Well I began a new post, it is called Huntington Beach. But today it is not beach weather -- it is just dam too hot. The age of Global Warming is upon us, but we are still in denial. We forgot when our ancestors, in the bronze age, did not take heed and the glaciers came down to wipe them out...but on the positive side, I do have an air conditioner, unlike most in this city of fast cars, women, skate boards, bikes, and quickie restaurants.
The Talbert Library is full today as the heat wave is reluctant to leave, just yet. Would you believe that this library is covered with windows that allow heat, and use up a lot of air conditioner energy.
Now Ozzie Ozone had a chance to kill off a few more people. And to hell with the majority, they don't deserve to live. The forefathers of Huntington Beach made a big mistake when they sold the city to the automobile companies and closed the Red Car line from Newport Beach -- that took passengers to Los Angeles . The Beach has no rapid transit system, unlike L.A. or San Diego.
Those who insist on going to Los Angeles can throw the dice on a the #701 bus. I leaves three times in the early hours of the morn. The ride is over one hour and takes you to the Union Station. And you never know who will be sitting across from you. The Express buses leave on Center Street, across from Costco. The bus station does have a parking lot..
The 29A Beach bus takes over one hour to get to the train station. The 29 A bus takes up to one hour and one half to get there with over forty stops on the way. Sure there should be a Rapid bus with fewer stops but the City Counsel wants everyone to drive -- that way they can keep Firestone, Allen, Pep Boys busy selling tires. The Beach is owned by the Big Wheels.
Earlier I mentioned how hot it was, over 94 degrees in Surf City. In my other blog, a gal at Trader Joes told me her husband could fry a egg on top of his car -- he works in Long Beach. The Five Star Senior Apartments have a nice quiet library with an air conditioner that is dis-connected. Nobody, including Helen the manager, knows why they don't work. But I do -- it is all about money. They have a light timer in the room-so that shows you how the owners watch every penny.
What inspires me the most is the library. The Vietnamese make up most of those who study here. And what makes it impressive, is how they study. You seldom see any girl putting makeup on her face. It is all grindstone work. They only get up to fill their thermos with cold water. With all of its windows, the library can get sweltering during heat spells.
Many sit for six to eight straight hours working their Apple Computers. It is no wonder that the Japanese, French, and Americans could not capture their county. So determined, they are, I would love to have my own kids sit next to them in school. They live a simple, but instead of a rich harvest of rice, they harvest knowledge.
And to watch them tend to their cemetery's is a wonder to behold. They water, clean and pay homage to their love ones each week. The Vietnamese are a class above the rest.
In an earlier blog on a train, I witnessed an Asian holding a chemistry book. He seemed entranced on each page. His eyes focused on each page, afterwards closing them and taking a mental picture. It took over a minute for each page but I can assure you he understood. The kid next to him was laughing and speaking in his smart phone while eating a bag of Fruit Loops.
What I love is the microfilm machine on the second floor with all of the periodicals. Films that go back to the 1860's are housed upstairs and since I am a research rat, I love to dig where others might no wish to go.
Well got to go now. My two kids, Summer and Spring are coming to the Children's Library here to be with their Grandpa - that's me.
not to go.
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Love at the IHOP
I never knew love would find me at the I HOP. Every Wednesday afternoon at one o'clock, the House of Pancakes cordons off a back room for the Huntington Beach Scrabble tournament. It is held off their Beach and Garfield address, just below Albertsons and above the In N' Out Burger.It was so humid at one o'clock a knife could not cut-in.
My drenched shirt decided hip-hop inside to stay alive. My car's A/C did not work. Of course my headache didn't say "No". I felt too hot, just too hot and knew that maybe the I HOP would have the antidote to the humidity
Peachy Smile greeted me inside the back room where the games had begun. He is about my age, ancient and totally bald.
"What brings you here?"
"Just wanted to get out of the heat this afternoon, and viewed the Ad in the Wave. (A flier from Register newspaper.)
"Well welcome aboard. We have a gal who needs to partner-up. Meet Quick Chick."
Now I questioned what I was doing here. My head throbbed and with heat flashes, just for a second, immobilized me. Sweat rolled down my back. Quick Chick was covered with tan and looked elegantly dressed. Her pointed nose told me she would pancake me. But first she needed to explain the game.
"Well George, both of us keep score. Here is a sheet and there is the timer. After each play, you must hit the timer. Time is important. When you run out, you lose."
My chip was blank so I went first.. I was able to get fourteen points for my first word since it was a double score. I pressed the clock to stop, but not so Quick Chick. Just after I pulled out four new chips and set them on my rack, she had placed down her word. She used an X that gave her forty four points in her first move...The third move she bingo-d me which added up to seventy seven. Before long, I was pitching the blues. She was up now 298 to 73. I felt faint.
We handed our score sheets to the Peachy Smile and he arranged pairings for the next games. I was placed against Betty Bangles. A gold chain covered her neck and she wore golden earrings to match. But it was her fingers, yes her fingers that excited me. They sparkled and sent music into my ears. Each had been painstakingly scrubbed, filed and manicured into the finest finger nails money could buy.
Now the more I glanced at her fingers the more self conscious of mine I felt. Mine could have been the fingers of a plumber -- they were that rough. Unlike the first one, Quick Chick, Betty Bangles was friendly -- too friendly. She knew she would be a winner. And she did. My head still throbbed but a lump of one dollar vanilla soothed it. She beat me but not quite as bad as Quick Chick.
And then it happened! Peachy Smile placed me with another beginner. Mildred Fine owned a sweet, friendly face. I met my match. It was her second time here. Now there was a face I had been looking for all of my life. It was dam cute and exciting. Of course like the others I soon gave her a nick-name Scratch Sheet.
We began and soon I found out she forgot to hit the timer. She paid more attention to a hand-out that listed the zaniest words in the alphabet and all with x's or j's on it. Why believe it or not, there were words like "qu" or "ju" that were words. Since I had been a bookie in a previous life, I named her Scratch Sheet.
Mildred, her real name, forgot the clock. She kept looking at her lettered chips and studied the scratch sheet. After an eternity of time, she plucked down the craziest words but high scores. Soon she bested me by several points, but no longer did my head ache. i We ignored the time machine, since time stood still. Unpredictable would describe her action and excitement her face. In fact, one might even say that every part of her excited me. My head no longer ached -- now it was my heart. Yes I was falling in love.
Peachy Smile noticed that we might have been a perfect match.. He had us continue to finish our game when the other pairs had long finished theirs. Why she even took her scratch sheet to the bathroom while I sipped some cold water a friendly member brought to me. They must have been happy I had removed Mildred from the other players. We did not need a timer, since time took a walk.
Afterwards, a pizza party was offered on a beach street named Hamilton. I made the mistake of following Mildred's friend and they became lost. There car pulled over and Mildred dragged herself out of the car -- and she had told me that she played tennis and golf.
