Just like the Salmon that swim up the Columbia River in Washington to lay their eggs and die, I too have the same urge, but instead of laying eggs, I enjoy hitting volleyballs, but I am not quite in peak condition to try it-just yet!
With my back pack over my shoulder, I trudge down Pico blvd towards the Glatt Market. Their just-off-the-tree tangerines sell for 99 cents a pound, and the walk is worth every step. I am happy my daughter placed three hard boiled eggs and some salami inside a bag. It is a bit cold, so I snap the top button on my all-black weather Costco Jacket. Senior Pico wears a Yamalka today and the street speaks Hebrew.
I buy two and change worth of tangerines. I meet two produce workers. It is my way to practice Spanish, soon to become the number one language in the United States. One turns my way and smiles.
"How is San Diego...nice to see you amigo."
"Not too bueno. Looks like the Chargers are not going to Carson. The St. Louis Rams are coming to Inglewood. But the good news is that San Diego owners now are considering a move to Mexico City and be appreciated."
"Bueno, we mucho gusto the Chargers...Buenos Dias hombre."
Outside on Edris, the Purple Blue Rapid drops a ramp for me. I climb aboard and deposit my fifty cents. Latino fill each seat. Their day is begins by cleaning the homes of those living in West Los Angeles. A few have taken their children to help. I am the only gringo on the bus, besides the homeless one talking to himself.
I am in heaven since I can view Pico Blvd as we approach Santa Monica. There is the trolley finished now to take the weary traveler away from the streets and allow the train to deposit them to the finest beaches in the South Bay. There is Santa Monica College where I received my AA degree. Mrs. Owens, in speech class, made me fell important. Her smile and a bunch of A's on my speeches gave me hope I was good at something.
The bus drops me off on Fourth across from the Santa Monica Shopping center. It is too early to go to the food court so I trudge up Colorado to the Pier. On the corner the destitute who live under the stars are slowly unwrapping their sleeping bags and removing their signs. With luck, they will pick up a buck or two or perhps even more.
I place on my sun screen and sit on the bleachers that face the volleyball courts. The bleachers are my wind breaker as the fog begins its slow advance on the beaches. Below me, a sea of Scandinavians, Germans and other Europeans make their way down the path to the ocean. Their ghostly white skin blend in with the sand. They never heard of sun screen since it is not needed in Europe.
I remove a few tangerines and a couple of eggs. I am tired and hunger overwhelms me. I also eat my salami package and take out my book. I see Sam the one who hangs around these courts always.
"Hey Sam, here is a tangerine."
"Are you to play today?"
"No not eye, but maybe tomorrow."
"How old are you?"
"Shade under ninety."
His phone rings and I take out my book about the life of Darrow, the famous lawyer. The sun plays peek-a-boo with the fog with the fog winning the war. I remove myself and do my toilet on the pier. The new camodes are great, I make my way across Ocean and onwards to Santa Monica Blvd. On Fifth and Santa Monica the number 204 takes me across town to Roxbury and the Beverly Hills Library.
Got to go now. Need to sign off from this computer.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Thursday, January 14, 2016
The Flavor of Beverly Hills
An invasion of Asian tourists enter Starbucks on the east side of Beverly Blvd and just below Little Santa Monica. It is seven o'clock and all is well. The famed coffee shop is a few doors north of Nate N'Al's my favorite deli for Mom's chopped liver. Across the street Coffee Bean wakes up but not in any hurry. She has no need to roast coffee since nary a Patron is visible from my Starbucks street perch.
The sun comes out and her rays enter Starbucks and orders a Latte while I order a house coffee. I am happy today since a Dr. Peck yanked number 10 front tooth out after it lived with me for 76 years of candy -- mainly gums, jaw breakers, chocolates, and wax juices. But I don't give a yang since all I care about is how my writing shapes up verses Charley Dickens.
