A Sunday in Beverly Hills

Saturday morning I woke up depressed. My sinuses were killing me. One bottom tooth had a gap and any bit of food made it cry. So I got the-hell out of Carlsbad. I mentioned in my last blog how it took me only about three hours to go from Oceanside to West Los Angeles for about $12. I had forgotten that the Academy Award were on Sunday. 
  
It felt great to sleep over in my daughter's West Los Angeles apartment. It was only a block to Beverly Hills and not far from its Civic Center.
   But like good-old Ben Franklin once said in his Almanac: "Fish and Visitors smell in three days." For me one day suited me fine. 
   Since I am an early riser, I awoke Sunday at about six o'clock to the sound of the Seven Blue Bus hiking up Pico Blvd. But my stay with my adorable DNA recharged my dead battery. The Santa Monica charging winds unclogged my lungs with its westerly winds.
  
   Today I am ever-so-thankful to be alive- and to have raised two darling daughters. The task was difficult at their beginning, but its the finish that counts. And I count my blessing-each day. The number 14 bus arrived about seven and the kind bus driver allowed me to sit inside while she smoked a cigarillo.
   The bus dropped me off on Canon. I felt exuberant today, carrying my back pack and God telling me to make a day-of-it. I crossed Crescent Drive and then Canon to Beverly Drive. I wasn't hungry for food but still stopped at Nate and Al's, still holding its own while other stores folded. 
    I had two pancakes and turned away from the anemic bacon It was crisp, so crisp it broke up laughing when I tried to eat it. At seven thirty the iconic restaurant served only a few people while across the Beverly Drive Street is resembled a bee-hive.
    Verizon Wireless, Sharkey's, the Mexican Grill, the Farm and Coffee Bean looked busy. On the corner was Paley's T.V. museum, and a hot bagel shop. I stopped in at Starbucks to work on my book and also...
     "Why thank you sir. I would love to read the New York Times."
    The gentleman by the window gave me his Newspaper. It was going on nine o'clock and I knew that the Farmer's market might be opened. I took Little Santa Monica toward the library which opened at twelve on the weekends.Next to the Annenberg Musical Art Building. A large tent with T.V. trucks took up Crescent Drive. Vanity Fair was to have a After-Academy gathering.
    And there was the Farmer's Market, just east of the library's parking structure. I bought two large avocados, one a Haas and sat at the second table. A wheel chaired one sat at the first and I didn't wish to intrude. 
    A few rain drops fell. Two kids in their twenties sat across from her table. The tall young pony tail wore a jersey while his lady friend dressed in tight fitting black slacks and a black shirt to match. 
    Her eyes could not get enough of the tall lean one who wore an effervescent smile. 
    "Just love your hair Vincent. I am going to make mine look like yours." Her dark eyes still were ever fixed on his. I walked over to them with my camera. 
    "Can I put you on U-Tube?" I asked. They nodded. (There film will be shown here.)

    I then returned to Little Santa Monica Blvd. The Vanity Fair's tent grew wider with more catering trucks and security guards. I felt like a bird peaking in. Everywhere, Bentleys, Mercedes and other sports cars readied themselves for the Academy Awards. The perfumed streets allowed only the slickest of black cars to enter Beverly Blvd. The men wore two-tone colored shoes whereas the ladies wore tall laced shoes. Each walked the Beverly walk-- straight up and looking ahead. 
   I entered the Cities Tourist office and enjoyed some pictures of old Beverly Hills. Paley on Beverly had a old typewriter exhibit. I will place pictures next time. 
   It took me a little longer to return to Union Station and my Metro-Link train back for San Diego. I returned the same way I had come-but in reverse. The #720 Red Rapid took me to Western and the old Wiltern Theater. The Purple Underground train took me the rest of the way to the Union Station. I took the 2:00 one since I knew that the Chinese might load the train up at the four thirty one.    
But what I didn't know was that the Metro Link train had a major derailment in Oxnard during the dark early morning hours. I wondered if Isis was busy trying to derail our train service. It is only a matter of time when we too, will be hand checked before boarding a train.  
   I know from my Coaster-Commuter service that most accidents happen after sunset. For the last four years, some indigents have been hit by the Coaster. 
     
