A visit to West Los Angeles

Every week or so, San Diego bores me to death. I need a change of scenery. Why on Tuesday afternoon, I meandered to the Oceanside Transit Center to take the commuter Metro-Link on to Los Angeles' Union Station. 
   A very old Japanese came my way. He wore sun glasses and had a bag that carried a transistor radio. He had trouble with his sight an and wished to know how to get to the train going towards Los Angeles. . 
   The three twenty train will leave in ten minutes. The thin man with sun  glasses and a long stick in his right hand limps along. He is barely alive. He carries a small transistor radio that plays Japanese love songs. His chop stick legs makes ambling along difficult. I lead him under the tunnel to the #622. I make sure he has his ticket as I have bought my senior citizen special for seven and change.
   An obviously disabled lady boards. She thinks the rides are for five dollars to  San Diego. She will pay the price later. The train ride infuses my lungs with pure air. My mind works better when it breathes. Menachem Begin will accompany me on the train today. With clean air, books come alive  and I wish to explore this Jewish savior who helped to kicked  the Nazi British out of Israel- on the eve of Passover. 
    But it is my number two daughter I wish to visit. The Jewish tradition tells us we must nurture our seeds until we get to the fiftieth gate to heaven. My second seed has needed more light and nourishment than my first. Yet now it is the other way around. I visit her for food. She recharges my battery when life needs a good squirt of energy. 
    After a trip on the Los Angeles Purple Line Metro and two bus rides I enter her apartment across from the Museum of Tolerance. Her Rat trap apartment lives on Pico and Roxbury. She does not expect me but no problem, My bed is ready, that is after her buddy takes me to Norms for a late dinner. A fresh breeze breeze feels great and heightens my appetite for life. 
    The eatery between Westwood and Sepulveda is packed. I take a stool next to the cash register. The manager is scolding a Latina for making an error - of course it is not her fault since she probably never learned any English. 
     "I'll have the Chef Salad." It is only nine and change whereas the steak costs double. 
      "What kind of dressing do you wish?" 
      "Oil and vinegar." 
    I begin to speak with the man next to me. He is my age less fifteen. I find out he is part Mexican  and French. He is eating an Italian dish of Ravioli and is half finished. 
    "I am from San Diego. What do you do?" He seemed a bit out of place as most of the people don't look together - what I mean is their clothes don't match. 
     "I work at Twentieth Century. I am a producer. I always take my girl friend to La Jolla. I live in Malibu...how about you?" 
     "I live in my car Dolly when my pockets are thin with change...It is not all that bad...I save sixty dollars every-other night..I used to play volleyball down the road a-piece."
      "Did you play volleyball with Max? He died a three years ago."
      His voice carried as if he was auditioning for a movie. He seemed proud to have made it big, but zi wonder really. Why brag if you made it big. Hell, he probably lives in a igloo every day. For me the igloos have melted and no-two-days are the same. 
My big break came the next day. After a day in Beverly Hills where I bough five dollars worth of fresh chopped liver, half a rye and a pickle to boot. Of course it had to be wall facing Factor's Deli. In twenty minutes he claimed over ten dollars and change. My Blue Bus came and I returned to the Rat Trap Apartments off of Pico. 
    I felt like going to a movie so I asked my daughter who recommended A Women in Gold. She was eating from a box of Cheerios. "It's about a lady who lost her families art work during the war. I like the actress." 
    After a nap, I took the Blue #7 down Pico to the Westwood Shopping Mall. Eighty percent of the bus patrons were Latino. Many were cleaners returning home to Culver City or other stops in West Los Angeles 
    I ate some Thai food in the Food Court, red my Begin book, and left for the movie. The movie's lead actress gave a stunning performance. Somehow, the makeup men did a great job in transforming a young gal into an old matron. 
    What I did not know was this matron lived up the street from us in Beverly Wood. And I remembered an article about how she had tried to have the art work returned to her. Bernadine, her Aunt, was the piece she wished to have the most. 
 But get this. Simply because the Austrian's had published a book to be sold in the United States, it made her country the new venue. I thought about Horst Cahn and his work for Bayer Aspirin. I could not see shy he couldn't sue the company for lost wages while he worked in their company. (More to come. Not edited) 
      .  
    
    Nate N' Al's.  I though about taking in a movie. Nobody had to tell me it was Passover. A Ryder truck had stopped in front of the Glatt Market. It has served the Persian Jews for decades. Boxes of horse radish, Gefilta Fish and other Jewish staples were packed on the floor. The store was mobbed.  A beggar sat against the wall and took in ten dollars in twenty minutes. 
   Happy Passover.