A Day at the Races

 I was moving back to my beginnings, West Los Angeles, and in the nick of time. The heavy humidity did not agree with me as it did with the bed bugs and clock- roaches at the San Diego 'Y'. Back in Los Angeles, I decided to move back with my daughter.  I bought an air bed, gave her Terrier a clipping at a pet store and bought a water bed at Costco. I drove over 300 miles Labor Day weekend. Now I needed some rest and relaxation. I will spend the second half of the day at the Del Mar races.
   The Monday #567 Amtrak is not there. Only a sole car is on track number two. I wait until the main train lumbers and connects with the other. It appears that there is another electrical problem with the doors. Confusion reigns as a hoard of people climb aboard. One gal wishes to know which way the train is going. I tell her "North".
   A middle aged lady climbs aboard car number four. She is full of piss and vinegar with an engaging smile. She comes my way and sits across from me. She wears dark hair, heavy lipstick, and an ample body. Her laughter is contagious.
   Conductor Rick, always officious, asks the smiling one for her ticket. She complies and he asks her if she is is 62 years of age. You need to be either disabled or 62 and over to sit in these seats.
   "Well sir, I just turned 62 and will take advantage of it. I deserve leg room and a great view." The porter leaves and goes to others for their tickets. I turn to the smiling one.
     "Wow, you speak good English. Were you born here in America?"
     "Not really. I was born in Costa Rico but have lived in Santa Cruz most of my life. My name is Amelia. What is yours?"
      I tell her my name and tell her how great it is that now we are the privileged ones. She has five grand kids verses my two.
      "Amelia, the great thing about old age is we can appreciate our grand kids." She smiles and I get off at Old Town.
      My first stop was the Scripps Mercy Hospital on Monday's Labor Day. The cafeteria worker knows me well. I slip her a few dollars and she gives me extra scoops of spinach, lots of scrambled eggs, and extra lean pieces of bacon. Their coffee is only one dollar and twenty cents for a small cup of the strongest.
   From there I travel to the Harbor area and park my car in a disabled spot by the Sheraton front door. Like Popeye the sailor, I feel my oats. The coffee bar has a side room where a sports channel is showing highlights. . I read my New York Times and look over the good looking damsels in distress
   I return to my hotel at the 'Y' and wait for the 3 o'clock Coaster train It will take me to the track.
I pack a few sandwiches with grapes and get aboard the train. I get off at Solano Beach and take the elevator to the top. Across the bridge the double-decker Red British bus waits for me. I sit in the rear of this ancient bus.
  On another seat I notice a wallet. I pick it up to see if there is money inside. There is over two hundred dollars. Instead of giving it to the bus driver, I take it to the lost and found. While she is taking down my information, the young owner enters.
  It felt like hitting the exacta. He was so happy. I left to take the elevator to the fifth floor. There are too many grandstand seats. I pick one and take it all in. What a sight! I peak at the ocean to my right and all of the flowers inside the infield. But what I enjoy most is watching the people mull over the racing form.
  They pick a number as if there life depends upon it. Maybe reality does not bring them rewards. but a winning ticket is all that separates them from a great labor day. I don't cash any tickets, but the thought of the wallet makes my day. (Not edited)