Surf Cities Good Time Singers

For the second time in my life, I fell deeply in love. Yes , we shared the same DNA in our protoplasm. And what is life without the right blood type?
   Let's back up to the beginning. A new resident of Huntington Beach, I had heard a lot about their troop of seventy singers.  Two months ago, I visited the Rodger's Senior Center to play a few ditties on their grand piano. Inside the main  dinning area, they sang as a conductor conducted and a lady accompanied them on the piano. Several sang solo. I could not believe the harmony and excitement generated by these now-young old timers. Why they became young-at-heart again! Music does wonders for wrinkles.
   The singers left after ten and then I began to play. Of course I began with my Mom's favorite, Don't throw bouquets at me, and a few others. Eleven o'clock approached and I closed the keyboard and looked up. A lady sat all by her lonesome. She looked my way, at least it appeared that way. Andrew the Swede sat down with me. He is always perfectly dressed with he usual quip, "I feel a bit less than perfect." A server brought the milk. I began to open the straw and again looked her way.


Mildred,

Well now. Nothing good happens in life unless chances are taken. I half-walked up towards her and motioned that she join our table.  Slowly, ever so slowly, she stumbled  over and sat. I dared not to gander at her -- scared that it had been a mirage.
    The pork and rice were served. Food now took a second seating. To my left sat the most beautiful gal in the world, even better than Shelly, my first love. I felt scared speechless. I could barely open my mouth to speak.
   Well like mostly all old ladies, she looked like a retread from the thirties; But it must have been her face, yes her face. Well Santa could take lessons on how to smile. I found out her name was Mildred.
     "May I ask what brings you here?"
     "I am a member of the Good Time Singers. I heard you playing the keys and fell in love with your playing. You played the same way my artist husband played.   I ask where you learned to play so, so well?"
      At that point, her eyes attacked me, like a drill bit entering wood. My knees shook and on second look, she had the face of an angel. I did not know if I was dreaming or what?
      "You are the tonic I need. I just buried my fourth husband and need some cheering up."
The above  occurred  about two months ago. I have been seeing more of her lately, and discovered my first feeling for Mildred still held water. I noticed a hop in my step lately and my writing is by-and-by a bit better.
   Mildred's picture I took and shared with you. Now some of you might think she does not look all that cute. But she is a lot better looking than my first love. And guess what? At the Surf City movies, she shares her banana and peanuts with me. I'm mighty glad that Santa brought me her none too late.
The Senior Center has become a memorable part of my day. I love to play the piano and am appreciated by all. This week have been playing Christmas Carols and getting better at the piano. I have the gift to play what I hear. The sound of music make the old feel young again. It tends to relax the mind and give it a chance to unwind....Just wait a minute. A volunteer has just served ice cream to Andrews. She told me that my music reminds her of Liberace. .
  "Why does he get ice cream and not me?"
  "He got the cold meal and with it came the desert."
  I left the Rodgers Senior Center and took Main Street to the In-And-Out. There I ordered a chocolate shake for $2.40. I strawed a few inches and dripped a few ounces of root bear from the dispenser. Of course now it became a root beer float -- which became my ice cream for a day.
   I continued on Main till I got to Bolsa and made a right. Mel's senior center was to the left. Mel was watching the same I Love Lucy Show with others inside the T.V. room.
  "Mel, did you ever hear of the Good Time Singers?"
  "Sure they come here every Christmas."
   It now was four o'clock and time for the dinner Mel had the first sitting and as always was the first to grab a seat -- well almost the first. Bea, the little Vietnamese gal was singing Three Coins in the Fountain. She laughed while Julie grabbed a dish of prunes.
   Yes, without a song the day would never end. (Almost  finished.)