"Oh I see that you too like Lindbergh. Sorry my girl friend got lost."
"No problem, looking forward to seeing you again next week at the I HOP.
Nuts and Bolts: The club meets every Tuesday at one o'clock. But better dress up since you'll be rubbing wits with the brainiest ladies in Huntington Beach.
My drenched shirt decided hip-hop inside to stay alive. My car's A/C did not work. Of course my headache didn't say "No". I felt too hot, just too hot and knew that maybe the I HOP would have the antidote to the humidity
Peachy Smile greeted me inside the back room where the games had begun. He is about my age, ancient and totally bald.
"What brings you here?"
"Just wanted to get out of the heat this afternoon, and viewed the Ad in the Wave. (A flier from Register newspaper.)
"Well welcome aboard. We have a gal who needs to partner-up. Meet Quick Chick."
Now I questioned what I was doing here. My head throbbed and with heat flashes, just for a second, immobilized me. Sweat rolled down my back. Quick Chick was covered with tan and looked elegantly dressed. Her pointed nose told me she would pancake me. But first she needed to explain the game.
"Well George, both of us keep score. Here is a sheet and there is the timer. After each play, you must hit the timer. Time is important. When you run out, you lose."
My chip was blank so I went first.. I was able to get fourteen points for my first word since it was a double score. I pressed the clock to stop, but not so Quick Chick. Just after I pulled out four new chips and set them on my rack, she had placed down her word. She used an X that gave her forty four points in her first move...The third move she bingo-d me which added up to seventy seven. Before long, I was pitching the blues. She was up now 298 to 73. I felt faint.
We handed our score sheets to the Peachy Smile and he arranged pairings for the next games. I was placed against Betty Bangles. A gold chain covered her neck and she wore golden earrings to match. But it was her fingers, yes her fingers that excited me. They sparkled and sent music into my ears. Each had been painstakingly scrubbed, filed and manicured into the finest finger nails money could buy.
Now the more I glanced at her fingers the more self conscious of mine I felt. Mine could have been the fingers of a plumber -- they were that rough. Unlike the first one, Quick Chick, Betty Bangles was friendly -- too friendly. She knew she would be a winner. And she did. My head still throbbed but a lump of one dollar vanilla soothed it. She beat me but not quite as bad as Quick Chick.
And then it happened! Peachy Smile placed me with another beginner. Mildred Fine owned a sweet, friendly face. I met my match. It was her second time here. Now there was a face I had been looking for all of my life. It was dam cute and exciting. Of course like the others I soon gave her a nick-name Scratch Sheet.
We began and soon I found out she forgot to hit the timer. She paid more attention to a hand-out that listed the zaniest words in the alphabet and all with x's or j's on it. Why believe it or not, there were words like "qu" or "ju" that were words. Since I had been a bookie in a previous life, I named her Scratch Sheet.
Mildred, her real name, forgot the clock. She kept looking at her lettered chips and studied the scratch sheet. After an eternity of time, she plucked down the craziest words but high scores. Soon she bested me by several points, but no longer did my head ache. i We ignored the time machine, since time stood still. Unpredictable would describe her action and excitement her face. In fact, one might even say that every part of her excited me. My head no longer ached -- now it was my heart. Yes I was falling in love.
Peachy Smile noticed that we might have been a perfect match.. He had us continue to finish our game when the other pairs had long finished theirs. Why she even took her scratch sheet to the bathroom while I sipped some cold water a friendly member brought to me. They must have been happy I had removed Mildred from the other players. We did not need a timer, since time took a walk.
Afterwards, a pizza party was offered on a beach street named Hamilton. I made the mistake of following Mildred's friend and they became lost. There car pulled over and Mildred dragged herself out of the car -- and she had told me that she played tennis and golf.
"Oh I see that you too like Lindbergh. Sorry my girl friend got lost."
"No problem, looking forward to seeing you again next week at the I HOP.
Nuts and Bolts: The club meets every Tuesday at one o'clock. But better dress up since you'll be rubbing wits with the brainiest ladies in Huntington Beach.
Monday, August 24, 2015
Bixby and Charles Lindbergh Connection
On Sunday, Huntington Beach libraries are closed. It does not mean I take a day off. I wanted to know if the city had any buses that traveled clean to Los Angeles -- and by God, they did. Right Across from Costco is the Transit station and Old World Village on Center Street. A bus just had pulled up.
"Are there any buses that go to Los Angeles?" He smiled and nodded in the affirmative.
"The #701 Express leaves each morning at three different times."
I found out it goes clear to Union Station with a minimum of stops. I also bought a book with all the routes and time schedules. Then I looked at the thirty or so shops in the Old Village. I thought it would be just the place to meet my grand-kids summer and spring. You can't beat a German Deli or the craftsmanship of the old clock store. I was enamored with the toy soldier store.
Then I drove to the Whole Foods market. I brought some homework and was busy rereading some of the research papers. I treated myself to a breakfast with the leanest bacon I had ever eaten. A professional football game between Green Bay and Pittsburgh was on T.V. I asked the sole next to me if the game was a regular one.
"No it is preseason. But these boys are trying to make the teams They are going all out!"
He had lived in Green Bay and I spoke about my football story. One thing led to another and the name of Lindbergh cropped up.
"You are joking. Harold Bixby was my Great-Great-Grandfather and he was the one who did Lindbergh's financing. That is how the Ryan plane had been bought. It was Bixby who made Lindbergh call it the Spirit of St. Louis. Without Bixby there would have been no Lindbergh, since the wad of money came in the nick of time. Others were competing with the $25,000 prize to become the first to fly the Atlantic to Paris France.
"Well I have a chapter on Lindbergh in my football story. Any information would be gladly received. Harold Bixby ran a St. Louis bank and gave Lindbergh the go-ahead to buy the Ryan monoplane."
"He made his money selling boxcars to the train companies. I am a contractor who had been born with a gold spoon in my mouth. I just came in from Coronado.
Well we must have talked for one hour and how he built some gorgeous homes in upstate New York. I told him that there is a library at the Aero-Space Museum with books on Lindbergh.
Ethan left and I returned to my apartment for a much needed nap, but too excited to sleep. The rest of the day I spent with my brother in Midway City sharing dinner with him at the Pacific Spartan Assistant Living Center
"Are there any buses that go to Los Angeles?" He smiled and nodded in the affirmative.
"The #701 Express leaves each morning at three different times."
I found out it goes clear to Union Station with a minimum of stops. I also bought a book with all the routes and time schedules. Then I looked at the thirty or so shops in the Old Village. I thought it would be just the place to meet my grand-kids summer and spring. You can't beat a German Deli or the craftsmanship of the old clock store. I was enamored with the toy soldier store.
