outside and several huge Eucalyptus trees that reached the sky looking down on us. Her real name was Jasmine.
The Prado dates back to the opening of Balboa Park in 1915. There is an historical museum, senior center, and an an array of old trains inside one of the Spanish tile rooms. There is also a gift shop and a room for tourists. The restaurant has an inside and outside patio area. There is also a fountain at the entrance
"George, It is so beautiful here. Let's just sit before we order..."
The young waitress asked us if we were ready to order, after I confirmed that the dishes were half price until six o'clock. We both ordered cold water and also Pop Shrimp and chicken sticks to go with the humus and cracker bread to go with meal.
"George, I can't tell you how much this means to me. The food is delicious. Have some wine?"
No Jasmine, I have not sipped wine ever since my two grand daughters entered the world. I need a clear head to enjoy their newborn beauty.
"Doesn't the pollen bother you?"
It will when I get home.
'I have never seen so many fat people in Minnesota. Every other body looked like an elephant."
Hey what about a movie next week, Jazz? The Lunch Box is playing in La Jolla and you've got to see it with me...
We walked back to my car and I drove her to hers. The Prado Restaurant gave me what I needed, a chance to unwind with a good friend.
Today I wished to test my new dancing shoes I bought them in the Carlsbad Outlet of stores, and what a buy. These two toners cost only fifty dollars, and eighty percent reduction. They were a perfect fit. My ex girl friend Dolly told me she "Judges a man by how they comb there hair and the shoes they wear."
The Tango lessons I had learned gave me a boost to my ego. I knew that no gal could refuse this blue eyes blond-me, and they didn't. A Miss Hung walked up to my back table. She was Vietnamese with a cutest face I had ever seen.
On the dance floor, we played a game of bump-the-rump. I twirled her, picked her up, and let my hands fall where they may. Miss Hung was excitement and I couldn't quite get rid of her, but I did. The band played a circle dance and that is when I saw Miss Drink-of-Water in the corner. I had promised her a drink and snacks a month ago, but she needed to return to St. Paul to visit an ailing son.
She is a mite under six feet and here dimensions are-well we won't go there but they are nothing to write home about. She aloud me to fondle her a bit-too-much and I did take advantage. The band had begun at one and at about three thirty ended their medley.
Miss Drink consented to a glass of red wine and a few dips at the most romantic restaurant in San Diego. She wished to sit in the outside patio area. There were several tables outside and several huge Eucalyptus trees that reached the sky looking down on us. Her real name was Jasmine.
The Prado dates back to the opening of Balboa Park in 1915. There is an historical museum, senior center, and an an array of old trains inside one of the Spanish tile rooms. There is also a gift shop and a room for tourists. The restaurant has an inside and outside patio area. There is also a fountain at the entrance
"George, It is so beautiful here. Let's just sit before we order..."
The young waitress asked us if we were ready to order, after I confirmed that the dishes were half price until six o'clock. We both ordered cold water and also Pop Shrimp and chicken sticks to go with the humus and cracker bread to go with meal.
"George, I can't tell you how much this means to me. The food is delicious. Have some wine?"
No Jasmine, I have not sipped wine ever since my two grand daughters entered the world. I need a clear head to enjoy their newborn beauty.
"Doesn't the pollen bother you?"
It will when I get home.
'I have never seen so many fat people in Minnesota. Every other body looked like an elephant."
Hey what about a movie next week, Jazz? The Lunch Box is playing in La Jolla and you've got to see it with me...
We walked back to my car and I drove her to hers. The Prado Restaurant gave me what I needed, a chance to unwind with a good friend.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
A Little Italy Saturday
I sat on India and Date Street happy to still be among the living. Food poisoning from a spaghetti dinner almost did me in. I did what my second daughter had told me. i bought a seven up and took a seat. It was the gigantic Farmer's Market in front of me.
Everywhere I smelled the scent of flowers. Flappers crossed Date Street carrying Lilies, Roses and many other types of flowers. Each carried a high bread dog attached to a leach. North of me, another Southwest flew over the buildings descending on Lindbergh Field. Today's City Father's renamed it the San Diego International Airport -- a BIG MISTAKE.
I knew then Little Italy would become my next home, and hopefully the next for my daughter. It reminded me of Convent Garden, London, where Eliza Doolittle sold flowers for a shilling or two in the musical My Fair Lady. I felt like dancing but my sick stomach would not allow it today.