 

   

Surf City Visited by a Stork

The brisk cold winds felt like needles to my skin.  I felt mad my budget did not include a wind breaker.  . My legs felt heavy, but I needed a change. I passed the  Sugar Shack and Main Street eateries on the way to the pier.. A cold northerly replaced Surf City's three month heat wave. I crossed Ocean and made it to the concrete pier.
  I began a fast walk, but not too fast. My body felt heavy today.  A crowd of people watched the surfers dare to catch a set of large nine foot  waves. I peered over the railings . The boards looked like dots waiting for a set of monster wave and send them dashing towards shore. Only the brave dared to catch a wave today...Why even a Father held his son in front of him as a roller  sent them crashing to shore. Yes it was a magical mountain-sea-day today. I began to jog and then run.  I could make out Long Beach and even the rolling hills of  Palos Verdes. Why I even could see Trump playing golf at his Terran-ea Resort.
   I rubbed my eyes. I could not believe the picture up ahead. Now at 76, I have seen just about everything there is to see. .But this?..No-way!. I rubbed my eyes some more. Yes,  it was a Stork begging for food. The large beak was covered with shades of orange. It could rotate its head from side to side just like a ping pong ball to make sure an enemy was not lurking.
    A fisherman walked over with a  Bonita slice and parked it inside its long curved horn. The Stork tried and tried to gullet it down.  It was a bit too big. But finally, Susie lifted her long beak and shuttled it down. She turned her head half-around, but not worried that a shark or whale would attack her. A crowd of about twenty circled Sue to take pictures, and Susie with a full stomach obliged. She even kissed one who got too close. Too bad I didn't have my camera.
Edith, my Mom, first told me about the Storks when she returned from the hospital in 1948. I remember it well at nine years of age.
   "George, I wish to introduce Louise to you. A Stork brought her last night  She is your new baby sister."
    My brother Mel and I must have kissed Louise's head too much. Hair never grew there for her first three years. I grew to hate her and even the Stork that brought her. She received all the attention while me and Mel received the left-overs.
    I never had to ask how babies arrived. I just new that when couples marry, they send a note to Santa and he ships a baby  air delivered by a Stork. 

    I continued to jog to the end of the pier and the well lighted Ruby's. I sat to listen to the sounds of the thirties. Ruby's installed speakers outside. I watched a young kid  watch a young kid throw a baby sting ray back into the waters.
    When I returned to jog back, to my surprise,  there were two long necks birds. I gave the name of the other Shelly. Storks often paired up when skimming the sea. But what brought them to the pier today?.
    The next day I found out. Wind gusts of fifty to sixty miles an hour lashed my apartment. I even took Tom's advise to buy a heater -- it was that cold!

  Nuts and Bolts for today: Sometimes it is better to remain inside until your troubles blow over, just like Sue and Shelly did. (Not finished).
 
 