Outside is a sea of black... big and bigger cars. Everyone wears black with long coats, some navy while a few eastern tourists wear overcoats. The Blue shirts enter with heads tall and order drinks. Outside at a table a young lady scans her cell and stirs her drink with her free hand. She too wears a ring, but not the 10 Caret stone variety. My attention is grabbed by the middle finger of her left hand. Inscribed on the gold band are the letters, F,U,C, and K.
I am glad to be alive today. My eldest is having excruciating back pain due to two Kaiser Doctors who medicated her without treating the cause. And thank God that a Mrs. Cage from my Met Life Insurance found me a surgeon to extract my tooth. Two days ago, my blood pressure was 220 over 117. Now I take a bloodwith medication and antibiotics it is 130 over 70.
Yesterday I celebrated the removal of tooth number 10. I treated myself to some Nate N/ Al's Chop liver and seeded rye bread. The ten and change was worth it. I sat on a Crate and Barrel window platform and spread the chocolate on several pieces of rye. Ladies exiting to an elevator that would take them to Canon or their cars wore all types of shoes.
Beverly Hills it is all about the black shoes and with clothes to match. Why some of the shoes should have been x-rated with so many openings. Some wear eight inch heals, flaunt their stones. The classy dames looke straight ahead holding their bags. The didn't look up or down but stood erect just like their stones
I remember Beverly Drive when when I sold plastic clocks to several stores. The Bed and Bath bought and Pioneer Hardware six. of my clocks designed by my partner, Clem Hasson. I met a little man inside his luggage store that sold Spielberg about his stay in a pot factory run by Schindler. Later it became a movie. The leather-goods store was above Wilshire.
Research shows his real name was Polek Pfefferberg until he had it changed to Page. He convinced Thomas Kennedy to write a novel. The novel was called Schindler's Ark. Later, Spielberg got wind of it and made it into a Academy Awards Movie.
It took Mr. Pfefferberg over 40 years to sell his story to Kennedy who advertised it to Spielberg. He died on March of 2009...Another blog I wrote about was about Horst Cahn.
I am now inside the magnificent library...Whoops, my time is up! (not finished or edited.)
The sun comes out and her rays enter Starbucks and orders a Latte while I order a house coffee. I am happy today since a Dr. Peck yanked number 10 front tooth out after it lived with me for 76 years of candy -- mainly gums, jaw breakers, chocolates, and wax juices. But I don't give a yang since all I care about is how my writing shapes up verses Charley Dickens.
Outside is a sea of black... big and bigger cars. Everyone wears black with long coats, some navy while a few eastern tourists wear overcoats. The Blue shirts enter with heads tall and order drinks. Outside at a table a young lady scans her cell and stirs her drink with her free hand. She too wears a ring, but not the 10 Caret stone variety. My attention is grabbed by the middle finger of her left hand. Inscribed on the gold band are the letters, F,U,C, and K.
I am glad to be alive today. My eldest is having excruciating back pain due to two Kaiser Doctors who medicated her without treating the cause. And thank God that a Mrs. Cage from my Met Life Insurance found me a surgeon to extract my tooth. Two days ago, my blood pressure was 220 over 117. Now I take a bloodwith medication and antibiotics it is 130 over 70.
Yesterday I celebrated the removal of tooth number 10. I treated myself to some Nate N/ Al's Chop liver and seeded rye bread. The ten and change was worth it. I sat on a Crate and Barrel window platform and spread the chocolate on several pieces of rye. Ladies exiting to an elevator that would take them to Canon or their cars wore all types of shoes.
Beverly Hills it is all about the black shoes and with clothes to match. Why some of the shoes should have been x-rated with so many openings. Some wear eight inch heals, flaunt their stones. The classy dames looke straight ahead holding their bags. The didn't look up or down but stood erect just like their stones
I remember Beverly Drive when when I sold plastic clocks to several stores. The Bed and Bath bought and Pioneer Hardware six. of my clocks designed by my partner, Clem Hasson. I met a little man inside his luggage store that sold Spielberg about his stay in a pot factory run by Schindler. Later it became a movie. The leather-goods store was above Wilshire.