Almost a hundred years ago, many Italian fisherman made this village their home. Their fishing boats lay in the Harbor and they made a great living. Many lost their lives taking their boats to supply our ships in the Pacific. Some of their offspring stopped fishing in favor of flavorful Italian cuisine. Small tiles commemorate their lives.
Love was in the air. A steady ten mile breeze opened up my clogged lungs. It felt great to be alive, at least for another day. The smell of food was everywhere. The locals did their shopping today where every type of food could be purchased.
Kiddie Corner from me I heard some soul music. I slowly carried myself to a Little Italy chair that sat in the shade. The soul singer and sax player made me feel New Orleans could not be far away. I finished my Seven Up and decided to roam around the busy street. Tents and vendors covered Date Street today. I smelled something that smelled like almonds.
Sure enough ahead of me a vendor gave samples of almond humus. I dipped a few chips inside the spread and swallowed some. I knew I would be back next week since my pockets did not have a penny on them today.
It was now about two o'clock and I sauntered back to my Y cell on Broadway. My body needed time to rest. I began to hum, "I have often walked down this street before..." (Not edited yet.)
Everywhere I smelled the scent of flowers. Flappers crossed Date Street carrying Lilies, Roses and many other types of flowers. Each carried a high bread dog attached to a leach. North of me, another Southwest flew over the buildings descending on Lindbergh Field. Today's City Father's renamed it the San Diego International Airport -- a BIG MISTAKE.
I knew then Little Italy would become my next home, and hopefully the next for my daughter. It reminded me of Convent Garden, London, where Eliza Doolittle sold flowers for a shilling or two in the musical My Fair Lady. I felt like dancing but my sick stomach would not allow it today.
Almost a hundred years ago, many Italian fisherman made this village their home. Their fishing boats lay in the Harbor and they made a great living. Many lost their lives taking their boats to supply our ships in the Pacific. Some of their offspring stopped fishing in favor of flavorful Italian cuisine. Small tiles commemorate their lives.
Love was in the air. A steady ten mile breeze opened up my clogged lungs. It felt great to be alive, at least for another day. The smell of food was everywhere. The locals did their shopping today where every type of food could be purchased.
Kiddie Corner from me I heard some soul music. I slowly carried myself to a Little Italy chair that sat in the shade. The soul singer and sax player made me feel New Orleans could not be far away. I finished my Seven Up and decided to roam around the busy street. Tents and vendors covered Date Street today. I smelled something that smelled like almonds.
Sure enough ahead of me a vendor gave samples of almond humus. I dipped a few chips inside the spread and swallowed some. I knew I would be back next week since my pockets did not have a penny on them today.
It was now about two o'clock and I sauntered back to my Y cell on Broadway. My body needed time to rest. I began to hum, "I have often walked down this street before..." (Not edited yet.)
Monday, June 9, 2014
Sunday at Seaport Village
About one year ago, I had a severe case of bronchial asthma. Early in the morning, I walked to the 7/11 on C Street to buy a cold mocha. It was the end of the month and my pockets felt bare. A young man slept next to a big dumpster in back of the Y hotel. I found four bills a few feet from him.
I picked them up, looked around and bought a Mocha at the 7/11. I sat down to look at my find. One hundred, two and three bills made it three hundred. A one and ten made it eleven. Wow! God was looking over me.
God had provided me with three hundred and eleven dollars. I felt better and since it was the end of the month I felt like an Old Town treat: A chocolate ice cream cone. After a short trolley ride, I walked to the patio across from the Catholic Immaculate Church and tour trolleys. I bought the usual sugar rainbow cone and sat at a round table.
Soon a tired middle aged couple joined my table. The thin one told his mate they didn't have quite enough for an ice cream. Since she was out of breath on this hot day, they looked devastated. That is when I first met Ruthy and John. They had come for a religious convention and were on their way to the airport. They didn't have anymore cash.
Pardon me, but may I offer you a five for the cup of ice cream.
The man replied, "Are you sure...My wife is hot and an ice cream can mean a lot for her."
No problem.
So as not to bore you, I have had a long e-mail relationship with Brother John and Sister Ruth. He is a pastor and she a nurse, both retired. He summoned me by e-mail a month ago. He wished to return my sweetness with a lunch at the Greek Café in Seaport Village. Next to the Greek were seafood, Italian and good old American cuisine.
