Obama needs 12 steps

No doubt, no, no doubt.. but Brother Mel remains alive because of Bertha. Who is Bertha? A delicious Whole Foods Turkey Leg from Whole Foods. 

    "Did you bring the leg?" 
     "Yes, right here Mel...a little smaller than last two, but just as juicy. 
    Like a Jack in the Box, Mel jumped up in room 125B at the Sea Cliff Health Center. Life sprang into his legs while he grabbed the leg and began munching on this succulent beast. Derick produced another great turkey which he named Bertha for his Christmas dinner. In bed one George offered me a fruit plate.
       "No but thanks. Can't eat from your plate since their is a highly dangerous virus at the Sea Cliff Health Center. 
       We watched the 6:30 news on channel 7. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw how Obama, our so-called president, wished to leave office. A newsman called him a lamed duck,, but not me. He had been a lame duck during his eights years in office although I did give him good grades on his speech delivery.
      Thanks to a Miss Gwen Owens at Santa Monica College in 1962 I became a speech major. It gives me the right to grade speeches and his grade for delivery was a B. Yet the most important ingredient of a speech maker is his ethos. Why every time he used the magic words, "The American People, I shuddered to think what this dumb cluck would do now. Obviously he needs a twelve step program to learn how to lose gracefully. 
     Obama failed to grasp the needs of our country. In eight years,  the middle class collapsed. He bailed out a few banks and car companies but failed the rest of the population. But for me as well as other middle class Americans the Obama health care was a disaster. Isis became a major threat under his watch and he allowed Putin to take another country. Our president may have Trumped Donald Duck if our president had listened to the middle class.  
      In spite of Obama, Mel had a great Thanksgiving, thanks to three turkey legs provided by my son-in-law Derick.  These meals work wonders for Mel since the meals at what I call the Wax Museum Health Center are minuscule to say the least. And believe it or not, Mel is served his dinner when it is almost seven o'clock.
    But my next subject is all about Broken Heart Syndrome:"Debby Reynolds wish to be with her daughter This was another stroke." her son  Tod remarked. It was then I knew why Mel's live revolves around mine. In no way can I have Mel die, since I am next in line, and I just hate line dancing. 
          Daffy entered with their meals at almost seven. A hot dog and a little cup of beans would be theirs tonight, but not the man in the next room. The meat truck came for him yesterday and it just might have been the pervasive virus that entered the health center   
        

A Christmas Love Story

Christmas morning I felt depressed and all alone, but happy to have survived a difficult 2016. As soon as I boarded the first bus in Huntington Beach, I knew I had made it. No longer did I have the thought of busing it to San Diego and diving off the Coronado Bridge. Two more connections would take me to Long Beach and their home.
   Two bus connections led me to the street where my daughter's family lived. And I sorely needed a booster shot. I slowly walked up the main street towards her home on Elm Street. Cold, yes -- but the sun was out in her full glory. It was going on Twelve. 
   I thanked God for allowing me to stay alive to enjoy my two grandchildren, A friendly wooden bench asked me to have a seat, to regain my senses and allow the sun to filter inside my body. Cold and rain no more, and thanked God. I continued to Colorado Street, and made a left turn. I felt that I had come to Santa's Village, as each house had a display of cheer. 
   I made another left and saw Santa throwing his arms my way with his rain deer eating some hay Lights and a sled were on the side of the house. Then I walked up Elm to their house. I placed my tennis shoes on the porch and entered. 
   "Know it is a mess. Can I make you some tea?"
    "No not now." I collapsed on the sofa chair and took in the fire place, with two logs  stoking up the flames to warm my hands.  And what is a home  without a real fire place. Scattered  in front of me were toys and more toys. I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a slice of left-over brisket. I must have been starved since I stole two more slices of Derick's creations. Derick is a gourmet cook. My son in law came down the stairs. 
    "Glad you came early, Now you have to remain until Bertha is ready. Bought it at Whole Foods since we only eat organic."  He placed the turkey inside the oven and gave my daughter a slap on her fanny. Yes their home radiated love. .
     I returned to the sofa chair and turned to the fire. The embers made crackling noises that made me think of a song called Crackling Rose. The embers danced back and forth while I tried to navigate red licorice inside my toothless mouth. 
     Allison and Olivia came down and never even looked my way. Why there were too many toys to navigate. As always, the picture in front of me would have Picasso envious. The brisket energized me. I stole  up the staircase to the little-ones' bedrooms.  One had something like an erector set and she hit a switch to make a helicopter sky upward. 
     Allison was cleaning her room and I hitched a few winks inside her bedroom. I played a blanket over my head and that is when my blue eyed angels came charging my way. I grunted and made strange noises. I felt relaxed--must have  been the basted brisket. My body turned over and over again. 
    Now going on three o'clock, I slowly came downstairs since Olivia had tripped earlier from the staircase.  Derik removed Bertha from gas chamber. He stuck a thermometer inside her. She threw up a leg and winked my way. 
    "Fifty, fifty five, fifty six...ah, needs another fifteen minutes."  Derik returned Bertha to the oven. Her left leg hit me in my jaw while she went unwillingly inside. 
    I returned to the sofa and enjoyed watching the two angels, Olivia and Allison. God could not have done a better job. I took them outside to grab a few rays of sun, and to play catch.
    'Now watch the ball Olivia. She didn't and the soccer ball hit her on the noggin. Allison joined in now. She too could not watch the ball -- at least at first.
    "We are ready for dinner." Lauren screamed. We sat and Derik said a prayer thanking God for the sumptuous meal of Yam, potatoes, cranberries, muffins that were set at the table. 
     Olivia grabbed a wing and winged it. She enjoyed the bones rather than the meat, but at least it is a beginning. (Not finished)
       
     
     
     

Sunrise Service in Surf City

Nothing like going to an early service across Main Street, U.S.A in Surf City. 
   The Java Coffee Shop opens up at six o'clock. My apartment, the Five Points sits across the street from the Five Points Shopping Center. My favorite stores are the JAVA Coffee Shop, and Trader Joe's.
   I stumble into the coffee shop at about seven and buy my freshly baked French bread. Inside, two gentleman work a crossword puzzle while people trickle in for their fix for the day. Like a sunrise church service, the ambiance of the place and the rich variety of cakes, muffins, and bagels give the patrons their first lift for the day. But today is different since I arrived at ten o'clock pushing an antique noisy wheel chair with a dead weight sitting on it, my Brother Mel.
   I took the day off from the library to monitor the work of cleaners, and later a rug shampooer. My manager saw a few cockroaches and warned me to have it cleaned by the nineteenth, or else. I had told her to send a copy in writing. So far she has not replied.
   My daughter's Xmas present was sent early in the morning so I had a chance to take my brother for a treat at my favorite coffee shop. The Sea Cliff Health Center lies two clocks south from my apartment. Mel had been dressed, and waited for me in an outdated wheel chair that coughed and moaned the whole way to the Five Points Shopping Center. The wheels hit a few ruts along the way but we made it.
   I helped Mel stand and take a seat. I bought him a chocolate croissant, slice it. and gave the plate to Mel. Since he is almost totally blind, I made sure to hand him a fork and deliver the first hit on a delectable treat.
   "Boy, enjoy this cafe and this is the first time been out in the sun. Too bad you spent all your money on family George. We could have had a car by now." (My car had been stolen in broad daylight at the Five Points Apartments.)
  "Well Mel, it is worth it. I have two beautiful daughters who I love equally. My energy has been on the youngest for a long time."
   At ten o'clock my brother wished to be wheeled back to his bed. I just knew that at the hospice section of the "Butcher Store", the placed him in the back with the other expired meat. "The Hall of  Wax" is in the back of the nursing home. Many of these patients have not seen the sun in months, and of course without Vitamin D, their bodies have trouble dispersing the vitamins from food to other areas in their body.
  I wheeled him back to his room, in back of the "Butcher Shop" and knew he wished to sleep and be alone. Now safely inside his room, he dropped to sleep and be alone. He had trouble turning over, in fact, he had trouble moving at all.
  Of course the clerk at the desk David lied when he told Mel he would be fitted for glasses and teethe. In fact, everything must be written in ink, and you hope that there promises will be reliable. A few of his medications I will provide for you: Protonix, Insulin, Imetrex, Lorazepam, Dabigetran and seven other medications.
  No wonder Mel could not arise. Was the "Butcher Shop" trying to kill him. I knew that there probably was mal-practice at the Pacific Royale Assistance Community where he collapsed at the dinner table. The growth on his ear still had not been removed and even now, it is still there.
  That night he could not get up. I helped him up at about seven o'clock. LVN Dippy brought his tray of rice and meat to his serving table. Now I had to aid him to sit up, and then feed him. His only good eye with 200/20 vision had gone to sleep. Why Mel could not even watch the Clipper basketball game. He forked him the food for a few seconds, not enough for a full grown man and let him go back to sleep. Was Mel waiting for death?
  Did the nurse  forget to give him his insulin...as they did the other day with his roomate? Why Didn't Ed, the owner of the Assistant Living refuse to cash his 500 check, since he knew Mel carried no identification?
  