  

The Year of the Sheep

Desperately I needed to get away from Carlsbad. My sinuses were raising a fuss and my teeth couldn't take it any more. I decided to visit my daughter who lived in Los Angeles. I had not seen her in over three months.
   It took me only a few minutes to drive from the Motel Six to the Oceanside Transit Center. A line had already formed at the Metro-Link ticket machine. The weekends provide all-day ticket for ten dollars-and all the way to Los Angeles. You could get off at any one of the many train stops and jump back on with the same ticket. Most of those in line were Chinese. I asked a Latina girl where she was headed.
   "We are headed for China Town. They are celebrating the Year of the Sheep." Hey you can probably walk there from Union Station. "You are correct, and so we will walk." I bought my ticket and noticed about forty people waiting in back of me. Many would not have time to buy the ticket since the train would depart at eight fifteen.
    The Chinese gummed up the sticky line. Many were jamming the machine with their master cards rather than just slipping them in. The machine would not work, and besides there limited use of English did not help this transaction.
 
   I got on board happy to get away. Nobody got on at the San Clemente. When we arrived at our third stop, San Juan Capistrano, a herd of Chinese climbed aboard and found seats. Even more jumped on at Santa Ana and Orange. The conductor's voice came on board.
     "For those who can't find a seat, another train is right behind us. You can leave and wait only about twenty minutes but will get a seat." Time and time again, the announcement was made without nary anybody leaving.
      After Santa Ana, I did see acres and acres of dead, almost dead, or those hanging on for dear life. The orange trees dropped a whitish gray everywhere. Now and then, I saw an orange tree clinging to life with a few dull oranges on it.  As a matter of fact, One almost dead tree screamed at me.
      "We  n e e d w a t e r?  Can't you help?" I responded.  "Mr. Weather man says a storm is brewing. I will pray for you." A few stops later, my eyes dropped down on streams and the Santa Ana River that were bone dry.

      By this time the chu-chu out of Oceanside was full. Almost all spoke Chinese. Finally. after our stop out of Norwalk, the train lumbered into Grand Central Station. I have never seen the platform steps so crowded until I went to the washroom.
     Would you believe about fifty ladies lined up for their turn in the wash room. There were only about ten ahead of me in the old one hundred year old bathroom. Six urinals did not seem enough. I the made my way to the underground and paid one dollar and seventy cents to go on the Red Line for the Wilshire and Western blvd stop.
      I got off and the 720 Express bus and later the number 14 got me to my destination. It took only about three hours for me to arrive at my destination. And by the way, my sinus became clear and I got the present of my life, to see my daughter. 
     
 

Horst Cahn's Story.