Now for me it mean a free meal and a chance to leave loneliness at home. We were to meet at 2:o'clock in the afternoon. They had to attend a Evangelist conference first. It was a fifteen minute quick-walk from my hotel to the Harbor and Pacific Highway. Ruth saw me with my long umbrella and waved.
It was an agreeably hot day without a cloud in the deep blue sky. In the distance was an aircraft carrier and by the shore were sail boats taking advantage of a north-westerly breeze. It seemed all of the tourists had come to this part of the Harbor. Everywhere there was beer, food and smiles. And what would it be without the seagulls, and pigeons? .
It felt good the couple from Jonestown remembered me. We ordered the combination plate with Greek rolls and fig leaves. My stomach felt happy. My state check had not arrived and was lost so I had to unbuckle up my stomach. We gorged ourselves on slices of meat, and various vegetables. I felt connected with my new friends.
Brother John had to check his ten o'clock flight, and afterwards, she wished to buy some scented vinegar for her salads. She could only amble ten steps at a time since she had recently undergone a major mastectomy. Yet she needed to find the Seaport vinegar store...and we found it across from Ben an Jerry's.
I reminded them about my favorite fish restaurant next to the Harbor. That fish restaurant had a perfect view of the Harbor. Too bad Ruth can't walk far since a tour of the aircraft carrier Midway is well worth it. In fact, you can see hundreds of Asians taking pictures of the nurse kissing the sailor after the war. The Japanese forgot they lost the war-at least for the moment. There is also Bob Hope spreading his humor with jokes among the Marines.
We found the scented vinegar store and she bought various fruit flavored bottles. They would be sent to their address in Pennsylvania.They charged it and would also ship it to their Pennsylvania address the eight bottles of scented joy.
I warned them with the heat she could have a stroke. After we stopped at the Hyatt Manchester they decided not to take the Green Line and instead ordered a taxi ride to their hotel. for a drink, they ordered a $20 taxi ride to Hotel Circle and the Town and County. I went with them on the taxi ride. Their leader is building hotel that will showcase the old and new testament. They had already paid $25,000 to join the group.
We embraced and Brother John gave me ten dollars. I walked towards the Green Line Trolley holding a book and left-over food. I never slept so soundly.
The next day reality waved good-by to fantasy land, and hello to reality. My State Teachers retirement check never arrived. I only had fourteen dollars on me and left to the Post Office on Roosevelt to see if the color yellow arrived in box 1241. No such luck. A supervisor walked up and down the line.
"My check is ten days late. It has never been this late!...I could have died!"
"Let me go to the back and check."
She returned holding my yellow small envelope. "We put it inside another's box. We are very sorry."
Wall Mart cashed it in Oceanside and I went to my dentist to buy an appliance for my teethe. What a way for the day to end. In three weeks I will be able to smile.
I picked them up, looked around and bought a Mocha at the 7/11. I sat down to look at my find. One hundred, two and three bills made it three hundred. A one and ten made it eleven. Wow! God was looking over me.
God had provided me with three hundred and eleven dollars. I felt better and since it was the end of the month I felt like an Old Town treat: A chocolate ice cream cone. After a short trolley ride, I walked to the patio across from the Catholic Immaculate Church and tour trolleys. I bought the usual sugar rainbow cone and sat at a round table.
Soon a tired middle aged couple joined my table. The thin one told his mate they didn't have quite enough for an ice cream. Since she was out of breath on this hot day, they looked devastated. That is when I first met Ruthy and John. They had come for a religious convention and were on their way to the airport. They didn't have anymore cash.
Pardon me, but may I offer you a five for the cup of ice cream.
The man replied, "Are you sure...My wife is hot and an ice cream can mean a lot for her."
No problem.
So as not to bore you, I have had a long e-mail relationship with Brother John and Sister Ruth. He is a pastor and she a nurse, both retired. He summoned me by e-mail a month ago. He wished to return my sweetness with a lunch at the Greek Café in Seaport Village. Next to the Greek were seafood, Italian and good old American cuisine.
Now for me it mean a free meal and a chance to leave loneliness at home. We were to meet at 2:o'clock in the afternoon. They had to attend a Evangelist conference first. It was a fifteen minute quick-walk from my hotel to the Harbor and Pacific Highway. Ruth saw me with my long umbrella and waved.