 

The Seven Eleven is Rolling the Dice

The downtown Main Street Seven Eleven is my destination in the early morning. The 29 Beach bus takes me to First and Orange. The thrill of feeling the ocean air puts my body at rest. I walk west on orange until the Seven Eleven store greets me. A few homeless sit on a large round mound covered with flowers. One is eating a sandwich while the other has removed his socks and giving them much needed air. 
   Now inside, I treat myself to a small coffee. I spike it with honey and several types of creams before paying my fare at the counter. Outside, I sit on a tiled fountain with a sculptured gargoyle Lion spitting water my way.   Several pennies have been removed from the fountain bed. Two well-dressed ivy leagues enter the store in back of me. I walk in a listen. It is apparent the two speak to a the managers.     
  "It is what it is, Jeff. The last time we checked your store we didn't make any comments except telling you, 'It is what it is.' But now I see that you can make a few changes to bring more cash into the store." The edict came  from a  young Ivy League looking man -- Bostonian leather shoes, top of line sweater over a flashy black shirt. 
   Two quiet blond ladies and a man tried to appear interested.  Jeff, a rather quiet spoken gentleman, tried to give the man his fullest attention, but he seemed bored. Another executive with a quick mouth and aristocratic manner bantered more suggestions to milk future customers in the surf city called Huntington. 
    "See the wax section over here. We make four hundred a month just from this section from this store...See this area. We can place school supplies here. Back here, we can put tools and medical supplies. Wal Mart and a CVS are at least three miles away." 
     Next to the door sat  a selection of wax bottles. I thought it must have been for the ladies.. But on closer inspection, saw that it was meant for surf board.  They must have had a good inventory control with each purchase made at all of their stores. I decided to confront the little man with the not-so-little mouth. 
    "From San Diego. Your store sat in back of the YMCA on C Street. I drank a one dollar Mocha and hot dog every day. Also, the little plastic containers of chef salad were my favorites..." 
     "We had special shirts made in San Diego. Glad you like our stores." He continued to examine each nick of the hidden Seven Eleven without needing a bandage. Here we can place tools and other necessities seen at CVS. We can compete with the bigger stores like Target right here." 
     Only two men spoke with quick tongues and lots of excitement. I felt sorry that what was really needed was more exposure to the outside, since only the locals knew about this shy store. Its signs can't be seen off the main drag on Main Street. 
    "We will compete with other big named stores and sell what they do. We will cut into the profits of Wal Marts and other big named stores in the area. But with all the events On Main like Farmers Market Tuesdays, auto shoes, surf and volleyball tournaments. you can score real big." 
     The little man told me to get a business card from Jeff. Of course Jeff told me he had no cards but this didn't bother me. I knew that the next day I would get a hair cut from my  friendly Vietnamese barber off of Warner and Golden West. Too bad I waited so long to get a haircut, but tomorrow or today will have to do. 
   
  

Could San Clemente be my next home?

In my last blog, I had taken the number One Orange County Bus south down the Pacific Coast Highway to pick up my retirement check in Carlsbad. It made several stops to allow the workers to get off at a hotel or a restaurant. Many had taken earlier buses to get to the Costa Mesa and Newport Transit Station.
   After one hour and fifteen exact minutes I had arrived at my Pico Stop, across the street from the Seven Eleven and a sushi restaurant. It felt like a heavy weight had been removed from my back, with my friendly coffee shop up ahead.
   For the first time in weeks, my mouth did not ache. I had no idea how many teeth had rotten away during my 77 year stay on earth. The God of Moses never intended us to live so long on his little sphere called earth.
   I nursed the coffee and read their local paper about tons of sand moved here to build up the sandy shoreline as erosion had removed tons of its golden Carlsbad sand. In an earlier trip, I visited the  President Nixon favorite hamburger stand when cars were bumper to bumper on the way back to San Diego. Nary a unhappy face spoke to me. Everyone befriended this old man in a San Clemente Coffee Shop.
   I had spent about two dollars on my coffee and felt happy that the Metro Link ran another one hour earlier at a bit over nine o'clock. Never did the conductors check for a ticket on this last leg to Oceanside from San Clemente. I knew the city had a great library and also wished to stay a night somewhere reasonably priced.
  The clear blue sky and flashy white breakers made it a piece of art to view from my window. Beside the second stop, the pier. The Western Surfing Association meet was going on. Unlike other beaches, the sandy shore was slim. Barbecue pits and volleyball courts told me I would be using them one day -- of course God be willing.
  I even began to forget how my brother Mel had been mistreated at the Pacific Royale Assistant Community would pay for their negligence again. The owner, Sir Edward Maslobodsky, yes that is his spelling, would pay for his mistreatment of my brother Mel in this Midway City converted apartment.  But it was about today. and not the bitterly sloppy days inside Midway City where my brother had been treated like refuse, what with bed bugs, nasty bed partners and a doctor who overlooked his health, one Dr. Jennings. On the other side, the Rusty Cliffs of San Clemente peered down on me and spoke.
   "George, only look, but you will not ever have enough money to walk my cliff-walk."
    "Just you wait Mr. Clifford. I will be able to afford your lofty hills and miraculous view sooner than you think. Do you allow Jews?"
  The Metro 666 now descended on San Onofre, a name hard to pronounce where Barbara McAfee's husband worked as a Vice President. I even saw Amby Schindler waxing his board as this section of beaches had the best rolling waves where a Barney Wilkes, who he called the Mayor, began a club of surfers.
   The train stuck to the beach route until a bridge stood up and it waved more to the center of these
 rolling hills that belonged to Camp Pendleton. I felt happy not to have taken the Camp Pendleton bus the one hour and thirty minute ride on its 395. (More to Come.)
 

Trips and Tips to San Diego.

I had just sat down on Main Street, Huntington Beach to capture some son and think about my next blog for you, my customer. I bought a small 7/11 coffee and found a serene place on the round tiles of a water fountain beside the store. Across from me sat an amused Asian girl eating her second hot dog and sipping the remains of a large coke. She was not alone. A large black trash bag filled with cans and a large piece of luggage sat beside her. Two other street people spoke to her. She left dragging the bags down Main, probably headed to Albertsons to recycle her lute....But it was going on nine o'clock, and I needed to recycle my mind to make room for more stories. After all, if I am to o catch up with Charles Dickens, I better make hay.

Sunday morn, the #1 Orange County bus picked me up on P.C.H. at exactly six fifty. The day before, A Sabbath Day for me, I relaxed and slept-in with the knowledge that my three infected teeth had been buried in Beverly Hills the day before. A Dr. Ply on Wilshire and Robertson did the honors while the bus ambled on toward Newport Bay.
      I had no idea that all of these molars had open roots. No wonder I felt made most of the time. It took four buses and a train ride to get there from Huntington Beach. The winds gust to sixty miles an hour as he took a needle to numb these bastard teeth of mine. The Novocain did not work. Dr. Ply worked as if he was just cutting a piece of meat in a butcher shop. He took a long one legged fork and two molars said good-by. The last one would not budge.
      "Keep your legs still! Don't move your legs! demanded the young nurse.
 Sweat rolled down my brow as he wiggled the fork back and forth. Finally it was over, And I still was alive.
       "Here is some gauze. Hold it here. you may go."
        "What no lolly-pop?"
        My head felt like a punching bag. I took the elevator to the lobby and sat for awhile before going outside to howling winds.