"The best days of my life were when I  lived inside Auschwitz. I didn't have to pay rent and the food was free. I also got to take a shower every day. Horst, as always, was probably joking. His satire on life was probably the reason he not only survived, but is the only one still living.  
  Yesterday I took a detour from my football story. I needed to meet my buddy Sam, the taxi man. He would be in court next month and we needed to talk strategy. 
   At the Motel Six  I woke up early and drove to the Carlsbad train station. I climbed aboard the  and climbed the six o'clock morning Coaster for San Diego. At the Santa Fe Station, I took a Green Line Trolley to the Convention Center and walked the three blocks to the new coffee shop. 
   I ordered a small hot chocolate and breakfast, consisting of pancakes, bacon, eggs and lots of grilled potato slices. We spoke about his impending case and he presented me with a free cell phone - which I somewhat resented since it interrupts my conversations with God. 
   I returned to the Convention Center and again took the Green Line this time to the Imperial Station, its last stop. Others took the Orange or Blue Line Trolleys. The Blue Line is heavily boarded with those going across the border to Mexico. 
   I found myself on the ninth floor of the new libraries ninth floor called the California Room. I found out more information about Schindler's Dad and also a print out of the transport ship that brought  Cahn to America. Usually I use the microfilms to clue me into the goings-on in San Diego during the depression. 
   Ancestry.Com soon found its way to my thumb drive. I became thrilled and fascinated. I not only found out about Schindler's Granddad but also my Grandfathers middle name was Jacob, the same as my other ones. And then I thought about looking up my buddy, Horst Cahn who just turned 89. And there it was: the manifest of the transport ship, General W.G. Haan. 
   Of course I wondered if the ship Haan was any relation to Cahn, but I guess not. Anyway, the ship had sailed from Bremerhaven on October 28th of 1951 and arrived in New York's Elise Island on November 7th of 1951. 
   On the passenger list were his family. Horst and his wife Elizabeth were 26 years old and there two sons were five and three. But something smelled fishy. If their birthdays were correct, in no way could Horst have arrived at that age. I will attack this the next time we eat. He did reveal a few things I didn't know. 
   'We were living in Munich, Germany after the war. My two kids Klaus and Bernard went to Hebrew school. One day, a kid asked my son if they believe in Santa Claus?" 
   "No, we have a Hanuka man."
   "I remember that we had a sponsor from Chicago. I did not wish to go where hoodlums and gangs swarmed the streets. I do remember that many travelers carried cardboard baggage that soon became waste paper during the voyage. A Jewish group got us a place in Rochester, New York" 
    I asked him more questions about how he had met his wife after the war. He corrected himself and told me he was really 16 when the Germans sent him to Auschwitz. 
    "In the Sudetenland, a German farmer took me in for a year or two. He introduced me to another one who he hid. She was half Jewish. He wanted me to have a friend."
     "A Jewish group moved us to Munich, Germany where I served as an interpreter. Of course I spoke German, Yiddish, Hebrew and also English. My kids went to Hebrew school and we lived in an apartment complex."
      I asked him about the time his commandant screamed at him for loafing and told him to work harder for his food. 
     "I threw a wrench at him and he put a rifle to my head. That was when I told him as a Jew, his son would die at the front if he had shot me"     
    
Horst now uses a walker-just to be safe. But anyone withing shouting distance must be careful, since he can hurt you with his words. He always tells me that I am crazy cause I never had a Mother. "Edith did you here that. His jokes and affection for the softer sex keeps Horst Alive and kicking. He still lives in his home of over 30 years in Cardiff. One Problem, His Rabbi does not like the fact he lives on Birmingham Street. It is the ham part he despises. 

 

Lindbergh Field Revisited

"Are you kidding me? Two hundred and fifty dollars to fly Alaska to Portland, Oregon. Why that's highway robbery! I am going to rail it to Portland for $120 dollars one way." 
    Last year I could take the Red Eye special to Portland for about half. The airlines are chocking the hell out of us. (I did find out that British costs $800 American dollars to fly one way to our Mother Country.)
     On President's Day, I took a day-off. I rode the Coaster and  visit Lindbergh Field. Some sonsofbitches changed the name to the San Diego International Airport the same way the streets changed to avenues. San Diego City fathers wished to buck up against New York and also own a Fifth Avenue. 
     I took the #922 to the fist terminal. I continued to eat some fruit and work on my story next to the Southwest Artery. Travelers were punching into machines to get their seats on the above airlines. Next to me was a gal who seemed upset. Her Valentine sweetheart had been marooned inside the igloo they called Philly. I listened in to her conversation. 
    "Dear, you can't tell me when your dog-armed flight will take off? What 17 degrees...Well I am going to return to my apartment and call from there. I feel scared. Don't take off until it is safe to do so!" 
    She left and I remained on my seat adjacent to the ticket-seat machines and outside Gates One and Two. I milked my iced-tea and looked up. Two black giants with ear phones came my way towards Southwests boarding. Where is God's name did they come from? Two more came my way, again with ear phones wearing jerseys. 
 I stopped these two. 
    "Are you basketball players?"  "Yes, we are and we are going to New Mexico." I saw they wore the San Diego State logo. I took their pictures and continued with my editing. A minute later I saw a grey-haired man. He looked old, like me.
    "Might your name, sir, be Fisher, the famous coach?" He smiled and stopped for a picture. I gave him my card and he continued onto Gate One or Two. 