It was an agreeably hot day without a cloud in the deep blue sky. In the distance was an aircraft carrier and by the shore were sail boats taking advantage of a north-westerly breeze. It seemed all of the tourists had come to this part of the Harbor. Everywhere there was beer, food and smiles. And what would it be without the seagulls, and pigeons? .
It felt good the couple from Jonestown remembered me. We ordered the combination plate with Greek rolls and fig leaves. My stomach felt happy. My state check had not arrived and was lost so I had to unbuckle up my stomach. We gorged ourselves on slices of meat, and various vegetables. I felt connected with my new friends.
Brother John had to check his ten o'clock flight, and afterwards, she wished to buy some scented vinegar for her salads. She could only amble ten steps at a time since she had recently undergone a major mastectomy. Yet she needed to find the Seaport vinegar store...and we found it across from Ben an Jerry's.
I reminded them about my favorite fish restaurant next to the Harbor. That fish restaurant had a perfect view of the Harbor. Too bad Ruth can't walk far since a tour of the aircraft carrier Midway is well worth it. In fact, you can see hundreds of Asians taking pictures of the nurse kissing the sailor after the war. The Japanese forgot they lost the war-at least for the moment. There is also Bob Hope spreading his humor with jokes among the Marines.
We found the scented vinegar store and she bought various fruit flavored bottles. They would be sent to their address in Pennsylvania.They charged it and would also ship it to their Pennsylvania address the eight bottles of scented joy.
I warned them with the heat she could have a stroke. After we stopped at the Hyatt Manchester they decided not to take the Green Line and instead ordered a taxi ride to their hotel. for a drink, they ordered a $20 taxi ride to Hotel Circle and the Town and County. I went with them on the taxi ride. Their leader is building hotel that will showcase the old and new testament. They had already paid $25,000 to join the group.
We embraced and Brother John gave me ten dollars. I walked towards the Green Line Trolley holding a book and left-over food. I never slept so soundly.
The next day reality waved good-by to fantasy land, and hello to reality. My State Teachers retirement check never arrived. I only had fourteen dollars on me and left to the Post Office on Roosevelt to see if the color yellow arrived in box 1241. No such luck. A supervisor walked up and down the line.
"My check is ten days late. It has never been this late!...I could have died!"
"Let me go to the back and check."
She returned holding my yellow small envelope. "We put it inside another's box. We are very sorry."
Wall Mart cashed it in Oceanside and I went to my dentist to buy an appliance for my teethe. What a way for the day to end. In three weeks I will be able to smile.
Friday, June 6, 2014
A Letter to my Dad Harry on Father's Day.
On this coming Fathers' Day, I wish to hold you and tell you how much we miss you. Yet it is never too late to show my deep affection for you. Whenever somebody lights up a cigar, wears an old wrinkled tennis hat, it reminds me of you.
Today the Six of June commemorates the day our troops landed in Omaha Beach during World War 11. Yet I wish to thank you for the war--over here.
. During the early forties, You worked till dawn feeding Mel and me and taking care of your sisters and brothers. Federal Plumbing was open from dust to dawn. Central Avenue had street cars then..You brother Uncle Henry enlisted and returned from the Battle of Guadalcanal in the Pacific without hair. He looked handsome after the war with a medal pinned to his uniform. In spite of heavy fire, he carried a wounded soldier back to his lines.
Uncle Henry, like you Dad, played for Jefferson High School. He gave up a football scholarship and enlisted. But you Dad had your own battle to fight. You had to watch the many milk fights your sons Mel and I had over the dinner table. You left at the crack of dawn and returned after dark. Those were the days when street cars ran everywhere.
I remember you owned only two golf clubs, a putter and driver. and that spanking new Packard Car. Wow! You were the first to throw a football to me and also take me to my first football game at Gilmore Field, remember? I still remember their blue and red uniforms. You also took us to Del Mar where I witnessed my first thoroughbred horse race. I remember you bet on On Trust and another by the name of Vino Fino beat him at the wire.
Do you remember our trips to Highland Springs and Del Mar? I can still remember those brunches, hay rides and dances at the Springs. Remember the Highland Springs band and the Mexican Hat Dance. Mel and I danced until our legs fell off.
I know it must have been you who subscribed to two local papers, the Times and Daily News. I enjoyed reading the box scores and also find out if my Hollywood Stars won a night game. Remember when you took us to Gilmore Stadium on O'Keefe and Merritt night? ?The ushers threw bags of peanuts at us in the seats.