The Mexican bus driver makes a left to go to the Newport Transit Station. A hoard of more Mexican climb aboard. They are the service workers of the South Bay. A few are asleep while others place make up and eye shadow on their faces They are all excited and I wish I were one of them. the only language spoken is Spanish. I dare say none of these folks are here legally, and who can blame them. For them, these are streets of Gold.
    I am happy today. Mel is alive and walking at the Sea Cliff Health Center. And I kept him alive since he would have died without. me. The Royal Pacific Assistant Apartment would have killed him thru negligence. That was over two months ago when Mel came here half dead from the Huntington Hospital. Those who save one life have had a wonderful life, the words of Rabbi Carlback in San Diego. 
    The bus now rolled onto Laguna Niguel and onwards to Laguna Beach. I had ten dollars on me, enough for food and a two bus rides. I would not need eight of these dollars. Volleyball games were going on in Laguna as it was a bright sunny day. I removed one layer of clothing.
    The bus proceeds to Dana Point and takes a turn. I steps on the Five Freeway for two stops and get off in San Clemente. The freeway is being worked on. It goes through a residential section, Ralphs market and the D.M.V. I am the lone one on the bus except for a lady with a shopping cart that hold her belongings.
    This stop crosses the Metro Link Station where I get off at Pico. I never felt better in my life. I don't have the urgent need to pee. There is my coffee shop, across from the bus station, and a flowers shop that is beginning to open its petals. A few bikers peddle up to the coffee shop. Men, my age, in the prime of life enter the coffee shop. The sun feels good, real good.
     "Take the coffee of the day."
     "Fill to the top or you need room for half and half?"
      "Filler up."
     I sit by the window and look at the station. Rays of sun excite me. I remove another layer of cloth and again think about my brother. Why Jacob  promised Mel an eye doctor to fit him with lenses in order to remove him to the hospice area of what I call the House of Wax.
     I go to the station and notice that a Oceanside train will arrive ten minutes after two. I know that the conductor never checks for tickets on this last leg of the trip to Oceanside. The sun rays bounce of the ocean and make me sigh. The Metro slides into the station and I climb aboard. I have saved four dollars.
    The train makes its last stop at the pier. A surging contest is going on and I wish to become one of these surfers .I think about buying a car for my brother Mel but am sure that my followers can contribute a few dollars by sending checks to the Sea Cliff Health Center, 18811, Florida Street Ca.92648 for Melvyn Garrett. (Not finished or edited.)

   
    
      

A Huntington Beach Butcher Shop

Everything written here are facts, what I heard, saw, or  tried to forget. The Butcher Shop is called the Sea Cliff Health Center...but it really is just a butcher shop where hospitals displace meaty cuts  their last chapter in their lives.
   
Abe the butcher, yes it was Abe the butcher that I saw every day in the fist part of the forties. Steak was reserved for the war effort so my Mom "Edie". The best cuts or steak had been rationed for the war effort. But it did not stop her from buying liver. In time, a long long time, I grew to enjoy liver.   fine cut was reserved for the soldiers, but could buy as much liver as possible.
   Brother Mel had been inside the above nursing home for about two months. Mr. sweetness, or Jacob told me that he some good news. I told him to speak to my brother, next to the offices in hallway number one. Pudgy looking Jacob with a phony smile spoke to me in the T.V. room while i watched Tender is the Night on the Turner channel.
    'Your brother is lucky. We are sending him to a larger room. I will get him an eye exam and make sure that he gets to all of his appointments."
    "Better speak with my brother. Am sure he will not like it, since he doing swell in his room."
   Later in the late afternoon, I saw a maintenance man wheeling Mel's clothes down the hall. I knew that he would be next and no longer be able to speak to Robert, an ex-Pasadena principal. The worker er returned and allowed Mel to finish the Panda Express that I had bought. Now Tired I left.
   I returned late afternoon of the next day. At the end of the entrance is the last hallway, I have been told it is the hospice area. I signed in and cleansed my hands. At the end of the hallway I took a right turn. The smell of stench overwhelmed me.
   Was this the Wax Museum. Several wheel-chairs with their occupants looked asleep. All appeared ghost-like, a pale white. I continued my walk along the last corridor of the butcher shop and turned right to Mel's room. I heard loud groaning across the hallway. A long full bearded one laughed down the hallway.
   A body lay in bed number one. The room appeared larger than the first room and the gentleman in bed one welcomed Mel. Mel was asleep. The body in bed one introduced himself, while Mel slept. The man in bed one spoke.  
   "The one hundred year old Indian lived in bed two about one week ago. He croked and they hustled him out the back. They serve dinner here at about seven o'clock. Mel must have overheard what Bed One said. and his eyes opened.
    ""Do you mean this is a dead man's bed?" Mel responded after sitting up in a wheel chair.
    Now I can't repeat what Mel said about Mr. Sweetness but will later. I tried at best to sooth his nerves but couldn't. His mood now had changed to a gloomy one. a large patio area a-joined the room. But Mel must have smelled the blood of the man from India. Mel felt faint but hungry.
    ""Hey Greg, what time is dinner?'
      "Bout six thirty."
      At seven, the meals entered carried by a Mrs. Dippy. When she removed the top of the plate one small sliced pizza winked at Mel. The little pepperoni told Mel that it was all for tonight as this was upset with Bed One's secret about the dead Indian. It appeared that an intercom was inside the room, and possibly heard by the Nurses station.
   I bade Mel good-by and left for the Java restaurant. I felt mad since Mel had been doing so well but knew the House of Wax was more than I could handle in one day.
  As of today, Mel had still not been seen by an ear specialist. He has had a growth on his ear for a lon time and Nurse David told me it was cancerous I was scared that Mel had been given drugs to dull his feelings...Jacob or Mr. Sweetness quit and Mel was supposed to go to the Huntington Hospital on Tuesday, or tomorrow. 

A Drumstick for Mel

"What part of a turkey sings?"
"Hell-if-I-know."
 "The drumstick."
 Little did I know that the drumstick of a turkey would play a big part in this Thanksgiving Story of 2016.
Olivia, age six, is always provides me with riddles or jokes she had learned in Daycare. And this Thanksgiving was no exception. My son-in-law and daughter spent the early evening getting two turkeys pasted and padded down with flavoring for the our Thanksgiving meal. Derik had enough time to unload a refrigerator and place it inside my apartment before returning us to his new home in Long Beach.
  I played Simple Simon with my two granddaughters Olivia and Allison before my daughter bellowed: "Turkey Time." We sat at the table, well almost all of us except Olivia who grabbed another biscuit from the corner.
  On the kitchen counter, to my right sat several drumsticks. I knew my brother Mel would be delighted as Sea Cliff Nursing Home in Huntington Beach provides meager dinners and not much meat. Somebody told me once it was a home for midgets. I have augmented his sparse diet with burgers and items from Panda Express, a block from the Florida Street Nursing Home.
Excuse me while I dig into the turkey leg, with stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberries. Everyone dug into this turkey meal, all except Olivia who dallied and toyed with her biscuit. I had never seen her ever eat turkey meat.
  "Olivia only eats peanut butter and jelly sandwiches...I know because there are no aunts in her lunch pail." I nodded to Lauren while I ripped a wing from the turkey. I pulled and struggled but finally the wing parted company with the body.
  Then I winged it, Without teeth, I mashed and swirled the meat inside my toothless mouth. Olivia wished to get into the act so I gave part of my wing to her...And guess what? She copied me and ate her first piece of meat.
   Derik climbed  upstairs for his midlife nap, and soon to follow by his two urchins, Olivia and Allison. And by-golly, he deserved it since his craft at cooking is on par as Picasso is to art.  Lauren and I talked while she put the extras in plastic cartons and I took a second helping of pumpkin pie
   "Would you like to go home now or later?"
    The preparation for this sumptuous meal may have exhausted her She must have been exhausted from this dinner since she forgot to take her cell phone. I had placed the extras and four drumstick in the backseat. We returned to Florida Street and she waited  for me to remove my key. I placed the extras in the refrigerator and removed one drum stick for Mel.
    I walked the block up the street to the Sea Cliff Health Center. Mel half-asleep heard me enter room two. 'Did you bring it?"
    I dropped the drumstick on a mobile eating tray and he didn't need any encouragement to grab the leg. Wow...Wow...Wow. This is the best turkey I have ever eaten. Wow! In no time his two remaining front teeth sliced and cut through the veins of the turkey. Then he began to eat the bone.
    "George all they gave me were a few scraps of turkey. Make sure you bring another leg for me tomorrow. When last seen, Mel was singing, and why not. to the drum of the turkey leg.

(It appears that Mr. Sweetness may have read my blog. For the last two meals Mel ate a cup of coup and a slice of a pepper pizza. The head honcho at the Sea Cliff Health Spa threw him out of bed two in the first hallways and carried him to the hospice section in the rear of the resort.)
 