Then I drove to the Whole Foods market. I brought some homework and was busy rereading some of the research papers. I treated myself to a breakfast with the leanest bacon I had ever eaten. A professional football game between Green Bay and Pittsburgh was on T.V. I asked the sole next to me if the game was a regular one.
"No it is preseason. But these boys are trying to make the teams They are going all out!"
He had lived in Green Bay and I spoke about my football story. One thing led to another and the name of Lindbergh cropped up.
"You are joking. Harold Bixby was my Great-Great-Grandfather and he was the one who did Lindbergh's financing. That is how the Ryan plane had been bought. It was Bixby who made Lindbergh call it the Spirit of St. Louis. Without Bixby there would have been no Lindbergh, since the wad of money came in the nick of time. Others were competing with the $25,000 prize to become the first to fly the Atlantic to Paris France.
"Well I have a chapter on Lindbergh in my football story. Any information would be gladly received. Harold Bixby ran a St. Louis bank and gave Lindbergh the go-ahead to buy the Ryan monoplane."
"He made his money selling boxcars to the train companies. I am a contractor who had been born with a gold spoon in my mouth. I just came in from Coronado.
Well we must have talked for one hour and how he built some gorgeous homes in upstate New York. I told him that there is a library at the Aero-Space Museum with books on Lindbergh.
Ethan left and I returned to my apartment for a much needed nap, but too excited to sleep. The rest of the day I spent with my brother in Midway City sharing dinner with him at the Pacific Spartan Assistant Living Center
Monday, August 17, 2015
A Sunday Birthday/Surf City
76 years ago Sunday, a strapping eight pound two ounce blue-eyed-blond baby boy was born to Edith and Harry Goldberg. Dr. Rooney at the St. Vincent Hospital pulled me out and was I happy to get out of that dark hole....Well 76 years later, I am still here but not quite as happy as when I first came into this world. I celebrated my birthday at the Pacific Spartan Center with my brother Mel. It is located in Midway City California, on the tip of Huntington Beach and over the head of Westminster. This scene is the first sitting in the dinning room.
"Happy birthday to you...Happy birthday..." Mel cut that out. I am in no mood. Hell, i have lived since the age of five with asthma. And for the life of me, I just don't understand why God wished me to suffer so?"
Pat and Betty sit down. I am allowed to eat on Sundays there. I have my choice of chicken or ham. Pat eager to test my brother Mel's Jewish aptitude asks, "Why can't Jews eat Ham." Mel does not know the answer but I do. I order the chicken since the plate already comes with Yam and asparagus.
"There is too much bone on this chicken! Why does it have too much bone. Here George, take my yam.," My brother begs.
Now as a kid, I hated liver and yams, but today, these choice dishes are my favorites. Mom had one hell of a time making me eat liver and yam back in the day. But today both are yummy treats. Mel was upset two nights ago when the liver was too hard to eat. But give my shoe leather meat any day of the week. It provides more time for me to reap the juices from the meat.
All awhile, Benny, a little 89 year old midget fusses with her ice cubes. She returns to her room with ice that she has collected to use as water later on. The little Philippine gal is aware that ice cubes mean pure water. A smile came over my face. A little friendly cheer and good food lent a spark to my birthday. I remember that my daughter number two had called earlier in the morning.
"Dad happy birthday. What can i get you?"
"You already did...it is on the wall. Each morning i look at my two daughters and smile. I didn't do badly did I?"
My desert later on was some little chocolates at Trader Joe's across from my apartment. I bought the ninety-nine cent treats. The cashier seemed disappointed.
"Is that it, sir?"
The other folks at Trader Joe's bought high end items. Bills over fifty were common place. One lady bought items for the week and several bottles of wine. She had a smile over her face and why not, she would most certainly put one on this night.
I sat on a chair to unfasten the little gold bag the chocolates were inside. All awhile, flats and flip flops cantered into the Gap or Big Five. Skate boards went by and a gal left her cell phone next to me. I ignored it. I wished to get the last bit of energy from the hot sun. It had been a heat wave. I began to eat the last of the little chocolates. A mom and her kid walked by. I overheard the little infant with his new shoes.
"Mom, why is it that when the sun goes down it gets cold."
And so no longer did I feel depressed. I can get up early each morning and watch the sun come up!
"Happy birthday to you...Happy birthday..." Mel cut that out. I am in no mood. Hell, i have lived since the age of five with asthma. And for the life of me, I just don't understand why God wished me to suffer so?"
Pat and Betty sit down. I am allowed to eat on Sundays there. I have my choice of chicken or ham. Pat eager to test my brother Mel's Jewish aptitude asks, "Why can't Jews eat Ham." Mel does not know the answer but I do. I order the chicken since the plate already comes with Yam and asparagus.
"There is too much bone on this chicken! Why does it have too much bone. Here George, take my yam.," My brother begs.
Now as a kid, I hated liver and yams, but today, these choice dishes are my favorites. Mom had one hell of a time making me eat liver and yam back in the day. But today both are yummy treats. Mel was upset two nights ago when the liver was too hard to eat. But give my shoe leather meat any day of the week. It provides more time for me to reap the juices from the meat.
All awhile, Benny, a little 89 year old midget fusses with her ice cubes. She returns to her room with ice that she has collected to use as water later on. The little Philippine gal is aware that ice cubes mean pure water. A smile came over my face. A little friendly cheer and good food lent a spark to my birthday. I remember that my daughter number two had called earlier in the morning.
"Dad happy birthday. What can i get you?"
"You already did...it is on the wall. Each morning i look at my two daughters and smile. I didn't do badly did I?"
My desert later on was some little chocolates at Trader Joe's across from my apartment. I bought the ninety-nine cent treats. The cashier seemed disappointed.
"Is that it, sir?"
The other folks at Trader Joe's bought high end items. Bills over fifty were common place. One lady bought items for the week and several bottles of wine. She had a smile over her face and why not, she would most certainly put one on this night.
I sat on a chair to unfasten the little gold bag the chocolates were inside. All awhile, flats and flip flops cantered into the Gap or Big Five. Skate boards went by and a gal left her cell phone next to me. I ignored it. I wished to get the last bit of energy from the hot sun. It had been a heat wave. I began to eat the last of the little chocolates. A mom and her kid walked by. I overheard the little infant with his new shoes.
"Mom, why is it that when the sun goes down it gets cold."
And so no longer did I feel depressed. I can get up early each morning and watch the sun come up!
Saturday, August 15, 2015
Surf's City Senior Center.
Well I am still alive -- what with Bronchial Asthma and high blood pressure, guess that God wants me to help him out. I do everything in God's Time and it seems to be working. But on the eve of my 76th birthday, I am pissed at my Mom for not making me brush my teeth. Now I have over one thousand dollars of dental work before a plate is inserted into my mouth.