Of course twenties produced not more Tuna and Honey than any-other city but also pure clean air. Now Mr Clean has turned to Mr. Dirty. San Diego has the foulest air in the country thanks to City Counsel members who wish to make a name for themselves...I am told that the city is now thinking about locating a football field downtown, and even a Harbor Ferris-wheel.
   Well I say this to the San Diego City Counsel. " 
Get off your ass-holes and get the homeless off the streets and into safe hotels. God will kick your butts to kingdom-com. The students in your high schools don't know who the second president of the United States was...And that is no Joke...And while you are at it, why not have a Jewish Day in San Diego to celebrate those Jews who made a difference. 

 Nuts and Bolts: Just for today, greet those in back of you with a 'hello, and how ya doing?" It is time to remove smart phones and learn to love people. (Photos to come...not edited yet.)

  
    
    
     
     

Nuts and Bolts from San Diego

I left the Motel Six today. In no way could I compete with the new price at the Mission Valley's location. They wanted over one hundred dollars and I found out their rates changed day-to-day. Looks like tonight  I'll be taking the  nine o'clock Amtrak for Los Angeles and sleep in the back bedroom on Pico. At least I will have a roof over my head during the five day heat wave when dust. pollen and ozone kick San Diego in the pants. 
   Besides removing the street cars for cars in the fifties, the other horror is that the Latinos who rule the Motel Six don't even know who are second president is. One gal could not even tell me the name of our first president. 
   It is no wonder that many kids opt for private or charter schools, who wouldn't. Many Latinos speak some English but can't understand it. In fact, inside the California Room, one gal can't help with our Ancestor.Com because of this problem. No doubt she had been hired to placate the Mexican population in San Diego. 
   A couple of days ago, my blog expressed my anger that there is only one toilet for each level of the Library. The homeless take care of all of their needs placing their diseases on the toilet bowls and also the keyboards of the library. 
   On the ninth floor, the doors open and close constantly leaving the outside air inside rather than outside. Yet I have found the quality of air even worse in the North County area built below the freeway. Why I have heard cars belch their fumes for three or four hours during the morning or afternoon rush hours. Of course the reason for obesity is sitting behind the wheel drinking a Starbucks' Mocha or blended. 
Just for today and maybe tomorrow, it would be great to have three-day-work weeks and provide free parking inside the city for electric cars. The ding-bats at City Hall think that making San Diego a Green City - hey who are they kidding. Now they are voting for a Ferris Wheel in the Harbor area. 

In the twenties, San Diego truly was a magnificent city. Today it is a monstrosity with high rises and amusements everywhere. 
  

Paul, the Fighting Marine

    Again I met my Fighting Marine, Paul Stevenson on  Valentine's Day, the Fourteenth. The soon-to-be eighty-nine year old looked chipper indeed. As usual the meal was on him, and why not, between his and his wife's retirement checks, they get over $ 12, 000 per month. . Again it was the Carlsbad Dennis at seven o'clock. Another Santa Ana wind welcomed me, along with Paul's smiling face. He had finished his two pancakes with scrambled eggs and bacon. I ordered the same and asked him more questions about Guadalcanal.
    "The worst infection was coming down with Malaria. The core poked a needled into my arm each day to let them know how much Quinine to give me. Soon, I was peeing a bright yellow discharge. Some of the other Marines thought it would destroy our sex drive."
     "I also came down with Beriberi. My bones felt as if they were crushed. The other disease I had contacted was Dinged fever. Malaria stayed with me for a long time. The pill caused me to sweat a lot."
      On the Islands, what did you eat?
     "Our sea rations came in cans. I hated Lima beans and regular beans. . A pill was placed in each ration. We made a hole and placed this pill under the can. We lighted it. It was much like a piece of charcoal. Some of mates removed the bananas and coconuts from the many trees or grabbed the fish from the streams in the area."
      'I do believe that the taking over of Henderson Field shortened the war a lot. We could now fly to Rabat and other islands. I do feel bad that the five Sullivan brothers died on the Vincennes. I do hope that never again will brothers be placed on the same ship."
I changed the subject and wished to know more about what life was like at Camp Pendleton.
      "Between wars, I stayed at Camp Pendleton and returned home to Akron on Highway 66. I drove an old Pontiac for eighteen straight hours until I arrived at an Army base in St. Louis. I used a couple of no-doze pills on the highway. They allowed me to sleep inside my car before I made the final lap to Ohio."
       "On the base we arose at Rivalry or when the bugle sounded at five thirty. I had already gone on a twenty minute run after doing my toilet. We had two latrines on base. Our mess hall food was the same as what we eat today except now and then we eat burritos or tacos. Two or three nights a week we sat down to a meal of steak and potatoes....In fact tonight, a bunch of us will travel in our old cars to the dinning room in Camp Pendleton where we will eat a steak and all the trimmings"
    "I remember you told me that some Japanese wished to buy your hill-top home for about two million dollars. Can you describe it?"
    'We have a panoramic view of Carlsbad and the ocean from three sides of our house. My wife enjoys watching our grand-kids from our large pool in the summer. She has had titanium planted inside both of her knees and just probably eating bags of chips was the reason for the weight problem."  
    "My Mom got me into the habit of saying my prayers before I bed down. Today I pray for the health of all of my family including the Marines."
    Before I left him, he pulled out of his car a small holder for two flags, The U.S. one and of course the Marine flag.
     