A Day Without a Mexican

This story began inside my shower at the Five Points Senior Center in Huntington Beach. Disgusted with the turn of events that placed a depot on the thrown of the White House, I thought about kicking  Humpty Dumpty from his tower of Babel.
  Deep in thought while I scrubbed my arms with Dove soap. I thought about my brother stuck at the Sea Cliff Health Center nursing home. What would happen if the Mexican didn't show up for work. Who would clean the sheets, change the diapers and feed these patrons inside this camper that makes about one hundred thousand dollars a bed a year?
  I worried about all of the Latinos who no longer could study for fear a love one would be shuttled back to good old Mexico. What would happen if they didn't show up for class? Or even better, what would happen if all Latinos did not show up for work? Humpty Dumpty is not president yet! Do we wait until he is and mobilizes the TSA, FBI and Armed Forces to do away with the Mexicans?
But  today, I am at the Milk and Honey Coffee shop on Main, two blocks from the ocean. I am tickled to death I made it to 77 years of age and can enjoy the beach air and the many dogs who walk their owners up and down the block... The other day a message came from the Huntington Beach Hospital. Let me replay my conversation with a Dr. Grey.
    "Dr. Don told me it is urgent that Mel has an operation on his ear, so urgent that I will get a bed at the hospital for the procedure."
     "Mel would rather die than have Dr. Don operate. He set up two appointments with Dr. Rosenberg. We took a shuttle for both. The first we didn't have an appointment and the second Dr. Rosenberg didn't know why we came -- I had to wheel Mel back to a bus stop in order to return to the Sea Cliff Health Center. Mel was pissed!"
      "We will call the Pacific Royal Assistant Living  to let them know we are setting up an appointment."
       "He no longer lives there. He has stayed at the Sea Cliff for almost two months now, without any action for his ear. A Nurse David told me he suffered from brain cancer -- or at least a Dr. Jennings told him so."
        "Don't know if the Sea Cliff will allow us to remove him to the hospital. Will call them."
        "Got to go now. I am frying up a   Trader Joe's paddy into a burger sandwich with mustard, onions and tomato. Mel is seeing better now since I have augmented his diet. Happy Thanksgiving."
So far nothing has been done at the nursing home. Mel was supposed to get dentures but they never returned. My job, as his brother, is to keep him alive until we can get him to Brail and fit his only eye with a special lens.
   After the rain my breathing now is unobstructed. I feel alive for the first time in quite awhile and will shorty take my walk to the end of the Huntington Beach Pier and listen to the sound of the big bands next to Ruby's while I enjoy the fisherman snatch the Mackerel from the sea...It is a beautiful day in Surf City and I will not allow it to go to waist.
       
      
   
  

Huntington Beach Thanksgiving, 2016

Rebe Berkowitz told the Warner Avenue Congregation to make good from bad. . I reserved a room at the Westminster Motel Six for last night. Crazy Helen at the Five Points Senior Center ordered me out since Cocker Roaches had been seen -- and later confirmed, in my own apartment. Of course the niggardly spent apartments never had seen a fumigator, much less a bomber. In no way would I allow the Big Roach in the office to steal another day.
   Barely able to breath when I left my apartment yesterday, I still breathed enough air to take two buses and get to the Huntington Beach Senior Center. They would have a turkey meal and the manager of the café always prepared a quality meal.
    Still barely able to breathe, I bought a fifty cent, coffee and enjoyed my time with the Swede and the ex-Flying Tiger hostess. She flew out of San Francisco during the Vietnam War. Again I thanked Andrew for the $30 gift card to be used at a Honey Baked store
     Now I have to forgive myself for taking another chip for the meal. You need a chip on the paper place mat for a meal. I placed another mat and set a seat next to me. I felt famished and needed a good meal to get through the day.
     My paper plated meal and that of Dr. No, the invisible man who sat next to me. I told the server he went to the bathroom. so with two meals staring me in the face, I began with the stuffing and then the cranberries before the fresh sliced turkey and oh yes, some sting beans. Why I even thought that this Thanksgiving meal rivaled the best of my son-in-law Derik,
      With no time to lick my shop or wipe my face, I attacked Dr. No's meal. in no time I had enough energy to play a few tunes on the piano and leave for the twelve o'clock. It took two buses with the last being the 60 to get me to the Motel Six. It sits in back of the In-'N-Out and a fifties restaurant called the Westminster.

Room 218 in the rear was not my fist choice but gave me the slumber I sorely needed. Still i was digesting the delicious turkey. At least if I died, it would be after a Thanksgiving meal. I made the mistake of clicking on the T.V. Everyone was bashing Adolf Hitler, I mean Trump.  I saw the faced of Himmler. Goering and other Nazis and decided to take a nap.
   I woke up at five o'clock, hungry again and thought I would try to 50's Westminster Restaurant -- and forgo the In-N-Out. Lines of cars waited in line as far as Willow street, but  I had given up meat and the table spoons of salt the integrate with it.
    Two people ate inside but I took a chance. It smelled fresh, unlike the last time that I ate their a year ago. I learned later that new floors and furniture no graced the establishment. I body yearned for something wild. At the fountain were the specials and in my price range.
    "I'll take the Red Snapper with the baked potato and vegies."
     "What do you wish to drink?"
      "Pepsi."  I thanked God for providing me with a roof over my head and food to boot. A tape was playing songs from the fifties and my mood cascaded from depression to exhilaration. Several more people entered as my friendly waitress brought my food.
      Now I have never seen a baked potato smile but this one did. The potato spoke. "Please drop  some of those chives and lots of butter on me. I wish to play around before I go to you stomach."
 No the savory fish got into the act. 'Me first. need some tarter sauce. I need a good bath before I leave this earth.
       With each bite, my eyes opened wider. "Can I refill your coke?" '"Much obliged...don't remember tasting such a good fish meal. Thank the cook.
       I paid fifteen dollars for the meal, and well worth it. No Thursday football for me. I went straight to bed and thanked God for precious day that began not too well. You just might say I had a lot to be thankful for.
    

Meet Billy, another Huntington Beach Senior

A tall man with an angular gate pushes his walker to our back table. His venerable features showcase a handsome smile with penetrating eyes.  His right eye is blackened. He leans over and quips, "I recognize the man over there. He points to Andrew, the Swede who sits next to me. Andy does not blink an eye. "Andy", as we affectionately call him, has given me a gift card.  "Why thank you for the gift card. Your gift overwhelms me...ah yes," My attention is now grabbed by the newcomer.
      He can barely walk and is all flesh and bones.  you are welcomed to sit here. By all means. allow me to remove your walker to the back." My eye is directed to the tall newcomer's shiner. His ghost like features make it more black.
    "May I ask your name?"
    "Name of Bill, lost my wife a few months ago, and she told me come to the Huntington Beach Senior Center."
    "Well, you come to the right place, yet you might just die of laughter...Where you from, I mean what city?"
     "Canton,  Ohio, not far from where the Wright brothers grew up. Dad opened a bread shop and prospered. I enlisted in the Vietnam War and wished to enter the battle but my general told me that they needed a bread maker more than a gunner. 'He told me that filled stomachs make better shots'"
      "After the war, I returned to Ohio and learned the bread business. Dad got tired of bread making and sold the business to another man. The new owner took the machinery and tools to the state of Pennsylvania. He never paid him for his business."
     Over a microphone John has told everyone to stand for the pledge. "George kindly remove your hat." After the pledge, we close our eyes and think holy thoughts. Naomi, a small Asian nurse reminds me to write about my brother Mel's problems with his ear and the fact that the dentist never returned with dentures or to pull a tooth.
    At the Sea Cliff Health Center on Florida, I had taken the shuttle twice to a Dr. Rosenberg's office to remove a growth on his ear. The fist time we didn't have an appointment. The second time he queried, "What is he here for?" The shuttle to take us back to the health center never arrived so I had to push Mel to the bus stop and eventually return him to bed two. He is still waiting for the dentist and his new dentures.
   Back to Naomi now. I met her at the Huntington Senior Center about two weeks ago. The retired nurse she took the 50 cents for a cup of coffee. But it must have been her heavy red  lipstick that attracted me to this very petite Asian dame -- or just maybe her infectious smile.  Naomi tells me to dig into he bag for more guavas. Of course I grew up on this fruit as my Grandfather had a guava bush in his front yard. Milk and orange juice is served. I ask Bill more about the bread shop.
      "Well, I began another bread shop with the  money my bride gave me. I had met Gloria in high School and met up with her again in church. She was in charge of the front of the store and me the back....We sold the bread out of our house, located beside the post office. During snowy seasons, I made a path from the post office to our store. We made gobs of money, so much that I even bought my Dad a home in our small town. Just about everyone could not leave the post office without licking their palates for some of my freshly baked bread!
       "My problem was Asthma. I bought a motorcycle to release me from the smell of bread and a car careened into me. My leg and hip folded up and the doctor told me that I would get arthritis.We sold the business and moved to Florida but my wife and the gators did not see eye to eye. We then moved to California and fell in love with the smell of orange blossoms."
        "Met Mr. Albertson and he allowed me to open one of his stores inside of Santa Ana on Seventeenth street. He had heard about my reputation in my Ohio town.  I opened a few more. Got to know him well. We moved to Garden Grove where our home was awarded prizes for being the best model there for eight years in that track. ....I even went back east to learn how to decorate cakes. Became quite good at it."
     The chili and vegies were served up. My attention tried to go to eating the chili and vegetables, but Billy kept talking -- guess you might think he had gathered a head of steam and could not stop the chatter. I sipped more milk from a straw and scooped up some tasty chili.
      "Nobody could decorate cakes as well as I. Ed Albertson took note and I began to teach those in the cake department my newfound craft. My wife became sick and I needed money so I took out a second mortgage. My relative kept taking money from me so eventually, the bank made me sell my Garden Grove property to some Vietnamese who gave me more than I asked. With money from the sell, I bought trailer in the Bolsa Chica area."
 The lunch now over, I decided to visit the piano room. Don was leaving folks clustered around me and wished to know how I could play without sheet music. "Well you know, if I now the melody, my fingers do the rest. I have no control of these didgets  as they have a mind of their own.
   The Senior Center reenergized my battery, and then I walked over to the library across the street, to write what you are now reading.
      