At the last second, I decided to go to the Rodger's Senior Center off of 17th and Orange Street in Huntington Beach. The theme was an Hawaiian lunch with entertainment. Earlier, I was able to run off a few pages on my new book, called San Diego, A Tale of Two Rabbis.
Five years from my San Diego Sketch book will portray an accurate picture of San Diego today -- much in the same way as Tale of Two Cities did almost two hundred years ago.
I entered the un-air-conditioned Rodger's Senior Center and played a few bars of Tiny Bubbles on their old grand piano. I received a thunderous ovation as my music has uncovered a new leaf in my musical ears. A lovely five-some allowed me to sit among them. I drank some punch had my fill of cake.
"Where did you learn to play the piano that way? My Dad back in England played for the violin for the London Orchestra but I never could pick up the piano."
"Well I have to thank my Mom Edith for that. I only took for a few months but always have had a sharp ear for music. I can play any song if I had heard it before. What is your name and what city in England did you immigrate from.?"
"I was born in Eastborne just outside of London, during the war. Our little village was bombed out and we stayed in the basement during the evening shelling of German planes. Mom had to use special stamps to buy anything at whatever markets still were able to open. My brother was sent to the country to safely hide during the nightly bombing."
"Wasn't that were William the Conqueror, also called William the Bastard defeated your King Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. In 1970, had I visited the scene of the great battle before heading off for the seaside villages of Plymouth and Brighten Beach."
"Well George... your name was George wasn't it? You certainly know your history... These are my dancing friends, Elizabeth and Susie. We go dancing nearly every day. By the way, a cousin who lived in Canada brought me over when I was sixteen."
"Pray tell, where do you go dancing?"
"We go to the Eldorado Hotel in Long Beach. Dancing begins at twelve on Monday's and Wednesdays. There is a 20 piece band on Wednesdays, and the good news is that is free."
At that point, our rather skimpy meal of pork and rice was served, of course with more punch. My appetite quickened the more we talked. Susie then chimed in.
"My birthday is today. One daughter is taking me out for dinner tonight. It had been tough but my four brothers from back east visit me each summer. I lost my husband three years ago. I think of him every day. We moved around quite a lot and he worked on the Nautilus.
Also my son just passed away. He had been a quadriplegic for a couple of years with only movement in his head. He fell into a pool and hurt his head. My second daughter is taking me for dinner next week. My son had two kids, both autistic -- at least one can help the other."
It was time to go and their Octa Bus would soon be picking them up. For me however, meeting these harming gals gave me the pick up I needed at the Rodgers's Senior Center.
At the last second, I decided to go to the Rodger's Senior Center off of 17th and Orange Street in Huntington Beach. The theme was an Hawaiian lunch with entertainment. Earlier, I was able to run off a few pages on my new book, called San Diego, A Tale of Two Rabbis.
Five years from my San Diego Sketch book will portray an accurate picture of San Diego today -- much in the same way as Tale of Two Cities did almost two hundred years ago.
I entered the un-air-conditioned Rodger's Senior Center and played a few bars of Tiny Bubbles on their old grand piano. I received a thunderous ovation as my music has uncovered a new leaf in my musical ears. A lovely five-some allowed me to sit among them. I drank some punch had my fill of cake.
"Where did you learn to play the piano that way? My Dad back in England played for the violin for the London Orchestra but I never could pick up the piano."
"Well I have to thank my Mom Edith for that. I only took for a few months but always have had a sharp ear for music. I can play any song if I had heard it before. What is your name and what city in England did you immigrate from.?"
"I was born in Eastborne just outside of London, during the war. Our little village was bombed out and we stayed in the basement during the evening shelling of German planes. Mom had to use special stamps to buy anything at whatever markets still were able to open. My brother was sent to the country to safely hide during the nightly bombing."
"Wasn't that were William the Conqueror, also called William the Bastard defeated your King Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. In 1970, had I visited the scene of the great battle before heading off for the seaside villages of Plymouth and Brighten Beach."
"Well George... your name was George wasn't it? You certainly know your history... These are my dancing friends, Elizabeth and Susie. We go dancing nearly every day. By the way, a cousin who lived in Canada brought me over when I was sixteen."
"Pray tell, where do you go dancing?"
"We go to the Eldorado Hotel in Long Beach. Dancing begins at twelve on Monday's and Wednesdays. There is a 20 piece band on Wednesdays, and the good news is that is free."
At that point, our rather skimpy meal of pork and rice was served, of course with more punch. My appetite quickened the more we talked. Susie then chimed in.
"My birthday is today. One daughter is taking me out for dinner tonight. It had been tough but my four brothers from back east visit me each summer. I lost my husband three years ago. I think of him every day. We moved around quite a lot and he worked on the Nautilus.
Also my son just passed away. He had been a quadriplegic for a couple of years with only movement in his head. He fell into a pool and hurt his head. My second daughter is taking me for dinner next week. My son had two kids, both autistic -- at least one can help the other."
It was time to go and their Octa Bus would soon be picking them up. For me however, meeting these harming gals gave me the pick up I needed at the Rodgers's Senior Center.
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
A Surf City Sunday.
"What is the bathroom's combination?"
I am an early riser. My churches lie in San Diego so I drove downtown and parked a few blocks from the sand. An early bird, I needed to park where it was free with no meters. Inside were papers I needed to examine so I hung out at Coffee Bean's, a block from the pier.
Inside the air conditioned shop worked to perfection. The bathroom's combination was easy to remember. 456-789. At about nine I walked to the breakers and heard a horn. There was some body surfing going on with men my age who refused to give into Mother Time. The horn signaled for the surfers to come in and allow for the next batch to go out. In the forties, surf boards were not the rage, but catching and riding a long wave was in.
The remainder of the day I spent at Whole Foods, off of Beach Blvd and saw a regrettable and forgettable movie. Like most, there was too much sex and not enough plot. I guess that is where the younger generation is going. The phones in my apartment did not make any noise. I never felt so alone and so helpless. At Whole Foods, I bought some ripe figs for $4.95 a pound and also made a salad for eight and change a pound. My daughters telephone call interrupted my funkiness. Later, Walter called me from San Diego. No longer alone, I allowed my face to smile Yet I needed a fix, no not my teeth, but something to eat.
At about six thirty, I decided, what the hell, and ride to the Golden Arch -- no not McDonald's but the In-N-Out burger joint. It sits on Talbert and Beach in front of Walmart's. Well, that was the kick in the pants I sorely needed. No, you don't need a surf board, buggy board or even skates to get your kick in the pants burger.
The first time I studied it was from my window at the Motel Six in Westminster. The large truck awakened me at eight every morning. Can you imagine that each morning, the buns, meat, condiments and all the trimmings are emptied from the truck to the small building. Yet there was a line out the door. It seemed that Surf City residents had the same idea.