Christmas Time at Starbucks

About  four weeks ago I survived the  Darkest Friday of my life. Somehow I lived another day, but barely. I promised to keep that day a secret but it did change my life. And thanks to God, I still live-and how! I owe much of my new born faith to a Chabad Rabbi in Huntington Beach. In last Saturday's story, he spoke about   Abraham and Sarah last Saturday.
    Yes, I owe God one and promised him  to honor the Jewish Sabbath. So I go to the little Synagogue on Warner Avenue to surf  the Old Testaments.  And I am having a blast, and why not?
    Allow me to paraphrase what the dynamic Rabbi spoke about on last weekends Parsha. The wife of Abraham, died at about 125 years of age, about the same time that her husband Abe married for a second time and bore six kids. Sarah  wished see her son Issac's bride before she left this world for another one. She found her kind and gentle. Relieved, she relaxed and went to heaven. But Abe still had some wild oats to sew. He continued to thrive and even took Lot along with him to the new land.
    Now for those of you who disbelieve how long they lived, just listen to me. Back in the day over 3000 years ago, there were no restaurants like In-N-Out or Jack in the Box. Nobody ate breakfast at Starbucks or paid for an energy drinks or drag at Seven Eleven. The wanderers then ate organic with the best cuts of goat or lambs meat. Instead of bread, they ate a flat bread without salt.They did not believe in false idols. They coated their diets with prayer.
   On another note, the Rabbi spoke about how we need to make each day precious. "We can't change the past or fore-tale he future.  So today, we need every minute to count, rather than to count each minute. Time flies when we live it! 
   For me since I don't own a T.V. or radio, I read, read and read some more. Thank God I don't need to watch T.V..anymore. The pictures get in the way of Godliness.  Just maybe I will buy an F.M. radio. For me  the chants of yesterday  consume and nurture my soul. My head sings the same Hebrew spirituals sung by my ancestors, Goldberg and Schneider clan in the forties.  Like a car getting another coat of paint, my shell gets stronger the longer God replaces me in every day life. Whenever God speaks to me more than once, I do it without rancor, even though I feel like doing something else.
Yesterday, the 12th of November, the Huntington Beach  Express dropped me off on Seventh and Figueroa in downtown Los Angeles. I had taken my rabbis advise to make the day memorable -- and besides, the downtown Metro would later transport me to West L.A. to visit my number two daughter, my energy bar.
  Across Figueroa sat a well lighted Starbucks. I arrived at six thirty, after a forty five minute bus drive from the Surf City Transit station. A man dressed in a sailor outfit asked for the bathroom combination while I ordered my house coffee for the day. The sailor wore head plugs and a computer and paper sat by his round table. He was in a jovial mood and sang a few Baptist spirituals, no doubt to celebrate Christmas. First jazz and then Christmas songs played: The First Noel, White Christmas, Deck the Halls followed by at least twenty others.
  The caffeine must have been heavy. I felt exalted to be alive at seven in the morning. A swarm of patrons lined up for their favorite latte, along with a quick cake to boot. The lined coiled in front of two busy cashiers. Across the street sat the old Bank of American. A Brinks truck parked on a curb. To the north,workman were building a 50 story Korean Bank building.  To the right was a Victoria's Secret store
   All the women wore multi-colored sashes, scarfs with pants and shoes to match. Those with legs wore thin high heals showing off their walkers. Those without legs wore large wooden shoes, Uggs, or just a slip-on. Excuse me for a second...
    "Dayagot spare change for coffee?" Startled,  I looked up ,mad that somebody entered my space. A well cropped beard covered his face but could not hide his thin nose. He had sat in the corner holding a L.A. Times.
     "Not today kind sir, but have a Merry Xmas.?"
    While inside the line was thirty deep. I could not get over how colorful the procession was. I asked a worker who wiped off the crumbs from a table how many patrons they serve in a day.
     "At this time, we serve 134 in thirty minutes."
     "Are you kidin me?"
    Everywhere there was laughter and joy as these Starbucks' worshipers dipped their rolls into their latte's,, mocha drinks  and other flavors  I had brought my own, since I am on a budget. I finished my tangerines and banana and removed the meat from a left-over Costco chicken. Why I could have eaten a whole chicken this morn.
   Diagonally across the street a clock over the building and the Seventh Street Metro said eight thirty, I opened the door and saw the homeless man get lucky for asking. I was too early for the Central Library so took the 720 Rapid Red to Western and Wilshire. From their the Rapid Blue took me to my daughters apartment.
   I could not believe how gorgeous she had become. Her dog Oscar growled at me. I had not bought any doggy treats that morn. She made me a French Toast before we eloped to Coffee Bean and favorite drink. We sat and chatted for an hour before we said our good-by's and I retreated back to the downtown area.
   It took me all of two hours to arrive back in Huntington Beach on the Express, but the day will live as long as lines form at Starbucks.

Nuts and bolt for today: Put aside the T.V. cell or other devise and begin to listen to your kids.
 