I will never forget the last time we played tennis together at Rancho Park in West Los Angeles. We could not stop laughing. You wore the oldest pair of tennis shoes at the Park and also a worn out white tennis hat. Yet nobody in their seventies could drive the tennis ball flatter or madder than you. You often beat the tennis pro even in your forties.
On a more somber note, I am still watching over Mel. He is now blind and can barely walk. I take him to Norm's or a new burger joint called the In-and-Out burger. He still enjoys eating -- even though he can't see the food.
You never said "I love you" but you sure as hell did, in a different way. You bought me my fist and second car. My first was a Ford Fairlane. The times we had at the track I remember most. You always gave me part of your winnings.
And do you recall when sheets of rain came down at Santa Nita? We could not see one race but sure felt the darts hitting the grandstand roof. You placed two bucks on my Mom's nose. The horse was called Speedy Eddie and remember the call of that 1948 race even today. The public address caller's name was Joe Hernandez. It must have been 1947, or thereabouts.
"And there goes Speedy Eddie. She is fifth, now fourth and now head and head with the leader Broken Ox. It is, it is...Speedy Eddie going away."
You gave little me the heavy textured ticket and I walked up to the pay window and looked up. The man took the ticket and peered down at me. Do you know how much you won Sunny? Three hundred and eleven dollars.
The teller handed me the wad of money. I gave it to my Dad. I never saw you so, so happy. You bought a hot dog for me, remember. Now a hot dog for a nine year old tasted pretty good, specially with all that mustard crowded over it. Of course Eddie's eyes bolted when she saw the loot I placed down on our living room table.
Well got to go now. Have made good friends in Encinitas and am looking forward to next month when I can place a bet for you and Mom at Del Mar, where the surf meets the surf. Love First Son George (Looking forward to seeing both of you in heaven.)
Today the Six of June commemorates the day our troops landed in Omaha Beach during World War 11. Yet I wish to thank you for the war--over here.
. During the early forties, You worked till dawn feeding Mel and me and taking care of your sisters and brothers. Federal Plumbing was open from dust to dawn. Central Avenue had street cars then..You brother Uncle Henry enlisted and returned from the Battle of Guadalcanal in the Pacific without hair. He looked handsome after the war with a medal pinned to his uniform. In spite of heavy fire, he carried a wounded soldier back to his lines.
Uncle Henry, like you Dad, played for Jefferson High School. He gave up a football scholarship and enlisted. But you Dad had your own battle to fight. You had to watch the many milk fights your sons Mel and I had over the dinner table. You left at the crack of dawn and returned after dark. Those were the days when street cars ran everywhere.
I remember you owned only two golf clubs, a putter and driver. and that spanking new Packard Car. Wow! You were the first to throw a football to me and also take me to my first football game at Gilmore Field, remember? I still remember their blue and red uniforms. You also took us to Del Mar where I witnessed my first thoroughbred horse race. I remember you bet on On Trust and another by the name of Vino Fino beat him at the wire.
Do you remember our trips to Highland Springs and Del Mar? I can still remember those brunches, hay rides and dances at the Springs. Remember the Highland Springs band and the Mexican Hat Dance. Mel and I danced until our legs fell off.
I know it must have been you who subscribed to two local papers, the Times and Daily News. I enjoyed reading the box scores and also find out if my Hollywood Stars won a night game. Remember when you took us to Gilmore Stadium on O'Keefe and Merritt night? ?The ushers threw bags of peanuts at us in the seats.
I will never forget the last time we played tennis together at Rancho Park in West Los Angeles. We could not stop laughing. You wore the oldest pair of tennis shoes at the Park and also a worn out white tennis hat. Yet nobody in their seventies could drive the tennis ball flatter or madder than you. You often beat the tennis pro even in your forties.
On a more somber note, I am still watching over Mel. He is now blind and can barely walk. I take him to Norm's or a new burger joint called the In-and-Out burger. He still enjoys eating -- even though he can't see the food.
You never said "I love you" but you sure as hell did, in a different way. You bought me my fist and second car. My first was a Ford Fairlane. The times we had at the track I remember most. You always gave me part of your winnings.
And do you recall when sheets of rain came down at Santa Nita? We could not see one race but sure felt the darts hitting the grandstand roof. You placed two bucks on my Mom's nose. The horse was called Speedy Eddie and remember the call of that 1948 race even today. The public address caller's name was Joe Hernandez. It must have been 1947, or thereabouts.