Over half were Vietnamese. Everyone had a smile on their faces. Most were young, lean with loads of energy. I had pigged out at Whole Foods and treated myself to a forgettable movie at the Bella Terra Shopping Center. But what harm can a double burger have? I have been sticking to my diet of fish and vegetables.
My number was called and I picked up the burger. The wait was long, but worth every bite. A man sat next to me on the counter. Two gentleman entered with one wearing Angel baseball cap. I had watched part of the game at Whole Foods. They have two large screens on two walls next to the bar.
"How did the Angeles do?"
"Murphy hit a seeing eye through the middle. The Angeles pulled one out."
The excited man with a heavy British accent hit me too hard on the back. He, like me, was missing a tooth.
"Close man. From New Zealand. Can't you see?" He pointed to his colorful shirt. His breath was heavy with alcohol. He would and could not stop talking.
Finally they sat and I continued the love affair with the double burger. And like those out the door, It was nothing less than a love affair. Big Mac, Bob's Big Boy all took a back seat to the one with the freshest and tastiest meat.
No longer in a funk, I retreated back to my apartment building and continued reading a book about the editor of the Washington Post.
I am an early riser. My churches lie in San Diego so I drove downtown and parked a few blocks from the sand. An early bird, I needed to park where it was free with no meters. Inside were papers I needed to examine so I hung out at Coffee Bean's, a block from the pier.
Inside the air conditioned shop worked to perfection. The bathroom's combination was easy to remember. 456-789. At about nine I walked to the breakers and heard a horn. There was some body surfing going on with men my age who refused to give into Mother Time. The horn signaled for the surfers to come in and allow for the next batch to go out. In the forties, surf boards were not the rage, but catching and riding a long wave was in.
The remainder of the day I spent at Whole Foods, off of Beach Blvd and saw a regrettable and forgettable movie. Like most, there was too much sex and not enough plot. I guess that is where the younger generation is going. The phones in my apartment did not make any noise. I never felt so alone and so helpless. At Whole Foods, I bought some ripe figs for $4.95 a pound and also made a salad for eight and change a pound. My daughters telephone call interrupted my funkiness. Later, Walter called me from San Diego. No longer alone, I allowed my face to smile Yet I needed a fix, no not my teeth, but something to eat.
At about six thirty, I decided, what the hell, and ride to the Golden Arch -- no not McDonald's but the In-N-Out burger joint. It sits on Talbert and Beach in front of Walmart's. Well, that was the kick in the pants I sorely needed. No, you don't need a surf board, buggy board or even skates to get your kick in the pants burger.
The first time I studied it was from my window at the Motel Six in Westminster. The large truck awakened me at eight every morning. Can you imagine that each morning, the buns, meat, condiments and all the trimmings are emptied from the truck to the small building. Yet there was a line out the door. It seemed that Surf City residents had the same idea.
Over half were Vietnamese. Everyone had a smile on their faces. Most were young, lean with loads of energy. I had pigged out at Whole Foods and treated myself to a forgettable movie at the Bella Terra Shopping Center. But what harm can a double burger have? I have been sticking to my diet of fish and vegetables.
My number was called and I picked up the burger. The wait was long, but worth every bite. A man sat next to me on the counter. Two gentleman entered with one wearing Angel baseball cap. I had watched part of the game at Whole Foods. They have two large screens on two walls next to the bar.
"How did the Angeles do?"
"Murphy hit a seeing eye through the middle. The Angeles pulled one out."
The excited man with a heavy British accent hit me too hard on the back. He, like me, was missing a tooth.
"Close man. From New Zealand. Can't you see?" He pointed to his colorful shirt. His breath was heavy with alcohol. He would and could not stop talking.
Finally they sat and I continued the love affair with the double burger. And like those out the door, It was nothing less than a love affair. Big Mac, Bob's Big Boy all took a back seat to the one with the freshest and tastiest meat.
No longer in a funk, I retreated back to my apartment building and continued reading a book about the editor of the Washington Post.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
The Balboa Bay Club.
I removed this little sketch of Balboa Park while examining old sketches of San Diego where I made my home for five years. The Golden Years was the title of this sketch. I discovered while I got older and wiser, I no longer looked like Robert Redford but somebody quite different.
This sketch takes place in Balboa Park, the sight of two expositions as well as home to an incredible zoo. Hope you will enjoy it. This sketch was written in January of 2002.
Nobody told me that once young a good looking faces would turn to ears and nose. These were supposed to be my Golden Years but after a cancerous bump had been removed at San Diego's Kaiser, I called them the Rustic Years.
I woke up at the downtown Y and something told me I should have wallowed in bed. Yet it was Thursday, and the Balboa Bay Club had another dance. The dances were held every-other Thursday so I hurried to get ready for the one o'clock dance. The dances are held at Balboa Park off of President's Way and Park Blvd.
I took the #7 up Broadway until Park Blvd. It dropped me off at the Cabrillo Bridge, and next to my favorite place to picnic, rest and enjoy the beauty of God's creation. I walked over a bridge and took up residence on a long log overlooking the valley down below.
A few workers were removing old Rose Bushes and replanting younger ones in their places. . Two weeks earlier, the caretakers and founders of these gardens spent time removing decayed bushes. Some workers removed the dead and planted new one. They were spreading a mix of nitrogen soil around the new plants. It was as if they had a newborn baby and took great pains to give it the nurture it needed. The usual January rain storm was on the way.
I made a right turn to another type of garden, one with thorns. The cacti displayed a some of the most radiant colors I had ever seen. Some of the Cactus plants had born blowers while others had blooms ready to burst into fruit in a month or two. I sat on a log and enjoyed the sights of the many arms of God.
Only an occasional Hummingbird or snake had the nerve to cross my path. My bag of chips and a Chicken-of-the-Sea Tuna sandwich gave my body time to reenergize its battery. A hummingbird looked my way but I quickly tucked the remainder of the meal inside my palate.
The January rain had stopped. Instead a cold wind whipped my face. The weather report had these waves traveling at thirty miles an hour. The freakish weather began last summer. A couple of one hundred degree days made me a fan of the Harbor Sheraton Hotel. The island across from the airport helped me stay alive and beat the heat. I am a fan of Global warming.
I bucked the westerly winds over the bridge but finally made it to the Balboa Senior Center across from the Prado Restaurant. The Spanish influence was apparent. The Expositions of 1915 and 35 put an influence on Mexican and Spanish design.
Inside the Senior Center, Selma, a volunteer provided me with coffee and free cookies. A eighty five year old man spoke about his favorite restaurant in Pacific Beach. After about thirty minutes into his monologue, I placed some nuts into his hand to shut him up. It did. Selma refilled my coffee mug. Her 400 pound frame looked like it enjoyed volunteer work at the Senior Center
The time approached eleven so I said my good-by's and left up towards the Balboa Bay Club. And what a glorious walk. I marveled at the tall Elm and Eucalyptus trees. Hell, I could not see their heads. Up ahead was the Chinese Tea room and the Amphitheater that held the largest organ in the United States.
