Sunday in Santa Monica

Like the salmon run, I needed to return to my beginning. In the forties, Mom always brought along a punch bowl, sandwiches, potato chips and a large multicolored wooden umbrella. She drove a Packard with wooden doors. I can still see and hear her.
  "Wait for thirty minutes before going back into the ocean."
   "Mom can I have more punch, and can you remove the sand inside my eye."
   Santa Monica has undergone changes, but a few things remain the same. My Merry-go-round carousel still plays music but the horses have changed. The Soda Jerk store sells ice cream for a few dollars. For a few bucks, you can stage a birthday party inside the old wooden home. The Santa Monica Pier still stands with Bubba Gumps replacing another eatery. There is still the arcade, a place for dance, and a little amusement park. Spade Cooley and his orchestra no longer plays.
   Still there to the North lie  Malibu Hills and further up Zuma Beach. On the other side the coast winds its way to  Palos Verdes. But besides the pristine views, what makes Santa Monica great on a clear day is it view. Picasso could not duplicate it today.
    But for me, it is the air. I drank pure air in the forties. My bronchial tubes opened up and I got gobs of vitamin D and an awful suntan. Back in the forties, nobody knew about skin cancer, and we allowed only good ozone.
    My did I itch coming home. It felt like crabs were having a picnic inside my shorts. Mel hogged the shower and used all of the hot water -- it was luke warm when my turn came.
But today it is about the Third Street promenade. People come from all over to take the walk on the Piccadilly Circus of all walks. It is a must.
 I had a grand stand seat, just watching. Excitement filled the air. A few had just come from the outside skating ring. Everyone smiled and looked inside the trendy stores. The boots were so high they could touch the sky. I imagined myself walking with some of these five star ladies.
    I must have sat for about one hour, cracking two hard boiled and unwrapping two Cutie tangerines with a Fuji apple to boot. Rebooted now, I walked down Broadway to the Palisades. And there in front of my very eyes was Camelot. The ocean and sky caressed with the Malibu Hills and endless sand looking up.
    I walked the pier and then the strand. I walked over to where Muscle Beach began. There in front of me I imagined Jack La lane, Governor Schwarzenegger, Moe Most, doing their stunts with a beach load of onlookers around the platform.
    Beach two-man volleyball was going on in front of me. I sauntered over to watch. Never that good, but good enough to hang around these courts with Dick s, Ron, Bobby Barber, and a bunch of others. I remembered when I served two rather good  Russians off he court and sent them packing with four straight aces.
   Well it was time to return to my daughter's. I promised to take her to the West Side  Pavilion off of Pico. I walked to Fourth Street and picked up the Big Blue Bus. Sunday is the only time there is no rush hour.  Back home, my daughter wished to buy a sweater so I hung around. It felt great being alive to enjoy the fruits of my creation. (Not finished.)