      "
     
   
   
   
 
 

Milk and Honey in Surf City

I needed a boost and the  Milk and Honey coffee shop on Main was just  the ticket. Melvyn had resided at the Cliff Side Nursing Home-a large looking one story motel in back of my apartment on Florida Street for about a month and a half.  For new comers to my blog, Mel has been my brother for about 76 years, and my Mom before she left gave me her last message.."Take care of Mel...I love you." She died that night.
    Ever since Mel arrived at the large looking motel off of Florida Street, he had complained of a back ache, ear and a head that throbbed. Nothing happened. It seemed that there had been discharge papers even sent to the Sea Cliff by the Huntington Memorial Hospital. But it was eye who had asked and received a copy from a nurse.
     The discharge paper confirmed what a Dr. Gray had told me on the phone. Mel had been treated for a an eye and bladder infection, diabetes and an infected ear. The paper stressed going to Dr. Don in two weeks for the ear growth.
      I had been feeding Mel every night and even grilling a Trader Joe's hamburger in my apartment, located a long block from his Cliff Side rooms. I needed a break and I thought about downtown Huntington Beach and its closeness to the ocean as my break for the week.
   The hitched a ride on the 29 and took it to First in Huntington Beach where a short path to the Main Street Library took me to the Milk and Honey vintage coffee shop. The shop, on the shady side of the street, shared elbow space with a jewelry store, barber shop, and two eateries. The Main Library, a historical monument now opened at nine instead of ten.
   On patio of the Milk and Honey, I had to defer my taste buds until I had picked up my check. The rest and a magazine from my buddy Andrew, founder of the A.M.E. Aero-Mechanical Engineering founded in the 1974  had provided me with a magazine about dyes and how parts are made for the aircraft industry.
   With nobody to bother me, I felt at home and no longer did I need a boost as the coffee shop's patio did it for me. A few old people with their dogs walked on the sidewalk and greeted me, until the library opened its doors at nine.
    Unlike the zoo-like setting at the Talbert Library, it was quiet, just what I needed to think and edit my football story. My mind had found a new gear and I could now edit my story and make it everlasting -- of course I had already began to rid myself of the bullshit in my life. Why even one Senior Citizen  Samaritan confessed that my piano playing reminded him of Mozart.

Two hours later, a break at  Ruby's at he end of the Huntington Beach Pier offered me a needed rest.  Outside speakers played bands of the 20's. The sun on the south side rekindled my appetite for life, while I watched a fisherman throw a mackerel to an overhead seagull overhead. Like a fighter plane, it snared its fish and sailed to the roof of the 50's decor eatery.
   A young couple danced to the sounds of the big bands and I yearned to have a lady beside me.but not today. I needed to return to my apartment and assist my brother on a shuttle for an appointment with Dr. Charles Rosenberg at the Beach Medical building beside the Huntington Beach Hospital. Mel had not been looking forward to Dr. Pain -- as he called him from his first experience with him.
  The driver Ruel, Filipino transplant here when twenty years old made sure Mel was locked inside when we arrived at the building. I  found Ste. 427 and gave the clerk Mel's papers.
   "Where is his insurance papers...I don't see his name on any appointment...The shuttle driver told her the doctors name was Newman, across the hall. Since I had already confirmed the date with the good doctor, I knew that he probably did not wish to see Mel. Mel, already stressed out in his wheel chair,  threw out a few barbs that could not published in a dictionary."
    "Do you wish to make an appointment while here?"
    I told her that it had been the social worker job and not mine. I made sure to relax and told Mel to forget this experience. Shuttle driver Ruel, imitated Frank Sinatra and sang Witchcraft only fitting for a the day after Halloween.
    Why even at another office of a dermatologist, two weeks earlier their office manager also told me he needed insurance papers. Yet they did find his appointment. Dr. Do told me it was urgent he had his eye infection attended to, at once and I took his papers to the Sea Cliff Nursing Station.
     

   
 

Huntington Beach Halloween for Donna

I still remember what my Cantor from San Diego told his members. Life is 95 percent bull shit and five percent worth living. No doubt m time spent in his Jewish Sanctuary on Bolsa Chica and Warner is a part of my five percent. Today's post is about a Halloween lunch-party at the new Senior Center in Huntington Beach. 

 A wheel-chaired lady is pushed towards a table, but nobody gives them permission to sit at their table's  Senior Center  Halloween lunch. Her daughter steers he Mom my way with one hand  on the handles and the other her smart phone. Her mother seems lost and anxious to leave.
   "You are welcomed to sit at my table."The disgruntled daughter smiles and her hand accepts the my invitation. Our table sits six and we have one empty space today. Our back table accepts those willing to partake in laughter and fun. I make them sign a paper releasing us if they die of laughter while choking on food.
  " Told  Mom  she had to get out of my house. All she does is watch game shows...my name is Debra and this is my Mom Donna."
   "My pleasure to meet you. May I help you with her chair. No I'll fold the wheel chair and place it beside her. I'll be back later, after the lunch.." "By Mom."
    Soon Andrew the Swede sits down and hands me two aviation magazines. He made  parts for a the planes during the Korean and Vietnam Wars. He began the business in 1976 when he employed thirty workers inside his Huntington Beach plant.  He is well dressed and as always wears tight upgraded blue jeans and a blue shirt. He smiles while I introduce Donna to him.
    "So Donna, what brings you here to the Senior Center?"
     "I live with my daughter now.  I used to live in Lakewood and before that Anaheim. My doctor took my driver's license from me!"
      "Why,... may I ask?"
      "I can't remember anything these days and have no patience for bingo. It and bridge bore me. Earlier I had a weight problem so my two knees needed replacement."
       Donna begins to smile. By ten o'clock the other five tables are full. Tina asks me permission for her friends to sit at the "funny table," named by Irene who is not present.  Tony  and I make the table rock and roll...And speaking of Tommy, he has just arrived and squeezes in. He had been taking a exercise class with a long stick outside.
        Tommy is tall husky. He played basketball for Loyola Marymont and  average 16 and one half points a day before he graduated and got a job for the Boy's Club of America. He also worked as an administrator for Octa, or the Orange County Transit authority
        "Let me introduce you to Donna Tommy...By the way I wondered Donna if your were a fan of walking and staying out in the sun. A girl friend of mine has severe dementia and never introduced herself to Mr. Sun."
         "I was a stay at home Mom and took care of my two daughters and two boys. One died at twenty five due to renal failure. He had complained of a foul odor from his mouth and the doctors gave him medicine that did not work. I have been fond of salsa and the only time I tried to ride a bike I fell off and never again approached those handle bars."
          "Tell me about your husband. When did he die?"
          "Fourteen years ago at 70. I am eighty years old...We had a good marriage. He did not gamble smoke or drink., but I had to do it his way, 'or else'. By that time the volunteers began to serve the pot roast with salad and potatoes. I placed her on her wheel chair and swung her around to the sounds of the computerized two piece band. The two piece band were playing Donna.  After the senior lunch, I feel invigorated and  write the above which you have read. But it was a story about a synagogue member that I wish to remember and write about it now.

Rabbi Birkowitz, of Temple Israel,reminded us that  we should honor our pledges to honor God and change some of our bad habits during this month of October...After a long morning of prayer, I looked forward to a the kiddish when a family member observes and date of death of a family member. it is called "Yahreitz"
  After the morning service, a member sometimes honors a father or mother by donating money for a lavish lunch in the dinning area. Sliced lox, herring, salads, cakes, pickles and olives and a drum full of beans are placed at the table and Rebe Birkowitz gives the blessing before the hungry mass scrambles to pick up a plate and their favorite food.
   "David, will you speak about your Dad...Please people, stop talking and take a seat." f
   The Reb continues to beg for quiet but some have already had their share of spirits to relax and savor the gamely feast on the table. David is tan, well tan, and speaks English using a Iranian accent.
     " My Dad's Dad died when he was only five years of age. He was thrown into the street and had to work and beg at an early age. The Mullahs forbade us to own stores so we carried our wares on our back in a small Iranian town. 
"My Dad, like many, bought fabric from larger store but did not pay for it. The carried the fabric by donkey from village to village. My Dad had a good friend in one of these towns, and while he was enjoying his company, a distraught Jewish merchant walked into the store. 
 'Have a problem. I sold fabric to a lady and now she wishes to return the pieces, all of them. I have already cut them up and can't take all of them without suffering a loss."
  "While speaking, a mullah gets off his donkey and listens in. The Mullah is he Moselle leader in the community and tells us that a Moslem's word is the law. He upbraids the seller and tells him to return the money to the buyer, since she is a Moslem."
    "That evening, my Dad can't sleep. the owner of the  house  has each person sleeping in a different room. In one room is the owners young daughter, the Mullah in another, and David's dad and his owner friend in one."
     "My Dad was restless that evening so for some reason he entered the girls room. The young pretty girl shouts and he scurries back to his bedroom. The owner enters and and asks him why he had entered the bedroom of his daughter. Just then, his daughter, Marian thunders into the room with the headdress of the Mullah." 
      "The Dad scampers into the room of the head of the mosque. Besides the bearded man is  his sword. He grabs it and is about to take off his head when David's Dad intercepts his hand and tells all now,  that it was him." 
       "Now Marian intercedes and tells her father it was her who had invited him to her bedchamber." 
       It was now one o'clock and had to leave before the end had been told by David. Yet I remember what this month is all about, and it is about doing things differently and taking chances.
         