Research shows his real name was Polek Pfefferberg until he had it changed to Page. He convinced Thomas Kennedy to write a novel. The novel was called Schindler's Ark. Later, Spielberg got wind of it and made it into a Academy Awards Movie.
It took Mr. Pfefferberg over 40 years to sell his story to Kennedy who advertised it to Spielberg. He died on March of 2009...Another blog I wrote about was about Horst Cahn.
I am now inside the magnificent library...Whoops, my time is up! (not finished or edited.)
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
A New Year in Santa Monica
I go to Walmart on Beach Blvd first thing in the morning at seven. MacDonald's has leased a small corner. The coffee used to be 86 cents but now has increased to 96 cents a cup. Oh well, I said to myself, just have to suck it up.
My banking is done at Walmart. They charge a few cents to cash my check and then give me a money order for Verizon or Edison. Both utilities have a lock on Huntington Beach...and as Frank Sinatra sung, "You can't have one without the other."
I sat at a back table. The young gal without a mouth interested me. She sat by the railing with her shopping cart in front of her. Too thin to stay alive, I approached and lay a dollar on the table. I returned to my seat and began to eat my 25 cent banana. I had already had a small breakfast of eggs and herring.
My memories of 2006 were inside a booklet I had brought to copy on a new document. I was engrossed in a volleyball game I had played about ten years ago at Muscle Beach when a blond old lady, my age came my way.
"I took your example and gave the lady a dollar too. It is too bad our country is not taking care of our own. I will give a dollar from now on to those who are hanging on to life."
"May God bless you...We are all from the same apple tree and nobody is better than the next.
She smiled and gave me a peck on my cheek and left. Another man gave her some change while he petted the car on top of her top heavy shopping car. I returned to my booklet and am now inside the Surf City Library copying what I had written on January 18th of 2006. The following story was written at Ralph's on Pico when the store had a counter for patrons. I enjoyed noshing there after a day of volleyball. I did edited it a bit...can't you tell?
I had played three games today, the last a nail biter. But the third and my last game disturbed me on the sand of Muscle Beach.Many say that two man beach volleyball began at Muscle Beach, in Santa Monica California.
We led 21 to 20, and we had serve. One more point and the game would be mine to relish over a hot dog and fries next door at the Hot-Dog-and a Stick. My partner, a "ringer" wound up and banged a hook just outside the lines. Of course, when you have a point game in hand, and serve it out you don't deserve to win. Nonetheless we still were ahead.
The opposing team had the serve. We had a close rally and I heard somebody say, "Thanks." I thought the point had finished, so I stopped playing. The opposing player jumped up and hooked a winner to the corner. He had duped me. The two finally beat us beat us 23 to 21. I took the loss hard since I like to win close games.
The weather had been sunny, in the upper sixties, but turned cloudy the remainder of the day. I removed my soaked shirt and sat on the bleachers that blocked the wind but not the sun. I commiserated on the wooden bleacher seats, the insteps to the pier. The bleachers were always about five degrees warmer than the courts below.
After about one hour, I wrapped my nap sack over my shoulders and trudged up the pier to the waiting number 7 blue bus on Ocean. The blue was an adventure as I climbed aboard. Several Latinos slept in the rear of the bus. A cowboy did hot have change and needed to exchange a dollar for quarters. He wore a wide beaten-up cowboy hat along with jeans that hung half-way down his buttocks. . I must say he had wonderful Texas smile. The gals laughed and took a gander at his falling arches. A few teenagers got on board and began to cuss. I ignored them as usual. Martin Luther King Day would be tomorrow.
My breathing was labored but my body felt tired but totally relaxed. I got off at the Persian Market on Pico and bought a few tangerines. They were forty four cents a pound whereas Ralph's wished for $3.95 a pound for fruit picked too soon.
I returned to Ralph's for their fried chicken and jotted down what you are reading now.
Nuts and Bolts for Today: In life, like volleyball, you seldom get another chance -- so when the opportunity comes, take it.
