The Huntington Beach Senior Center

To save money, I motored to the Rodger's Senior Center in Huntington Beach. The center provides a free lunch with donations gladly accepted Another day and I will open the door to a new life, this one with a apartment home off of Florida Avenue. My own daughter plucked down a seven hundred dollar deposit on the Senior Citizen complex. Move in is set for tomorrow, and have been deliberating how to spend my last few dollars. 
  My check comes to a post office in Carlsbad. So the first of every month the money flows. By the end of the month, dikes are needed to save the few dollars. So of course a free meal at the Senior Center is my first dike to save money later. 
 Seventeenth Street winds around the high school and spills into the ocean. Orange Street is two blocks from the ocean.  towards the ocean. About two streets from the Pacific I make a right on Orange.  It looks like an Historic relic. Old pieces of wood must have been thrown together to make a center out of it. The City Fathers must have been greedy sons-of-bitches to spend so frugally on their seniors. 
  I was told not to use the computer room but invited to the recreation room for lunch and music. It was built when cars ran on electricity.   I need to sign up before eleven to reserve a lunch - donations accepted as usual.
   Most of the folks are older than me - but not too much. An old man is playing the grand piano. He has his sheet music on the stand and is slow to hit the right notes. He needs sheet music whereas I play be ear. Mom told me I had huge ears and my piano teacher agreed. But with an ear for music and large hands, I was a natural Liberace.
   The large bungalow type of structure had its fans running. With all of its oil wells, Surf City can not afford air - conditioning for its older residents. Can you imagine that? These folks are living in the Dark ages.
   I enter before eleven and sign in for a lunch. A little embarrassed that I can't donate a larger sum than one dollar, I hide the bill until it is safely tucked inside the till box. I sign my name and the little lady hands me a chip - that makes me a member of the lunch club today.
   Many of the ladies use  walkers but the rest don't need them as they are the talkers. The old dames outnumber the men only two to one. Obesity does not ride here. The older one gets, the more they forget to eat and drink- and besides, this is surf city where any old timer can ride the waves and rid themselves of needless fat.
   The thin old man continues to labor on the Grand Piano. Yet he is happy. After a few minutes, he gives the piano a rest. I ask permission to play. No need to look at the keys, I watch the folks - or at least those without hearing aids react to songs from South Pacific and Camelot. I am in heaven. A silver hair walks up to me and stares . I stop playing.
   "You play divinely. How do you do it without looking at the music or key board?"
    "Why that is easy. Tchaikovsky didn't need to see or hear also. My fingers do the playing. Each finger knows when to allow the others to play. The man older than time encroaches on our conversation. He places a three sheet song on the piano. I don't have reading glasses so after a few bars I play it by ear.
    I watch the reaction to the small audience. Many are smiling and eating the donates, prior to the main 11:30 meal. I take up my seat or try to when a volunteer server corrals me. She wears an effervescent smile.
   "I hope you return. Your music has made my day."
   I sit down and begin a useless chap with one who has Alzheimer's disease. He is from Scandinavia but has never heard of Charles Lindbergh or other famous people. Of course we all have the above disease but music makes it tolerable. He wishes to know how long it took to play that well.
   "Well Charles, I didn't take lessons too long. I began to look at girls  at the time when thirteen rolled around. May I ask how long you have lived here?"
   "I came here in 1961 and started my own machine shop. I had lots of contracts from aircraft companies. We had as many as forty employees working around the clock with good contracts..."
   Edith the server then interrupted us. She provided a small cup of beef stew and lots of lima beans and a little portion of salad. She returned a few minutes later and gave me a second tray. I filled myself up knowing that I could save my money for gas later in the week.
   I went to the bathroom to comb my hair. After all, my grey-blond hair might be worth something some day. Outside I walked to my car. Edith followed me and gave me her phone number and a peck on the cheek.  I felt tired and returned to the Motel Six.
   In another day I would be playing a new tune - since now I will have a home of my own.