"And there goes Speedy Eddie. She is fifth, now fourth and now head and head with the leader Broken Ox. It is, it is...Speedy Eddie going away."
You gave little me the heavy textured ticket and I walked up to the pay window and looked up. The man took the ticket and peered down at me. Do you know how much you won Sunny? Three hundred and eleven dollars.
The teller handed me the wad of money. I gave it to my Dad. I never saw you so, so happy. You bought a hot dog for me, remember. Now a hot dog for a nine year old tasted pretty good, specially with all that mustard crowded over it. Of course Eddie's eyes bolted when she saw the loot I placed down on our living room table.
Well got to go now. Have made good friends in Encinitas and am looking forward to next month when I can place a bet for you and Mom at Del Mar, where the surf meets the surf. Love First Son George (Looking forward to seeing both of you in heaven.)
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Jackie Robinson's Muir High days.
I woke up alive again. My pernicious bronchial asthma attack almost killed me a week ago. I had slept for ten hours and felt good enough to reach Encinitas again. My second daughter had put money in an envelope for me. She had come down from Los Angeles to have a tooth looked at in Oceanside , but sadly, she had it out with a tooth cleaner.
My day began at the corner Starbucks on Broadway and Kettner. In back of me a harmless homeless bearded one walked back and forth-first to the restroom and then out the door to light one up. Two middle school chums sat, drank a cold one, and scrolled their cell phones. A few of their friends waited for the 993 bus to take them to Dana Middle School in Point Loma. A young gal spoke to a the counter manager. The manager had middle aged freckles and bright blond hair.
"Love the way you've got your hair. How dyado it?"
"I pick up my hair and then roll it around my pony tail."
I quipped in. "Now I suppose you will be calling a Starbucks drink the Pony Tail. a gob of chocolate with a rainbow syrup wrapped around it." They laughed while I cleaned off the dust from my coffee roll and left.
It was now eight o'clock and my #567 Amtrak ride left at eight twenty four. I parked my stuff on a bench and read the beginning of Poinciana by Phyllis Whitney. The best way to write is to read-every stinking moment.
The Green Line Trolley stopped in back of me. I stood up and watched the usual hoard of miserable people walk and cross towards Kettner. There wasn't a happy face in the bunch. They left and a tall bewildered man stayed. He looked back, and then forward. He looked lost. He wore casual pants and thongs. Lonely for company, I asked him if he might be lost.
"I'm lookin for the Coaster train...Need to get to Carlsbad badly. I have three sons living in the area."
This is your lucky day. I have a blog on San Diego. The #567 doubles as a Coaster train in a few minutes. Here is my card.
"I see you write football stories. Whom did this guy play for?"
He played for good old U.S.C. and still lives at 97.
"Did you ever hear the name of Sangster?"
Yes, he played in the backfield with Schindler. His first name was Bill and three fingers were missing from his passing hand. You better hurry up and buy a ticket. You can get one over there. Bob gave me his card...I entered the first level, reserved for the elderly and disabled, like me.
It was now eight twenty. I looked outside and there was Bob. He was hunched over buying a ticket for the wrong train, the trolley. The conductor didn't help. Yet after the good-old 567 began its run to Los Angeles, and of course all intermediate stops, I figured he would get on the real coaster, alive at nine forty for the main beach stops like Carlsbad, where he wished to go...the conductor came my way and told me he got on-board.
I walked up and down another car and found Bob arguing with his computer.
"I can't get it to run!" I should him where to hook it up and continued with my conversation. That is where the name of Jackie Robinson came up. To save time, I have edited and ran his stories together to make sense. I had told him that Schindler played against Robinson in 1939.
"Well George, my Dad played quarterback for Muir High School in Pasadena. He played on the B team alongside Robinson. He was their quarterback. His coach told him 'never to run or throw the ball. Just hand it to Robinson.'"( B players were usually smaller and tenth graders.)
"Once, according to my Dad, their was a track meet next door at Glendale High School. The track coach came over and told the football coach if he could borrow Jackie for one event, the long jump. 'You can use him but if he gets injured, I'll kill you!'"
"Robinson wore his football uniform and cleats to this meet. In his uniform, he carefully marked off where he should take off. Jackie won this event and Muir won the meet by two points."