     
   
   

 
 



     
   
 
 

 

The Huntington Beach Senior Center.

"Mam, you don't need makeup -- your red lips is all you need."
     The petite Asian lady sat at the table in the back next to the coffee and water. Another Islander tried to sell her some makeup and that was my cue -- and I don't mean billiards. Well I saw her again but this time the little lady with those bright red lips spoke to me.
      The piano at the Huntington Senior Center is wedged in between the activity rooms and the registration desk. I love to play the one hundred year old piano every time I enter the new building off of Talbert, just west of the Central Library. The dark Red Lips spoke to me during our lunch at new Senior Center.
       "Where did you learn to play the piano so well. You sound great."
       "Well Mrs. Red Lips, as your gift is knowing how to paint your lips, my gift is playing the white keys on the piano. I never need to think since my fingers do it all for me...and by the way, do you have any more of those guavas?"(She had passed the fruit out to all but me.)
        "Listen, just show up for Halloween on Monday, and I'l have a bag for you. My back yard tree is just loaded with the fruit, and as you probably know, it is good for your stomach."
         Red Lipstick told me that she worked as a nurse in Newport Beach and continued to make small talk with me. She looked lively and when I saw the red sport's car she drove, I wished to paint my lips a bright red too.
Besides the piano, I enjoy mixing it up with other seniors and enjoying the food. When my pockets are bare, I don't even have to pay for the food, although they suggest a three collar contribution. For those under 62, it is five dollars.
   Well today, the eighteenth of October, I felt particularly fine before our plate of meat loaf, mashed potatoes and carrots was served. The Swede had placed a dollar on the piano, as usual and some dang gal placed another bill on top of his. I had been playing songs from Oklahoma and My Fair Lady and several old denizens had sat behind me.
    When got up to leave, I took another look at the bill. Well you just wouldn't believe it but Alexander Hamilton smiled at me -- it was a wrinkled bill with a phone number written with red ink on it.
    But as I got all the attention in the piano room, the Swede got his at our table. A gal with a a lot of meat and potato on her frame came up to him and gave Andy a long warm hug. I felt cheated.
     "Mam, I need a hug today. They returned my brother Mel from emergency. He had had a tooth ache...and what is your name may I ask your name."
      "Why Mr. Blue Eyes, my knick name is Honey Bunny. She came over and gave me such a hug and I had trouble detaching from her great trunk. Now I must have made an impression on her since when I left, the married lady ran after me.
       "You forgot to say good-by. Just give me another hug and I will let you go!"
No longer depressed, I am tickled to death that I decided to go on two buses to the Senior Center, where it looks as if I have a following."
        Bonnie came after me early on and I played some songs from Phantom of the Opera.  
        
   
       
       
       
       
red lips spoke to me. 

Huntington Beach Halloween Story

Dragging their feet, that's right...those in charge of the health and sanity of my brother are taking their diddly time about it. At least he is eating better now, now that I grill his hamburgers at home, and use a Trader Joe's onion and bun it over a Trader Joe's bun.
   Why two days ago for dinner he was served a little sliced plane pizza, and of course with a little juice glass and a milk. Last night it was a few macaroni  strands and again the milk carton and the juice. Of course I had brought him his filler, the nice Trader Joe's hamburger so he would not starve to death.
   Today I feel like singing. I treated myself to a Trader Joe's 12 ounces of uncured Black Forrest Bacon, and fried a few Trader Joe eggs to keep the bacon company. You just can't beat Trader Joe's bacon. The fresh bread I bought from the Java, straight out of the oven.
   Last night's call from Connie Glickman made my day. She telephoned me to let me know that the Pico Bag Lady was now out of her house. The Bag Lady, earlier in the year, tricked her in allowing her to rent a room inside her Beverly Wood home. Unknown to Glickman, was that the bag lady had an arrest record and had been going from house to house for many years.
   "We paid her off...One thousand to leave the house. At least I can rest in peace now and allow my bruises to heal. The West L.A. police bungled the arrest early in the year when she threw me to the ground. They came but told me they needed hard evidence to arrest her."
    Now you can see why I felt so happy and ate bacon for the first time in one month. The Bag Lady of Pico went by several names, but I called her Susie the Slicer. She had cut up the couch and placed salt everywhere. She stole from the refrigerator and made Connie's life a nightmare.
But back to my brother Mel. His head still hurt and he could not move his neck without pain. I even went to the Huntington Hospital to complain to Tony, a supervisor there. His discharge papers warned that if the ear infection got to the point where he could not move his head, the alarm the doctors.And that is what I did. I do believe there must have been a cover up, since a Dr. Jennings from Happy Trails Senior Apartments should have cured Mel's ear problem moons ago. 
   Nurse David told me that his doctor informed him of the brain cancer. I will never forget what the social worker told me a week after Mel had been admitted to the health center.
   "Mel is walking now so that we will be sending him back to Henry Goodfellow and is assistant living facility now."
    "That is the trouble with all of you young kids. You move the pieces without thinking. Mel needs to verify that his ear infection is cleared to go. He still has pain in his neck."
 Just to much trouble for me lately, so I needed to change gears. On Saturday, I bused it to the air show. The Thunder Birds would do their devilish dances in the air. But for me, it was a perfect day. You could touch Catalina Island if you owned a wide view camera  The sets broke from way back and it was a thrill to watch the surfers catch the wave and zing in and out of the while water until the wave had vanished.
   No matter what the age, these lads were in tip top shape. The one in front of me did a few handstands after he had slipped on the wet suit and pranced gingerly into the white water and ducked when a wave came his way. Timing when to caress the wave was crucial. I had seen an ambulance take a swimmer away with a board to hold his neck in place. At least he could still wave his hands to signal all was well.
   The boardwalk or concrete walk was an avalanche of beach goers walling south to Beach to watch the (not finished.)

Huntington Beach -- Halloween Story

These events are true, yet the names of the facilities and people have been changed to avoid endless meetings in court appearances. I must thank Washington Irving, a dear friend of mine, for providing the way to becoming a great writer. Irving's Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and its story is still in my thoughts this while I ready myself for October the 31st and the birth of my first grand child Olivia. Oh yes, she'll turn six on this day... my treat.