Santa Monica, Third Street Mall

I use the quality of the meat to classify each beach city in California. I call Santa Monica and its beaches a cut above the rest. Santa Monica is the filet of steak meat while the others are rumps and for the rest. 
  And I consider myself an expert since I played two-man volleyball from 2089 until recently in the same cove that many of the greatest body builders did their routines or lifted weights. Of course a visit to the piers merry-go-round as a kid will always be remembered. 
   Yesterday, Sunday, I visited my daughter who lives on Pico
Blvd across the street from the Museum of Tolerance.  I enjoyed my visit with my daughter and helped her buy a new cell phone. Just like Verizon, Sprint charges a restock fee, even is you bring the gadget back five minutes later. I became upset when we dove to return the cell phone, and wish to apologize to the staff at Sprint. 
   I would travel by bus to God's favorite playground, Santa Monica Beach. My Mom Edith took me and brother Mel there every day in the summer. In the forties I carried the punch bowl, my brother the sandwich bag, and Mom the humongous umbrella. We did not know about skin cancer then, but used it for shade only. But today, over seventy years later the Santa Monica Third Street Mall beckoned.  .
   The Big Blue Bus picked me up on the corner of Pico and Roxbury at three in the afternoon. The old Owen's market is no longer and another is about to take its place.  The cool brisk westerly told me mountains to the north were plummeted with mounds of snow. I paid my senior fifty cents and sat down holding my brown lunch bag.
   I ate the remainder of my chopped liver on rye and opened up several tangerines. The first of the morning liver came from Nate and Al's and the fruit from the Glatt market. It was fabulous not to drive my car in a city pock-market by streets  bruised by too much traffic and always street maintenance.
  In back of me two lovely young Latinos practiced kissing, another worked on her eye brows, and one  needed to shave the mustache over her mouth. The bus lumbered on and crossed Lincoln, Colorful jerseys told me a football game was in progress at Santa Monica High School.  The bus made a right on Fourth Street and charged down the boulevard to Santa Monica Blvd, where I tumbled  off and strolled to the rest room on the Palisades. 
  The temperature was about five degrees warmer with no longer a heavy wind. The city sits in a bowl, walled off from extreme temperatures -- it is always moderate here. No longer a cold wind lashed at my face. I needed another piece of cloth inside my black turtle nicked sweater. I headed  to the large thrift shop on the corner, across from the new city library.
   I tried on a T-shirt that was too small for my large shoulders. Inside the try-on room sat a well used skate board. I asked a few kids if it might just be theirs.
   "My God thank you sir. Can I buy you a drink somewhere?"
    "No but find me a extra large t-shirt and we will call it even."
    "Got the one for you. Try this one on."
    "Don't need to, it looks perfect."
   I paid my one dollar and ninety cents and pulled it over my other shirt. Yes it was a two-shirted day today. I looked up at the bus stop and noticed that the Rapid Purple bus stopped there.The neon signs now showed the times of the arrival of the next buses..I treated myself to a special blend tea at Philz and then entered the Corner Credit Union Bank.
   The manager schooled me in now the bank handles liens and levy's.  He was warm and cordial an told me to watch out for computers of our government. "The computers withdraw your money when nobody is looking."
    I then walked to the only Barns and Noble store of of Third and Wilshire .A couple of guitar acts were in progress and after Victoria's Secret,  I saw that the Tesla car that runs on batteries. . I could no get over how black and shiny it looked. Why is headlight beckoned me to enter but I needed to buy a book at Barns and Noble.
    Everyone smiled, as every store glittered with the sun bounding off the ocean and Mr. Sun playing peek-a-boo with the sun.  . I bought a book without coffee and  returned to the Fourth and Colorado for the long,  one our,  bus ride home. Why I felt like a babe bathed by Mom with talcum again, so was the infectious smile of the Mall.
    But before entering the bus, I needed to drink water. Britannia's' Tavern.  was the ticket for a coke a water only two and change. Football games flashed on several screens.
   "What you having sir?"
   "Coke and nother glass of water?"
    "That'll be two fifty five sir?"
    Now that my thirst was quenched I spoke up a conversation with the stool next to mine. He appeared to be a young lad of thirty-or there-abouts.
    "Where you from Lady?"
     "Bolder...Got tired of showing people how to sky or working inside hotels...Brother is into interior decorating and needed help in his Hollywood store."
     "Where you livin?"
      "One bed on twelve and Santa Monica...Rent is high at sixteen a month...but worth it...I love it here."
       While we chatted, my other eye, my stomach, had its mouth open for the delicious fish salad next to me. I told my gut to wait till next week. I needed gas money to return to Surf City.
        'One bottle for each...its on the house. Thirty hands jumped on deck, all except mine."
    After a trip to the Men's I went to the fourth street pick up spot to take me back to West Los Angeles. Just like Tesla, my battery had been recharged at the best mall on the coast.
   I walked to the Big Blue Bus stop, across the street from the new Salvation Army building. What looked like a curled up dead body slept beside a store. I've seen it before. It happens every day in California.  
   The Rapid Blue came and picked up passengers. Some would go on the downtown bus that links the Blue Metro with the other arteries. Oh yes, a police got the man to stand and escorted him to the nearest park -- out of sight and out of mind. 
   Back at my daughters, we had a few swags of mocha and then I sailed home back to Surf City. 


     .