Balboa Park-a Lovely Valentine Day-Dance

Yesterday was a Red Flag Day-at last for one who has suffered with Asthma since the age of five. Even the mask I wore over my nose and mouth didn't help. I spent the first part of the day at the Harbor Sheraton Hotel. I needed to take a nap at the Mission Hotel Six since my nose began to water and my head throb. The dust and pollen covered my lungs.

    Yet I still made it to the one o'clock Balboa Club Senior dance. An earlier tuna sandwich would have to do until the Harper Band took its break. The temperatures today would break records, but still I had the energy to play their old piano to the left of the entrance. I thanked Sylvia Stringer for her compliments. She thought my piano playing was good enough to join an orchestra - but that is my hobby and writing is my job. 
     I took a table in the back and sprayed my chest with medication. Two couples sat down at my table. One lived in San Bernardo and the others in Del Mar. Del Mar Fred spoke up when I told him that I came from West Los Angeles. 
   "Well I grew up in Mar Vista. We shopped at the Ranch Market just like you, and I attended Hamilton High. My oh my, has that school changed. I remember returning from a game at Hamilton when some kids broke every window in our bus."  
    "May I ask if you are retired.?"
     "I worked selling Mercedes Benz's for thirty years. I made enough to go on trips with my German wife."
     Just then a speaker drew numbers for the door prize. Mabel , married to Bill, stood up and returned with with another door prize. This one was a box of chocolates. The lovely couple lived in Chula -Vista, close to the border. After the break, the Harper Band played Lets Fall in Love followed by Sentimental Journey. 
    Since I was the only one without a wife, I became depressed. I remembered the first gal I had fallen head-over-heals for. Her name was Betty Bumpers. I met the love of my life on December Ninth of 2008. Let me describe my Lovely Valentine Day. 
  
 I had been going to the Alpine Village for dance and romance forever. The Ballroom dance group were the Blue Birds. It was about nine o'clock when I heard a loud cracking noise just off the ballroom floor. The noise came from a table off the dance floor. I walked up to the chatter box after excusing myself from my partner. I peered down at this little red headed one. There was something about her face, yes her face, that reminded me of Grandma Rachel. 
   "Mam, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the dance floor." "But I have not danced in forty-two years." "No problem, I will lead you." The band played my Irving Berlin favorite Always 
    Was I in dream land.? She was a little thing, no more than five feet two. But what she lacked in size she made up for it with a gorgeous hour glass figure. But it was her face. No it wasn't cutest, but reminded me of my own Grandma, except her nose, yes her nose fascinated me. One gal later thought it to be the nose of a dog. She looked up at me with her gorgeous Hazel eyes. 
   Well I don't wish to bore you to death but we dated off-and-on for two years. And today, just for today, I wish Betty sat besides me. I walked to go to the bathroom.  I felt a jolt on my shoulder. It was a gal I had met in the Nuts and Bolts Club in Encinitas. 
   "Dear sir. would you kindly dance with me?" Well...ah. "Pretty please...My name is Rebecca." Who could refuse a damsel in distress. The band played Tea for Two and we did a swing to it. She gave me a look and quivered and remarked, "You do something to me...and it is exciting." I gave her my card and danced to I'll Be Loving you  with Linda. 
    Now Linda could easily have been a Linda Doll. Everything looked too perfect for this lass of 75 years, but that is what happens when dance and a good partner makes you look a lot young. 