The discovery of rich veins of oil were discovered in Huntington Beach at the turn of the century. Settlers poured into the city that crisscrossed two rivers:  the Santa Ana an Bolsa Chica. Bolsa Chica, or little bag, became a larger when Henry Huntington decided to build railroad track to link up the tracks to Long Beach. Black Gold or oil had been discovered when made a boom town out the city. 
   The little bag became a suitcase and even had its named changed to Huntington.  Thanks to a railroad tycoon Henry Huntington, soon tracks linked the city of Black Oil with  Long Beach. Red cars made the city available to many tourists and workers. 
   My brother Mel  began driving here in the late seventies. He would take his Saturn down south each weekend, and I never knew why he came here until I had visited him in a Assistant Living facility over nine years ago. 
   It could have been Main Street with its many bars and eateries. He worked at the Red Onion for a spell but he probably became intoxicated by the beach women and great surf. Of course forty years ago he could throw a football over sixty yards and had a golden voice that could excite the ladies. 
   He wished my Dad Harry to buy him a condo for a bit over one hundred thousand but he didn't. The money bequeathed to him, a large sum, went mainly to restaurants up and down Beach Blvd, the main artery in Huntington Beach. He became unaware that the hopping to one restaurant after another soon made him obese. His weight mushroomed to over three hundred and fifty pounds. His roll of cash lasted until about nine years ago. I had called him up at the Sahara Motel in Stanton, a little city  located  between Anaheim and Buena Park -- that was about nine years ago. 
    Due to diabetes and a bungled eye operation, he began his stay inside the Lucky Star Assistant Living Apartment about the same time. You probably never ever have heard of Midway City, but it is nothing to sneeze at or you will miss it like I did the first time.  Mel had one dead eye, and one close to death. It's vein leaked so he began shots inside the good eye about seven years ago, to prevent the from going dead.
My stay inside Surf City began over one year ago. I could be closer to one daughter and also help Barney get around driving his car. I first became acquainted with the city built over water last February. I had already saved my brother three times from  certain death, as the Lucky Star offered poor nutrition, a quick fix doctor, and as one patron said, a host of diseases.but will not bore you with the specifics. Before this immediate one, another be
   My phone rang in the early hours of a February morning. I could barely make out the broken English but after several repetitions  city about eight months ago when I visited my brother Barney in the hospital with the same name- but found no fountain anywhere.
   An earlier phone call from the Lucky Star Assistant Living told me that he had been ambulanced to the Fountain Valley Hospital. I passed Low's Hardware, American Tire on Warner Avenue before I descended on the Euclid hospital. I asked a few people its location.
   The Fountain Valley appeared to be a chain of motels, somehow hooked together. Barney, so I was told had suffered a siege of Pneumonia. . He had been staying at the Lucky Star Assistant Living Center inside Midway City for about eight years. On four occasions I had the fortune find him there close to death and made sure he received prompt attention. But a flashback to his first operation will get this new legend started.
   As usual, Huntington Beach incurred another heat wave, and me without a workable AC inside my car. I carried a large bottle of water as I entered the hospital and did the usual. A worker led me to his room. Inside the doorway was a mammoth turd inside a portable potty. The noxious aroma swept me back off of my feet. Of course nobody works on Sunday so the bowel movement probably had to wait for another day.  Immovable Mel  had a tube running up his nose and an IV inside his arm. I visited the Vietnamese speaking nursing center
  "Mel needs water and maybe a different medication!"
  I just knew that a steady diet of chicken in all flavors and forms had been the culprit. He hated the food at the this so-called assistant living center. Somehow I made it to the hospital and found a friendly bush to avail myself of my own bladder problems. Inside the hospital the receptionist could not find the name of Barney's  name in the register . Of course, like most Latin's, understanding English was a impossible. I wrote down his name and she sent me to his room.
     I had visions of my brother flying in the air holding onto a massive Norm's T-boned steak. Inside the room Mel was asleep with his purplish looking ankles peering out of the bed. His bad eye opened enough to see me.
     '"Is that you Barney? I am hungry, get me something to eat."  Down the street I removed a few dollars and bought him a burger and fries. Mel stood up in bed and smiled he cheated death again from the Lucky Star Assistant Living center.
      About a month later, I found him at what looked like a motel in Santa Ana. off of Beach Blvd. I had bought him a blueberry pie from Knott's Berry Farm and another burger. On a tread mill he was walking and smiled when he saw me and the food I had brought. He had a visitor. Sir Henry Goodfellow, the owner of the Lucky Star facility.
       Sir Henry walked as if had suffered with hemorrhoids all of his life. His sucked-in cheeks never knew what is was to smile. He appeared to be sleep walking. Each bed meant over one thousand dollars for this transplant from the Ukraine. His Dad had built an apartment and turned it into an assistant living center for his only child.  He made sure to fill each bed  so he could buy a brand new jag each year. He lived in San Clemente, no doubt in a home overlooking the best surf boarding waves in the country.
      "I have saved a bed for Mel. He will be leaving here shortly."
Two weeks later, I visited him again. He looked chipper and wished me to drive him to Norms, down the street for the usual, chicken gumbo, salad, and a T-bone with a potato and hash browns. His pants, as usual, slid down his large un-shy torso while we sauntered into Norms on Beach Blvd.
   The waitress did not need to ask Mel  his order. The Lucky Star never had steak or salad, two items that had kept him alive all of these years. But it was that chicken gumbo soup that came alive.  In fact, Barney could almost dance with his favorite soup. But it was the T-bone steak that he wished to devour, bone and all.
    I needed to cut the steak for him. Legally blind in both eyes, he could still see the second line of the Snellen eye chart. Barney  ate each bite like it would be his last. Every fiber of that steak was not safe from Barney's  palate, when he still owned enough canines to cut each piece to threads.
    Mel, or so I thought, turned into a German Shepard while he attacked the bone. Yes even the bone was not safe from Mel's prodigious appetite -- or so I thought. But the Lucky Star never served steak or even salad, keeping Barney on a low nutrition diet.  
About four weeks ago on a Sunday afternoon, I paid my five dollars to eat again with my brother Barney . The dining room area hosted about twenty tables that seated forty residents. Most used wheel chairs or walkers to enter this feeding area.
  "Is that you, George?"
  He seemed listless and could not see or cut his food. Hell I knew the problem, even if one of his table mates thought he did not care for the food. I cut his thin-sliced brisket, cut it up, and attempted to feed him.
  "c...c..c..c..c" like the car's starter that could not negotiate a turn, Barney  began to cough up the food I had shoveled inside his gullet. His head leaned to one side and his only seeing eye closed. He didn't move."
   Puss rolled down his closed left eye. He felt clammy. I knew that he hadn't been eating due to the lack of sight, and possibly his crazy roommate had provided a new disease for Mel, like the double Pneumonia he had contacted last February and almost died. The Latina manager entered the dining room.
   In hysterical English, she muttered, "What Mel not eating...Let me try to make him eat!"
    "Mam, can you phone for am ambulance....Please get an ambulance!"
    Finally she called for an ambulance. Members of the Orange County Fire Department checked his blood pressure and did not move him. The ambulance, as always, followed  few minutes later. They picked him up and asked about me. (The Fire Department bills the user over $1,500 for each pick up.)
    "I'm his brother. Can I ride along with you?"
    "Not our policy, but ...sure come along."
     "Hope the Huntington Hospital is your destination."
     "Yep, you're in luck."
    By seven that night, he finally was moved to a room and I said my good-by to Mel. The hospital was only a mile to my senior Apartment but I waited to catch the 29 bus off of Beach Blvd. A Dr. Gray called me the next day, and she spoke with patience and concern.
    "Melvyn has diabetes, a bladder infection, an eye one too, and also an infected ear."
 "Do me a favor Dr. Gray. If he goes to another rehab place, please send him closer to me than Anaheim. Two days later, I again went with an ambulance and she must have listened to my plea, as he was moved to the Happy Trails Nursing Home, a block from me.
     That first  day was on a Saturday during another Huntington Beach heat wave. The Happy Trails Nursing home did not feel happy that morn since they did not have electricity. Each room carried two beds. The linen was off the patient and all prayed for the electric to be back shortly Yet from ten until that evening, it felt hot and clammy inside.
      Well the heat wave continued, but with a restored AC system, it was OK to breath again. Mel still could not get out of bed -- and to put it bluntly he was dead weight. I fed him the mud cakes brought in from the kitchen galley down the hall.
       You probably guessed it by now. Whatever the mush happened to be, each guest in the Happy Trails Nursing home received the same food -- mush. Of course my brother was mad. Why he, like me had been weaned on meat and enormous salads by our Mom Edith.
        I told Jacob at the sign-in station and he forwarded the message to the kitchen. Mel now was more content. But he still had those mammoth headaches, and blindness. The social worker made an appointment for me to go to an eye specialist in Fountain Valley. The place was packed with the old, retched and blind, many taking advantage of free medical Obama care.
        During week two, a shuttle picked us up and  we visited a Dr. Do in a medical facility. The shuttle driver had trouble finding a parking place so he parked and I wheeled Mel into a small office room on the third floor.
         We did not have long to wait, even though the receptionist did not get the forms from the Happy Trails. A Mexican family was ahead of us. Finally I pushed Mel inside Dr. Do's room. With his only living eye, he recognized him as the one who treated him inside the Huntington Hospital.
      The Vietnamese doctor did not look a day over ninety five. Thin and severely bent over, his gait was slow as he re-examined Mel's left ear. He told me to have a see-see also
       "See that lump, it is cancer. We need to remove it and make a skin graft." He removed a bit of puss from the ear and afterwards, had a form written out for the Happy Trails Nursing Home.  "We need to set up an operation with Dr. Gray now." He seemed alarmed and nervous as he spoke about the lump in the ear drum.
       Of course  I thought about my operation way back in 2010 of August. I knew then how important it was to remove the tumor quickly- ever so quickly- or it might spread to other organs. In my case, he got it all. Even a few months back, I had another growth removed, whole in Irvine.  I knew the severity of removing  the core.
     Mel began to look more alive. I bought hamburger patties from Trader Joe's along with the usual of onion and tomato. Mel smiled with each bite. Even the galley down the hall provided him with salads and meat cakes. But a change, a big change came over my brother Mel. The headaches became like a kettle drum beating everywhere. Could it be the ear lobe cancer had spread -- too late for an operation. (Cont.on next post.)
      