A Beverly Hills Sunday

My plan today was to hightail it into Beverly Hills in he early morning and then visit my daughter. By six o'clock I was on the freeway. It felt good to remove myself and visit my daughter in familiar surroundings. To me, Surf City is about the beaches and that is about it.
   I took the 405 to the 10 and exited at National. Two right turns and Overland showed its ugly face. Ugly I say since this street had been torn up, kicked around, and made somehow into a major artery. The once thin road linked Culver City with West Los Angeles. It stops at the Mormon Temple on Santa Monica Blvd. I has been widened into three lanes each way.
   To compound problems, the new Expo Line travels through it.  It is bad enough that it can take over one hour to finally get to the 10 freeway off of Overland, but hat is no lie.  Now cars will stop to allow the train to go the beaches of Santa Monica or Seventh Street in downtown.
   I blinked when I looked at all the homes that looked bald on the street. Spanish, Mediterranean, adn English Tudor homes cried as their front yards had turned into scrub or deserted lots. Yes, the water crises has hit Los Angles in a big way yet prices are still rising
 At six thirty my fist stop was Starbucks on the  legendary street of Beverly Drive. The large Sterling building stood watch as a sentry as I parked down the street. I parked and noticed that Nate and Al's had opened. It is the last to the stores to call the street their own.
  Now inside Starbucks, a small man wearing a French cap and acting like one, ordered a toasted coffee. I ordered the same and proud of it. No longer did I need to hide my smile. I now wore an upper plate with teeth.
   "Good gracious", I said to myself. Unlike other cities. I did not need a combination to do my toilet. I was somewhat taken back to find my coffee cup had been cut down to size. The cups were twice the size a year ago...But like i said in a previous blog, Everybody is cutting back.
   My oh my did it feel good to be wearing a full set of teeth. Inside a few bowling balls danced into the coffee shop and made sure everyone noticed them.. On had muscles out to their and used a Harry Belafonte voice to place their orders.
   I focused on the man across from me. He kept fidgeting with his coffee and coke and kept moving them around for a minute or so. He placed a small screen computer before him and adjusted his ear plugs. Now with his sun glasses on, he might just be noticed by a talent scout.
   Another man who had his nose molded to fit his thin face paced back and forth. The thin man wore green tennis shoes with fancy purple laces. Other shoes were not made of leather but carefully threaded to meet the mold of the men's feet. I just could not keep my eyes off the shoes.  Yes it was the shoes worn in Beverly Hills that separated it from other towns.
   The Sunday farmer's market was about to open. I walked down Little Santa Monica and looked into the Chamber of Commerce office. Inside the front window was a display that described how to save water.
   Under the library'y parking and the next street over, stalls were being set up for the farmer's market. My budget did not even allow me to buy a coffee. but it did purchase a view of the San Gabriel mountains.
   It was a blistery Santa Ana day, without so much as a cloud in the sky.  Parents checked out little plastic shopping carts for their kiddies. The conversation in back of me was the usual.
   "I am going to buy a bag or oranges. The strawberries don't look too sweet? Who do you like for a Republican candidate?  My daughter is having a  grand kid next summer..so forth a so on."
   Well, I had to go and pick up my number two daughter. It took two hours to pick up a prescription. Kaiser in West Los Angles is more like a Baptist revival meeting. There is a lot of pomp and ceremony. They would not fill my prescription so I had to go to urgent car. Nurse Tomorrow placed  rubber over my left arm and began rubbing it.
   "Phone fo you. Can you get it?"
  Nurse Tomorrow left the room to get her message. When she returned she screamed, "Yo pressure is high: 150-20. Try again. She grabbed my arms again and told me to relax. Now how can I relax with an electric eel is massaging my arm"
   I told her to leave. Dr. St Gregory entered and filled my prescription. Nurse Tomorrow was still on the phone when I left. I drove my daughter home and freewayed it to Alpine Village. A life band began at four so I meandered over to the swap meet. I danced with only two old timers but got a change to speak with one -- two bits on the heavy side.
   "Are you German?"
   "Just because I have blond hair and blue eyes does not make me German. I am a Jewish survivor.
    "But are you German?"
   Well she repeated her self again. The German music put my now irregular heart beat in place. I felt relaxed by the end of the day.
  

Cruisin'George says: In life we have the dealers and those who are dealt the hand. But never do you need to stick to the hand that you are dealt.