The Balboa Bay Club offers senior dancing every other Thursday. The fee is three dollars and well worth it. An old piano sits by the entrance and invites me to play a few old ditties. Across the way is the Hall of Champions. Memorabilia of the greatest San Diego athletes is shown there as well a pictures decorating the walls.
Inside a glass display case is the red, white and blue jersey of Ambrose Schindler. He wore it while playing in the Chicago All Star Game in August of 1940. Chicago All Star Jersey of one Ambrose Parks Schindler. To the left is a picture of Cotton Warburton his idol, and the football used during the charity game with proceeds going to fight Infantile Paralysis or other children diseases. The writers nominated Schindler as the All Star Player of the Game and the next year he received a trophy and brand new Mercury.
While inside, I indulge my palate with a brew of chilly soup headed with chopped onions with crackers to the side. The three dollars is worth it. Once with time remaining before the one o'clock dance, I visited the old car museum. I feasted on the hot meal and after wiping off the residue from the table I traversed the lot to the Balboa Bay Club building.
I envied the pairs who still held hands. I was still a lone wolf who looked for a sparring partner. After playing a few nifty old tunes on the piano, I said hello to Steve, and took up a seat in the back of the large ballroom.
As usual, the ladies outlasted the men. One adjusted her ragged black wig. Several removed their walking pumps for dancing ones. No longer do the ladies wear long glamorous legs. Now they are sticks with knots and blemishes every few inches. Their toes go in different directions and no longer do they walk in a straight line.
I sit and hope something look-able enters. All I see are long noses and large irregular ears. And I spot Edith whose nose looks as she had been a prize fighter. It resembles Popeye, the sailor man. A few own ears that look like bonnie Prince Charles'. Some have had face lifts, tummy tucks, and their breasts overhauled. Once I danced with a gal whose breast implants got loose and dropped to the floor.
The best looking gal arrived. The tall one came over and asked me to dance. She does not look her age of seventy, but there are fifteen things wrong with her. But instead of me telling you, let me show you with the blow by blow description of the action.
"George, don't hold me so tight. You know I can't breathe when you do it. My esophagus clams up on me. That is better. Don't touch me there, please. Thanks. Let's stop for a bit. Can you get me a glass of water." Maureen has a case of severe dementia. I rate hers a nine with ten the highest. She loses her shoes and seldom cam find her car keys. Sound familiar?
At three I ask Linda for a ride to the bus stop on Broadway. To barter, I invite her to the Prado restaurant for a drink or two. She accepts. Linda is somewhere in her seventies. She does not trust men since her husband of 42 years left for Viagra and a different flame to light his candle. She has dabbled in paints and has had her art exhibited inside the Smithsonian.
The six footer's dimensions are 25-30-25. We sip some wine and she wishes to know how I gave up finger nail biting. She keeps repeating herself like all the farts our age. I had ordered the cheapest of the port wine and two naked glasses of water.
Time to go, the waiter hands me the check. I see twenty-two on the bill and have a shit fit. I argue and he replies, "The early bird special began fifteen minutes later. Too Bad sucker! I palm him with a ten and twenty dollar bill. Linda drives me to Sixth and Broadway. The 992 bus takes me back to the Y.
I enter my 204 cell of the Y and look into a small mirror. Two big ears and a long nose smiles at me.
This sketch takes place in Balboa Park, the sight of two expositions as well as home to an incredible zoo. Hope you will enjoy it. This sketch was written in January of 2002.
Nobody told me that once young a good looking faces would turn to ears and nose. These were supposed to be my Golden Years but after a cancerous bump had been removed at San Diego's Kaiser, I called them the Rustic Years.
I woke up at the downtown Y and something told me I should have wallowed in bed. Yet it was Thursday, and the Balboa Bay Club had another dance. The dances were held every-other Thursday so I hurried to get ready for the one o'clock dance. The dances are held at Balboa Park off of President's Way and Park Blvd.
I took the #7 up Broadway until Park Blvd. It dropped me off at the Cabrillo Bridge, and next to my favorite place to picnic, rest and enjoy the beauty of God's creation. I walked over a bridge and took up residence on a long log overlooking the valley down below.
A few workers were removing old Rose Bushes and replanting younger ones in their places. . Two weeks earlier, the caretakers and founders of these gardens spent time removing decayed bushes. Some workers removed the dead and planted new one. They were spreading a mix of nitrogen soil around the new plants. It was as if they had a newborn baby and took great pains to give it the nurture it needed. The usual January rain storm was on the way.
I made a right turn to another type of garden, one with thorns. The cacti displayed a some of the most radiant colors I had ever seen. Some of the Cactus plants had born blowers while others had blooms ready to burst into fruit in a month or two. I sat on a log and enjoyed the sights of the many arms of God.
Only an occasional Hummingbird or snake had the nerve to cross my path. My bag of chips and a Chicken-of-the-Sea Tuna sandwich gave my body time to reenergize its battery. A hummingbird looked my way but I quickly tucked the remainder of the meal inside my palate.
The January rain had stopped. Instead a cold wind whipped my face. The weather report had these waves traveling at thirty miles an hour. The freakish weather began last summer. A couple of one hundred degree days made me a fan of the Harbor Sheraton Hotel. The island across from the airport helped me stay alive and beat the heat. I am a fan of Global warming.
I bucked the westerly winds over the bridge but finally made it to the Balboa Senior Center across from the Prado Restaurant. The Spanish influence was apparent. The Expositions of 1915 and 35 put an influence on Mexican and Spanish design.
Inside the Senior Center, Selma, a volunteer provided me with coffee and free cookies. A eighty five year old man spoke about his favorite restaurant in Pacific Beach. After about thirty minutes into his monologue, I placed some nuts into his hand to shut him up. It did. Selma refilled my coffee mug. Her 400 pound frame looked like it enjoyed volunteer work at the Senior Center
The time approached eleven so I said my good-by's and left up towards the Balboa Bay Club. And what a glorious walk. I marveled at the tall Elm and Eucalyptus trees. Hell, I could not see their heads. Up ahead was the Chinese Tea room and the Amphitheater that held the largest organ in the United States.
The Balboa Bay Club offers senior dancing every other Thursday. The fee is three dollars and well worth it. An old piano sits by the entrance and invites me to play a few old ditties. Across the way is the Hall of Champions. Memorabilia of the greatest San Diego athletes is shown there as well a pictures decorating the walls.
Inside a glass display case is the red, white and blue jersey of Ambrose Schindler. He wore it while playing in the Chicago All Star Game in August of 1940. Chicago All Star Jersey of one Ambrose Parks Schindler. To the left is a picture of Cotton Warburton his idol, and the football used during the charity game with proceeds going to fight Infantile Paralysis or other children diseases. The writers nominated Schindler as the All Star Player of the Game and the next year he received a trophy and brand new Mercury.