    
 
  
   

A Trip to Coffee Bean off Pico

These events occurred in Los Angeles as well as Huntington Beach. Again riding the rails seemed to be the only way to car it to Los Angles without screaming obscenities. I took the 29 bus out of Huntington beach in the early morn and made it to the Metro-Link station in Buena Park.
The seven o'clock Metro Link train made two stops before its last at the Union Station. The Asians made up most of the passenger list as they are too smart to head into grid lock on our outdated freeways. In the early morning hours, the 5 freeway became a parking lot for five hours to allow the ambulances, tow trucks and investigators to do their jog. By the 405 freeway, a Torrance oil refinery blew its stack causing drivers to click on their window wipers.
    But smarty pants, me, took my $3.&50 cent train ticket and tapped it on a turnstile for a ride underground on the Purple Line train out of Union Station. I sat down with my knap sack and finished off two hard boiled before train whistled to our first stop, Civic Center....
     "Our next stop is Seventh Street.  Don't forget to bump your tap card again if transferring on the Blue or Expo line. Our next stop is Vermont. Those who wish to transfer to the Red Line can get off here on the way to the valley and Universal City.
      Western, the end of the line, was my stop. From there I counted out fifty cents in change and deposited the coins into drop box. The ride on the Blue Rapid felt great. I could get all the way to Pico's Coffee Bean on Pico by riding one bus. The bus drives south on Crenshaw and picks up workers at each stop. With each stop more and more Santa Monica College students enter with a few homeless.
       Elm streets looms up. I pull the cord and exit to the Glatt Market where I bought a large plum for one dollar and twenty a pound and three navel oranges ripe to eat at 69 cents. I knew the oranges would be sweet if there skin felt like a baby's.  .
       Up the street I found my large yellow sun hat. It belonged to my brother Mel's surrogate Mother, Connie Glickman. She smiled and stood up to greet me. We hugged and chatted for awhile. The sun felt a bit hot, but not as hot as yesterday's ninety degrees.
 "How's Mel doin George."
  "He is doin remarkably well when you consider he looked dead a couple of weeks ago. He is now eating and beginning to walk. I make sure the health center provides a lot of salad and meats for him -- unlike the poor quality of food at his assistant living center."
   "What happened. I know he had returned from a two month stay in an Santa Ana hospital and now this!"
     "It is a catch 22. He had suffered from bed bug bites earlier and all of the sheets had been removed. It seems that his psychotic roommate had returned from a hospital twice which may have contributed to his bladder infection, ear problem, and total blindness."
      "By the way, Connie, are you still on one aspirin a day -- and that's all."
       "My eye is my only problem. I can see around me but not right at me."
       "Is the Bag Lady of Pico still living with you?"
        "Got a call from a detective. He needs more evidence to remove her from the back bedroom. But no longer does she throw salt on my bed or steal my food. Apparently a detective talked to her social worker."
        "Excuse me a minute. I need to buy a Mocha. Can I get you anything?"
         She replied in the negative and I got into line for my drink. I noticed that the bag lady was working her lab top to my right. She didn't notice me but was entrenched looking down at phone numbers of future victims of her scam. Her nose was flanked by her long black hair that swept the top of her long black pants. Hence, I have called her the Black Widow.
          Afterwards we took the seven bus up the street to Westwood to see a movie about a women o a train who saw a killing. I backtracked on the bus all the way to Union Station where I took a delayed Metro back to my bus at the station.
          


       

A Tree Grows in Huntington Beach

"You don't need to go  to Brooklyn to become a Jew." 
   Two weeks ago, Rabbi Berkowitz uttered these profound words inside his synagogue on Warner Avenue in he booster shot of religion began over one year ago, October 14th,to be exact, and I feel like a mighty Jewish Oak Tree every where I go. .
   My Jewish train ride began in San Diego about five years ago when I entered a Chabad on Third and Island in San Diego. I began learning Judaic law inside this small store front that back up to a Chinese cleaners. After my move to Huntington Beach, I remembered that my San Diego Rabbi told me he had a rabbi cousin  also living in Surf City,
   Back in October of last year, I suffered a crises, so strong on the 13th of October, that my heart beat like a symphonic kettle drum. The thought of a heart attack came over me when I remembered what Rabbi Carlback had told me back in San Diego..
   "My cousin has a Chabad  in Huntington Beach. Visit the sanctuary when you move there."
Five minutes , yes five minutes inside the Air conditioned synagogue was all I needed. My heart now sang like a piccolo and I put the thirteenth of October behind me. The little old bearded Rabbi had a smile I could never forget. Not only could he look and speak like a  Jewish Rabbi, but his anecdotes about the theme or Pasha of the day put into a spell that soften each day. .
  Now that was about one year ago. I now read from the Torah and bless my seeds or children on each Saturday, It is my way t shield off the thoughts of a car stolen, and the kiddish has provided me with the nourishment needed to finish the month..
  It takes me four buses to arrive there on Warner. There is always a seat and the friendly faces of Benny, Kenny and a few others to help me forget my problems. A mixed salad, beans, horse radish , bread, chips pickles and herring, salmon make up the feast that begins at about twelve thirty. I even have forgotten about my car Dolly, stolen from my apartment building.
   There is something to be said about chasing buses to bring one closer to God but the time and wait is worth it. I can read and study waiting or taking a bus ride to and from the synagogue each Saturday. and hopefully will get a car soon.
    The Saturday services begin at nine o'clock and end with kids singing "Ankaylohano" or something like that. It is great seeing a kid of five reading from the Torah. To me it feels like a picnic in the park but instead of food, the words clean my soul with their content. A word i have  become familiar with is Yahrzeit, or the week before the birthday of one deceased. S speech is made by a family member about their loved one. For this year, I hope to speak and understand Hebrew and spread the word of Hashem to Jews throughout the world. 
    Happy Yom Kipper. Of course I have become the mighty Oak Tree whose fruit will be blessed and mightier than me. And you don't need to go to Brookly to become a Jew, it is right here is Surf City U.S.A.  
   
 

Huntington Beach Senior Center

Yesterday it was only 104 degrees. But today, the temperature will decrease to only 97, yet it is still a strain to breath. Yet I have learned to deal with global warming. Outside I wear a  mask that at least keeps out the dirt and grime from the toxic air.
   I am waiting for the number 25 bus to deliver me to the new  Huntington Beach  Senior Center. Good cold clean air is the bait as well as to meet charming old people my age. But it is at lunch when all hell breaks lose, and laughter becomes another visitor to the dinning room, and while at it, have sa three bit lunch.  My $22 monthly bus pass is well worth it.
   Yesterday the Center was host to channel three who filmed the wrong piano player. It was channel three who wished to unveil the new center to the T.V. audience. While waiting for my turkey with cranberries Tony came to my table and screamed, "The wrong guy is being filmed. He can't play a lick of piano like you."
    Yesterday's meal and lost of laughs gave me the battery charge I sorely needed. To my right was Mildred, from the bay area by way of Wisconsin and who worked for the Flying Tigers, and to my left, my cigar store Indian Andy from Sweden who build parts for the airlines.
The hellish weekend, that really began Thursday evening. At dinner time at the assistant living facility, Mel closed down. He could not stand, open his eyes and it all was in living coma. His left eye, the barely good one had closed to and I waited for the fire trucks and ambulance to be called. He had not really eaten for a few weeks so I knew something was amiss, as it always is at this assistant living center.
    But that is where the Huntington Beach Senior Center comes in handy. I have the chance to vent, play the piano, and eat with some good friends where laughter is served up free. The only restriction is that each new visitor to the back table has to sign a release stating that any stroke or heart attach is entirely their fault -- like the paper I signed when my brother Mel was admitted. A Huntington Beach doctor called me on Friday evening stating what the medial problems" Conjunctivitis, infected bladder as well as an infected ear. We had a delightful conversation.
      The next day Saturday it took a gigantic effort to move him. At least he was hungry, yet the Sea Cliff Nursing home, a block from me,  had a different item on its menu-- a blackout. Wheel chairs roamed the hallway. At eight o'clock and manger told me it would be fixed by eight.  
    In the meantime, the freezer stopped working. Mel, for lunch, was treated to pees and a biscuit. His weight had trimmed down to a bit over two hundred pounds. One wheel chair screamed for attention. Another tried to leave the facility. I could not even watch college football.
    Mel, through it all, could now see out of his conjunctivitis left eye. He could see the T.V. And slowly he began to eat again. By six o'clock the electric came on and things began to get back in order.
Monday I needed a break -- so I bussed it to the Senior Center. I arrived early and was able to get seating for the sliced turkey and vegetable lunch. Two others came late and had to watch us eat. Of of course it was bingo day -- the big day for many seniors. A time to remove the troubles for a game or two.
   So as the song says, just leave your troubles in a large brown bag and play, play, play... or at least something like that. With clean air, and friendly people, "who could want for  anything more." I enjoy scrabble day on Wednesday and of course chess on Monday.
   No matter what you like, you'll find the flavor of your choice at the new Senior Center