The conductor announced that the Sorrento stop is next. He told me that Bill Sangster, his Dad's friend and also a football player on that same Muir football teams became close friends. He died a few years back. I told him that Schindler still lived, now at 97 years of age, and the only one from the 1936 Trojan Team. I gave him a picture.
"I will keep in touch with you. If you have time I will schedule a book signing for you. By the way, my Dad was the Supervisor for Los Angeles County for several years. My last name is Dorn...I will privy you for more stories."
My stop was next. I felt like playing the piano and writing about this tale on the 567 out of the Santa Fe Station. On Bob's card was mentioned he was President of Advanced Management Systems Interactive, out of Santa Barbara. (not edited or finished.)
My day began at the corner Starbucks on Broadway and Kettner. In back of me a harmless homeless bearded one walked back and forth-first to the restroom and then out the door to light one up. Two middle school chums sat, drank a cold one, and scrolled their cell phones. A few of their friends waited for the 993 bus to take them to Dana Middle School in Point Loma. A young gal spoke to a the counter manager. The manager had middle aged freckles and bright blond hair.
"Love the way you've got your hair. How dyado it?"
"I pick up my hair and then roll it around my pony tail."
I quipped in. "Now I suppose you will be calling a Starbucks drink the Pony Tail. a gob of chocolate with a rainbow syrup wrapped around it." They laughed while I cleaned off the dust from my coffee roll and left.
It was now eight o'clock and my #567 Amtrak ride left at eight twenty four. I parked my stuff on a bench and read the beginning of Poinciana by Phyllis Whitney. The best way to write is to read-every stinking moment.
The Green Line Trolley stopped in back of me. I stood up and watched the usual hoard of miserable people walk and cross towards Kettner. There wasn't a happy face in the bunch. They left and a tall bewildered man stayed. He looked back, and then forward. He looked lost. He wore casual pants and thongs. Lonely for company, I asked him if he might be lost.
"I'm lookin for the Coaster train...Need to get to Carlsbad badly. I have three sons living in the area."
This is your lucky day. I have a blog on San Diego. The #567 doubles as a Coaster train in a few minutes. Here is my card.
"I see you write football stories. Whom did this guy play for?"
He played for good old U.S.C. and still lives at 97.
"Did you ever hear the name of Sangster?"
Yes, he played in the backfield with Schindler. His first name was Bill and three fingers were missing from his passing hand. You better hurry up and buy a ticket. You can get one over there. Bob gave me his card...I entered the first level, reserved for the elderly and disabled, like me.
It was now eight twenty. I looked outside and there was Bob. He was hunched over buying a ticket for the wrong train, the trolley. The conductor didn't help. Yet after the good-old 567 began its run to Los Angeles, and of course all intermediate stops, I figured he would get on the real coaster, alive at nine forty for the main beach stops like Carlsbad, where he wished to go...the conductor came my way and told me he got on-board.
I walked up and down another car and found Bob arguing with his computer.
"I can't get it to run!" I should him where to hook it up and continued with my conversation. That is where the name of Jackie Robinson came up. To save time, I have edited and ran his stories together to make sense. I had told him that Schindler played against Robinson in 1939.
"Well George, my Dad played quarterback for Muir High School in Pasadena. He played on the B team alongside Robinson. He was their quarterback. His coach told him 'never to run or throw the ball. Just hand it to Robinson.'"( B players were usually smaller and tenth graders.)
"Once, according to my Dad, their was a track meet next door at Glendale High School. The track coach came over and told the football coach if he could borrow Jackie for one event, the long jump. 'You can use him but if he gets injured, I'll kill you!'"
"Robinson wore his football uniform and cleats to this meet. In his uniform, he carefully marked off where he should take off. Jackie won this event and Muir won the meet by two points."
The conductor announced that the Sorrento stop is next. He told me that Bill Sangster, his Dad's friend and also a football player on that same Muir football teams became close friends. He died a few years back. I told him that Schindler still lived, now at 97 years of age, and the only one from the 1936 Trojan Team. I gave him a picture.
"I will keep in touch with you. If you have time I will schedule a book signing for you. By the way, my Dad was the Supervisor for Los Angeles County for several years. My last name is Dorn...I will privy you for more stories."
My stop was next. I felt like playing the piano and writing about this tale on the 567 out of the Santa Fe Station. On Bob's card was mentioned he was President of Advanced Management Systems Interactive, out of Santa Barbara. (not edited or finished.)
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