   At this time, I would like to give my two daughters, Lauren and Lindsay a line or two but not here. My two grandchildren Olivia and Allison also I do wish my Valentines love for eternity. (Not edited yet.)

Surf City, The surf is up!

Yesterday I took the crowded #36 bus in the afternoon to pick up my cards. The surf again was up on a beautiful windy day. The bus driver first needed to send the wheel chair ramp to ground level. The heavy wheel chair advanced and took a hard left to be strapped in. It took up five spots. Several bearded ones came aboard along with some holding canes.
   A homeless man who sat next to me began coughing and picking his nose. I placed my nose mask on and continued to edit my football story. The late afternoon bus trudged up Newport Blvd until Point Loma Drive and made a left. I said hello to the San Diego River as it spilled out into Mission Bay.
  I got off rested and made my way up Newton to BK printing. To my right was Mallory's Antiques and the Chinese Restaurant, a shell store, Surf and Skate, a Tattoo Shop, Ear Piercing, a couple of bars and the Old movie house called the Strand. 
  Unlike yesterday, there was no fog and a bright sun. Unlike yesterday morning when my battery jumped higher than the sky, I made it to BK printing. A couple stopped me and asked if the City owned any bathrooms.
   "Keep going and make a right at the Board Walk. On the other side of the lifeguard station you'll find the bathrooms. Make sure to close your nose and wear shoes before the stench grabs you too. Take a newspaper in case there is no toilet paper."
   "We are also looking for a place to stay. How is that Beach Hotel to the right."
   "It charges too much for too little. Your best bed is to Hotel Circle and stay at the Motel Six. You get a lot for from $53-62 dollars and a view from the four floor"
    The left and I tried to remember when several sailors lost their lives in a bad storm. Again I smelled ribs close to the BK Printing but my budget would not allow it. I picked up my 500 cards and slowly returned to the #35 bus stop. I needed to get back by five to eat with Sam the Taxi man. He would be bringing Wild Salmon bought at the Grocery Outlet.
    I picked up my waiting car at the Old Town parking lot and entered Pacific Highway. I tried to avoid the dips and pebbles on the road. Many streets remind me of Rocky Road candy. In God's name I don't know why the roads are so laden with pits and crevices but the sonsofbitches in City Hall should cover the streets like Taylor with hunks of Milk Chocolate. In fact, it might be a good idea to have the sonsofbitches of San Diego's City Hall eat a bar of Ex-lax.
    Taylor Street reminded me of the bump cars at amusement park. The railroad crossing had so many white lines covering the tracks that I stopped at the first double. Thank God my ears work as many seniors don't hear the sounds of the bells or the train's approach. Too bad a subway was not built but the oil companies would not have allowed it.

I returned to my room with a view at about five o'clock. My buddy Sam-the-Taxi-man would arrive soon to my Motel Six room. He brought me smoked Salmon and several just-hatched-big-hard-boiled eggs...and of course several bananas...Outside I could hear the Green Line trolleys skirting the rails on the other side of the San Diego River. Faintly, ever so faintly the conductor, I heard singing, Old Man River. 