While inside, I indulge my palate with a brew of chilly soup headed with chopped onions with crackers to the side. The three dollars is worth it. Once with time remaining before the one o'clock dance, I visited the old car museum. I feasted on the hot meal and after wiping off the residue from the table I traversed the lot to the Balboa Bay Club building.
I envied the pairs who still held hands. I was still a lone wolf who looked for a sparring partner. After playing a few nifty old tunes on the piano, I said hello to Steve, and took up a seat in the back of the large ballroom.
As usual, the ladies outlasted the men. One adjusted her ragged black wig. Several removed their walking pumps for dancing ones. No longer do the ladies wear long glamorous legs. Now they are sticks with knots and blemishes every few inches. Their toes go in different directions and no longer do they walk in a straight line.
I sit and hope something look-able enters. All I see are long noses and large irregular ears. And I spot Edith whose nose looks as she had been a prize fighter. It resembles Popeye, the sailor man. A few own ears that look like bonnie Prince Charles'. Some have had face lifts, tummy tucks, and their breasts overhauled. Once I danced with a gal whose breast implants got loose and dropped to the floor.
The best looking gal arrived. The tall one came over and asked me to dance. She does not look her age of seventy, but there are fifteen things wrong with her. But instead of me telling you, let me show you with the blow by blow description of the action.
"George, don't hold me so tight. You know I can't breathe when you do it. My esophagus clams up on me. That is better. Don't touch me there, please. Thanks. Let's stop for a bit. Can you get me a glass of water." Maureen has a case of severe dementia. I rate hers a nine with ten the highest. She loses her shoes and seldom cam find her car keys. Sound familiar?
At three I ask Linda for a ride to the bus stop on Broadway. To barter, I invite her to the Prado restaurant for a drink or two. She accepts. Linda is somewhere in her seventies. She does not trust men since her husband of 42 years left for Viagra and a different flame to light his candle. She has dabbled in paints and has had her art exhibited inside the Smithsonian.
The six footer's dimensions are 25-30-25. We sip some wine and she wishes to know how I gave up finger nail biting. She keeps repeating herself like all the farts our age. I had ordered the cheapest of the port wine and two naked glasses of water.
Time to go, the waiter hands me the check. I see twenty-two on the bill and have a shit fit. I argue and he replies, "The early bird special began fifteen minutes later. Too Bad sucker! I palm him with a ten and twenty dollar bill. Linda drives me to Sixth and Broadway. The 992 bus takes me back to the Y.
I enter my 204 cell of the Y and look into a small mirror. Two big ears and a long nose smiles at me.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Horst Cahn/ #104909
My daughter the other day wondered why I didn't write a story about Horst Cahn, the sole living survivor of a Camp Auschwitz. I did. It is simply waiting for my football story to get published.
JAnd speaking of Horst Cahn, his 89 birthday is the 25th of August. He is living in an Assistant Living Center in Orange County. And I will attempt to visit him shortly. I found a copy of a incarceration paper that the Germans drummed up before they resettled Horst in a rubber factory operated by Fabian the mother of Baer Aspirins.
Everywhere in Europe, the Jews were told to resettle in Polish ghettos now run by the Nazi's. Told to leave with a few articles and by when they had to go, they lost all of their properties. So it was with Horst Cahn.
Prisoner number 104909 had been picked up in Essen, Germany. Horst Israel Cahn's last address was Hindenburgster.22, and he entered the prison camp on March 5, of 1943. I will never forget his words when he arrived with his parents in Auschwitz.
"I felt glad my parents were chosen to go the other way to the gas chambers. I did not wish them to suffer. They had suffered enough when they discovered how my sister and baby met their death. The baby taken and thrown against a wall and my sister bayonetted."
Horst was in the custody of the Reichssicherheits. His reason for incarceration was because he was "Jude-Sch". He was treated inside a hospital named Momowitz-Auschwitz from October of 1943-Nov. 13 of same year.
Since I ate with this immaculately dressed man for over one year. I understand what he meant when he always said, "I wish to preach love and not hate. Anger only kills." His pet expression when he wished to interrupt, quite often, was "I want to tell you something."
Yet it was what he did during lunch time. No women was safe within arms distance -- no matter how she looked. He loved the women and often spoke about them. He missed his wife dearly but began to speak at various high schools. Horst was proud of number 104909 tattooed on his arm.
He was even prouder that in Washington, he was considered the only one left standing. He loved speaking engagements or the attention he would receive. Like me under the Leo birth sign, he craved attention
My May 30 blog, of 2014 revealed his personality. I ate bread again with him at the Li'l Oak Café in Encinitas. He had a few tests in the hospital.
"So what is the verdict Horst?"
"Well they found out I am a blue blood. The doctor put some die inside me and found a few blockages. He told me to keep off milk and cheese. That is why so much weight is off of me...so what is it you wished to ask me?"
"We had 200 inside our barracks with an out house in the back. The German's knew how many calories we needed to stay alive. They served us dried vegetables in soup during the day, and one slice of bread and more soup at night. Some occupants ate half and stashed the rest inside their bed."
More from this and other blogs can be searching.. Horst may be the only living survivor or Table 5 at the Oak Café in Encinitas. Five have passed away since last year and Ron and I remain. Of course the air quality in North County, Encinitas in particular, is dreadful.
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
An Old Town Reunion
It had been a few months since I visited Old Town, San Diego. I wished to see how my fig tree and grape vine were faring in this dry spell.
The grape arbor looked just fine, but with too many leaves and not enough fruit. The few clusters were still too green to eat. They needed more seasoning -- about one week before I could harvest their nectar. I noticed that last year's Loquat tree missed more leaves than before, but the two ahead made up for this naked tree. (Many Loquat trees bare every-other year. The cumquat tree was loaded with its sweet fruit.)
I headed for the large fig tree. Back at Ralph's they sold for seven dollars a small basket of seven. The tree did bear fruit, but not many as last year. I did manage to reach and pluck a few from the top most branches. The treat was not as sugary as before.
Even the black birds knew better than hunt for black. I decided to call it a day and headed for the old cigar store. Wooden Indian Joe said "Hello," and there was the antique silver scale. A few Chinese took pictures on it but were dumbfounded that it didn't work. They did not know it took a quarter function..
The Chinese never need to weigh themselves. They each weigh the same, less than eighty pound wet. They are also the most color-conscious of any race. Since they are thin, they are easy to fit into their blues and yellows. The parade of flower gardens walked passed me, nary any without a large smile. They wore matching hats and soft quilted shoes. They were a delight to watch.
As usual the Chinese took over the park. Every-so-often an ugly American showed their face with drooping bodies held up with canes and walkers. What a shame they live for food and football. The scales did not go over two hundred and fifty pounds.