Ocean Beach High Tide

In my last blog I spoke about Huntington Beach, and raved about the fresh ocean breezes. Perhaps the beaches in Ocean City are not as tame. Today was the day the surfers did not go into the water. Twelve foot sets struck the beach with such force, the Seagulls skirted the tops to claim their prize.
   In no way did I wish to venture to be beach, but the Scripps Mercy Hospital made up my mind. I have been going there for about one year ever since I tasted their wonderful spinach-laden breakfast. It is one hell of a way to taste the day with a hard boiled-egg, spinach, a lean piece of bacon and heavy coffee. Yet this morning I was refused entrance.
  A pushy security guard stayed watch. "Sir, who are you going to see.?" I would like to see my lovely spinach today. "Sorry, we have a flu epidemic and unless you have a patient here, you must not go forth." Can I see your administrator?"
  Some lady called Lourdes came towards me. She seemed polite but did not bring an administrator to speak with me. After all, could I give the spinach the flu?  Even the downtown new library allows anyone with the flu or other deadly diseases to use the computers today. 
   Since many of the homeless who sleep beside the library harvest diseases on Park Blvd, it is a marvel that I am still alive today - what with sneezing, and bringing in other communicable diseases. Since it is a Green Library, tissues are strictly forbidden. Now how in Gods-name can one sneeze without a tissue. Do we need to go to the homeless washroom to blow and wash our hands. Where do these sonsofbitches go to relieve themselves-to their own washrooms. 
   Now every library in has tissues besides the keyboard is diseased in the library, it is only a matter-of-time when I end up in the obits.  
It was then I took a contrary action. Instead of grumbling, like I used to do, I picked up a few goodies from Albertsons and then drove to the Old Town and parked my car. I wished to see those twelve foot waves in Ocean Beach and order some cards from BK printing.
   The 35 bus left every thirty minutes. several skateboarders came aboard, a few nervous homeless, and  a couple of retreads carrying guitar cases. Several Latinos came aboard no doubt to clean hotels or work as servers. We ended up on Cable Street and the last stop was Newton Avenue. 
    The fog had not lifted and the fresh ocean air made my battery jump a bit. Seldom do I need starters when at ocean beach. I waved good-by to the #35 bus driver and looked for a toilet. For one going on 76, I need to be closes to toilet spots on my journey. Every store had a sign that read, Toilets only for Patrons. 
   I saw Mallory's Antiques on the corner and my favorite Chinese restaurant. There were a number of tattoo shops and eateries along the way. The YMCA had a new entrance and finally I arrived at the BK Printing shop. Solomon told me to return for my business cards at about one o'clock. I then  walked to free washroom, next to the lifeguard station. 
   The washroom looked as if it had been in sore need of a rehab. A few feet from the entrance the stench grabbed-a-hold on me. The concrete floors were a sea of vermin, papers, and a few dead fish who had dropped in to avoid the twelve foot waves outside.  
   A monument outside next to the surfer commemorated the sailors who lost their lives drowning during some tyrannical ocean seas.  It made the front pages of the local papers. The downed sailors should have known better than to swim in this  unpredictable ocean. 
   I walked up some stairs to the longest Pier in California. There were no sailors or surfers in the water today. Even the seagulls avoided these white walls of water, only to dip and skim the surf in search of little mackerel. 

Now to save time, I will leave the beach scene and return to the ninth floor of San Diego's new library. After my senior nap, I needed to do more work on my football story, about 'Amby' Schindler, the Greatest Trojan of all time.   
   Would you believe that on their special Ancestry.Com Computers, I verified that Schindler's Mom had an earlier marriage. a volunteer helped me to navigate these research engines. 
   " Well, lets look first at the United States Census. Lets take your Mom's birthday and check to see if she indeed, lived in Iowa."  To my amazement, we found here name listed and living inside a saloon. We found the name of her siblings and that her Mom had indeed been born in England. 
   "Now lets see who lived inside the saloon." Wait. Hold it there. Noftsinger was the name of her first husband. Guess they all lived inside the saloon..." 
   But the night was young and outside would be Jitterbug lessons. I can assure your that when daylight savings time arrives, the ninth floor's roof will be the scene of the greatest dancing affair San Diego has to offer. At seven I got sleepy and took the #11 bus to Broadway. 
   I must have been the ocean. I bought a can of sardines and paid the price with heart burn all night. (Not edited yet.)

Surf City U.S.A

No longer do I need to surf the web to find pure air for my asthmatic lungs. Between Los Angeles and San Diego lies the best air for asthmatics. But allow me to develop the story while we visit my brother at the Rustic Assistant living center. The Center lies at the beginning of Midway City, a small city which separates Huntington Beach and Westminster. 
   