The Chinese took pictures of each other under the yellow blossom tree and large fig. The fig does not give fruit but does provide shade. Since I was hungry and a bit winded do to the hot eighty degree weather I felt like a bite to eat.
It felt good to have a bank under my belt. Walmart, bless its soul, cashed my retirement check and my left pocket overflowed with Ben Franklin's, of course in a white envelope. Bella Pizza was up ahead, but its insides did not have air-conditioning.
I ordered a large antipasto salad and that with water did the trick. It was a pick-me-up. Now with energy I returned to the Old Town Transit Center and tried to buy Coaster ticket going north. One hitch however, the dam ticket machine faced the five o'clock sun. I prayed that I hit the right buttons and slid in my three dollars. And as if by magic it worked.
The commuter train picked me up at five forty five. Inside were tired workers, looking forward to dinner and an affectionate kiss from their wives. Almost everyone held a smart phone with connecting wires to their ears. Life would never be the same without their bibles or cell phones.
My eyes riveted on a bicycle traveler. His black biking uniform and a svelte sinewy athletic body made me wonder why not I? The girls did not even give this hunk-of-man a second look. He was a regular.
The body flexed his muscles, arched his back and made like Adonis. He ought to have been born during g the Golden age of Greece. A smile came over my face. I felt relaxed and in my prime. It was great to be on a train. I got off at Encinitas but it was too early to fight the five freeway. I drove to Moonlight Bay, and to my surprise it looked like the Fourth of July.
I parked my car on a hill and down bellow saw the plumbs of smoke from barbecue pits. Hot dogs and various types of meat were spread over grates. Old lumber was staked high and kids threw footballs and played jump rope.
The majestic sun made it a day to reflect and remember. I sat on my beach chair closer to the shore. Five children frolicked with their parents. The came towards me and each hollered, "One two three four" and lunged down a steep hill. Mom was placing chips in the mouth of each and every-so-often giving her proud husband a kiss on the lips for these blond urchins.
The sun began to set and I returned running up a path to my car. I never felt so excited. The drive home was unhindered except for the anguish I felt for my friend Ron. You see at the Senior Center, he was thrown out because of a smelly bag. Some Dingbat complained. Now what if we threw out all bags that had an odor. There no longer would be a need for Senior Centers. The manager there was not polite when he kicked him out of the billiard room. He bothered nobody but some idiot who has a fetish with cleanliness.
They did not know that Ron had spent, a few months back, a week in a hospital for high blood pressure. Too bad they thought it was worth it to mar my day and his. More respect and less neglect should be given to Seniors like me. I also thought about Sheldon who played the piano during lunch. He played the classics with ease.
I returned to the safety of my apartment in Huntington Beach and celebrated with eating fruit from Simply Peachy. It is the best produce store in North County San Diego.
The grape arbor looked just fine, but with too many leaves and not enough fruit. The few clusters were still too green to eat. They needed more seasoning -- about one week before I could harvest their nectar. I noticed that last year's Loquat tree missed more leaves than before, but the two ahead made up for this naked tree. (Many Loquat trees bare every-other year. The cumquat tree was loaded with its sweet fruit.)
I headed for the large fig tree. Back at Ralph's they sold for seven dollars a small basket of seven. The tree did bear fruit, but not many as last year. I did manage to reach and pluck a few from the top most branches. The treat was not as sugary as before.
Even the black birds knew better than hunt for black. I decided to call it a day and headed for the old cigar store. Wooden Indian Joe said "Hello," and there was the antique silver scale. A few Chinese took pictures on it but were dumbfounded that it didn't work. They did not know it took a quarter function..
The Chinese never need to weigh themselves. They each weigh the same, less than eighty pound wet. They are also the most color-conscious of any race. Since they are thin, they are easy to fit into their blues and yellows. The parade of flower gardens walked passed me, nary any without a large smile. They wore matching hats and soft quilted shoes. They were a delight to watch.
As usual the Chinese took over the park. Every-so-often an ugly American showed their face with drooping bodies held up with canes and walkers. What a shame they live for food and football. The scales did not go over two hundred and fifty pounds.
The Chinese took pictures of each other under the yellow blossom tree and large fig. The fig does not give fruit but does provide shade. Since I was hungry and a bit winded do to the hot eighty degree weather I felt like a bite to eat.
It felt good to have a bank under my belt. Walmart, bless its soul, cashed my retirement check and my left pocket overflowed with Ben Franklin's, of course in a white envelope. Bella Pizza was up ahead, but its insides did not have air-conditioning.
I ordered a large antipasto salad and that with water did the trick. It was a pick-me-up. Now with energy I returned to the Old Town Transit Center and tried to buy Coaster ticket going north. One hitch however, the dam ticket machine faced the five o'clock sun. I prayed that I hit the right buttons and slid in my three dollars. And as if by magic it worked.
The commuter train picked me up at five forty five. Inside were tired workers, looking forward to dinner and an affectionate kiss from their wives. Almost everyone held a smart phone with connecting wires to their ears. Life would never be the same without their bibles or cell phones.
My eyes riveted on a bicycle traveler. His black biking uniform and a svelte sinewy athletic body made me wonder why not I? The girls did not even give this hunk-of-man a second look. He was a regular.
The body flexed his muscles, arched his back and made like Adonis. He ought to have been born during g the Golden age of Greece. A smile came over my face. I felt relaxed and in my prime. It was great to be on a train. I got off at Encinitas but it was too early to fight the five freeway. I drove to Moonlight Bay, and to my surprise it looked like the Fourth of July.
I parked my car on a hill and down bellow saw the plumbs of smoke from barbecue pits. Hot dogs and various types of meat were spread over grates. Old lumber was staked high and kids threw footballs and played jump rope.
The majestic sun made it a day to reflect and remember. I sat on my beach chair closer to the shore. Five children frolicked with their parents. The came towards me and each hollered, "One two three four" and lunged down a steep hill. Mom was placing chips in the mouth of each and every-so-often giving her proud husband a kiss on the lips for these blond urchins.
The sun began to set and I returned running up a path to my car. I never felt so excited. The drive home was unhindered except for the anguish I felt for my friend Ron. You see at the Senior Center, he was thrown out because of a smelly bag. Some Dingbat complained. Now what if we threw out all bags that had an odor. There no longer would be a need for Senior Centers. The manager there was not polite when he kicked him out of the billiard room. He bothered nobody but some idiot who has a fetish with cleanliness.
They did not know that Ron had spent, a few months back, a week in a hospital for high blood pressure. Too bad they thought it was worth it to mar my day and his. More respect and less neglect should be given to Seniors like me. I also thought about Sheldon who played the piano during lunch. He played the classics with ease.
I returned to the safety of my apartment in Huntington Beach and celebrated with eating fruit from Simply Peachy. It is the best produce store in North County San Diego.
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