   It was on Saturday morning,  the 31st of January. It proved to become a memorable day for me. I've been seeing my brother Mel for over eight years. His one-third of the sell of my parents house fed all the restaurants up and down Beach Blvd. in Huntington Beach. It took three firemen to lift his diabetic 350 body up and deliver him to the Huntington Beach Hospital. Yet lets get one with today,  and give January a great send-off.  
   I had left Carlsbad at seven in the morning and went north to the Five freeway. The Five took me to the 405 and the Santa Monica Freeway. I got off on Beach and went north to Balsa. After a right turn, I made another one and found myself on the steps of the assistant living center.
   I walked through the patio area of the Rustic Assistant Living Center  and saw a large body in the middle of the room. I walked in and Mel screamed, "Hi George!" He seemed content to see me. Bee entered and then Pat. Bee is a Philipino and Pat is from London.
   Now it was serving time. One pancake and one bacon for each inmate was now served. A lady served up the cups of medicine for everyone. Each small paper cup carried what appeared to be sugar. She poured the sugar into my brother's cereal and watched him spoon-it to his mouth. In the past, Mel would spit it out or store it inside his mouth until the witnesses had left. 
   A thin Asian was fed by another worker. Between gulps, he coughed. "God dam it! Won't you cover your mouth." That was smiling Betty. Her oxygen thermos sat next to her. She must have given up nicotine since she no longer coughed and  put on several pounds. The Asian had a few dark blotches on his skin, and needed a lot of help.
  At least half of these wheel chair or walker inmates have their diapers changed once a day. I dare say I have yet to see any Anglo Saxons doing this type of work. The Mexicans seem to take it in stride and joke about it.
    "This is bacon day today. Every-third day we get served lean bacon." Mel had finished his cereal and now concentrated on his lone pancake and two bacon. Mel thanked two people who gave him theirs." Mel has always enjoyed bacon. In fact Farmer John, a popular brand in our day, was always a member of our refrigerator. While Mel continued chewing bacon, Bee collected ice for her three glasses. She's a fan of ice water at night.  
    Pat was unhappy since she does not partake in packaged food. I found out that Pat and I are the same age. We are Leos. She told me that a few years after "World War 2 had finished, a parade with Russian soldiers marched down one of their major streets. I gave flowers to one of them."  Noise from the corner interrupted Pat. 
    "You God dam son-of-a-bitch. Can't you watch where you are going." That was crazy Betty. She sits by the door inside a chariot. She hears and notices everything. Pat continued speaking. 
    "The other day, Debby removed her pants and threw her diaper at Betty. You should have heard the ruckus??
    

Now it was time to get some free Vitamin D. The Huntington Park residents may call it  Surf City but I call it Sun City. Seldom do I see any fog. There is always an ocean breeze coming off of the ocean. The next day, their local paper, the Register's back page informed the readers of the air quality. It had moderate air quality but - get this- no pollen or mold.
  Since I am a bit color blind, I asked a bench tourist drinking a blend if it was true. He affirmed what my giggling lungs already knew. My asthmatic lungs had a day off, so much so, that I stayed an extra day in Huntington Beach.
   I removed my camera and had my brother sing a few Eddie Fisher ditties. Again I took a few videos of the surf and volleyball players. The beach was a melting pot of tourist, Asians and locals. The locals played volleyball, surfed or hung out at the numerous bars and eateries. There seemed to be a Super Bowl hype today. Dogs were a plentiful and each dog owner flashed certificates of how pure their mongrel was. In fact, without the dogs, the beach would have been too quiet.
   I felt energized. My lungs could breath on their own. I even played a game of two-man volleyball on Sunday. I guess that proves how great the all-year-weather Huntington Beach owned.

The day was not yet over. Mel became hungry at about one. I drove my disabled car from Main Street to Beach Blvd, annoyed that another Old Navy store had closed it doors. We missed the In-and Out so settled on Norms.
 He ordered the T-bone steak - what else? It came with gumbo soup, a baked potato, shrimp and salad-all for eleven ninety five. A glass of Pepsi topped off a wonderful day with Brother Mel.