My banking is done at Walmart. They charge a few cents to cash my check and then give me a money order for Verizon or Edison. Both utilities have a lock on Huntington Beach...and as Frank Sinatra sung, "You can't have one without the other."
I sat at a back table. The young gal without a mouth interested me. She sat by the railing with her shopping cart in front of her. Too thin to stay alive, I approached and lay a dollar on the table. I returned to my seat and began to eat my 25 cent banana. I had already had a small breakfast of eggs and herring.
My memories of 2006 were inside a booklet I had brought to copy on a new document. I was engrossed in a volleyball game I had played about ten years ago at Muscle Beach when a blond old lady, my age came my way.
"I took your example and gave the lady a dollar too. It is too bad our country is not taking care of our own. I will give a dollar from now on to those who are hanging on to life."
"May God bless you...We are all from the same apple tree and nobody is better than the next.
She smiled and gave me a peck on my cheek and left. Another man gave her some change while he petted the car on top of her top heavy shopping car. I returned to my booklet and am now inside the Surf City Library copying what I had written on January 18th of 2006. The following story was written at Ralph's on Pico when the store had a counter for patrons. I enjoyed noshing there after a day of volleyball. I did edited it a bit...can't you tell?
I had played three games today, the last a nail biter. But the third and my last game disturbed me on the sand of Muscle Beach.Many say that two man beach volleyball began at Muscle Beach, in Santa Monica California.
We led 21 to 20, and we had serve. One more point and the game would be mine to relish over a hot dog and fries next door at the Hot-Dog-and a Stick. My partner, a "ringer" wound up and banged a hook just outside the lines. Of course, when you have a point game in hand, and serve it out you don't deserve to win. Nonetheless we still were ahead.
The opposing team had the serve. We had a close rally and I heard somebody say, "Thanks." I thought the point had finished, so I stopped playing. The opposing player jumped up and hooked a winner to the corner. He had duped me. The two finally beat us beat us 23 to 21. I took the loss hard since I like to win close games.
The weather had been sunny, in the upper sixties, but turned cloudy the remainder of the day. I removed my soaked shirt and sat on the bleachers that blocked the wind but not the sun. I commiserated on the wooden bleacher seats, the insteps to the pier. The bleachers were always about five degrees warmer than the courts below.
After about one hour, I wrapped my nap sack over my shoulders and trudged up the pier to the waiting number 7 blue bus on Ocean. The blue was an adventure as I climbed aboard. Several Latinos slept in the rear of the bus. A cowboy did hot have change and needed to exchange a dollar for quarters. He wore a wide beaten-up cowboy hat along with jeans that hung half-way down his buttocks. . I must say he had wonderful Texas smile. The gals laughed and took a gander at his falling arches. A few teenagers got on board and began to cuss. I ignored them as usual. Martin Luther King Day would be tomorrow.
My breathing was labored but my body felt tired but totally relaxed. I got off at the Persian Market on Pico and bought a few tangerines. They were forty four cents a pound whereas Ralph's wished for $3.95 a pound for fruit picked too soon.
I returned to Ralph's for their fried chicken and jotted down what you are reading now.
Nuts and Bolts for Today: In life, like volleyball, you seldom get another chance -- so when the opportunity comes, take it.
Muscle Beach Volleyball 2006
I go to Walmart on Beach Blvd first thing in the morning at seven. MacDonald's has leased a small corner. The coffee used to be 86 cents but now has increased to 96 cents a cup. Oh well, I said to myself, just have to suck it up.
My banking is done at Walmart. They charge a few cents to cash my check and then give me a money order for Verizon or Edison. Both utilities have a lock on Huntington Beach...and as Frank Sinatra sung, "You can't have one without the other."
I sat at a back table. The young gal without a mouth interested me. She sat by the railing with her shopping cart in front of her. Too thin to stay alive, I approached and lay a dollar on the table. I returned to my seat and began to eat my 25 cent banana. I had already had a small breakfast of eggs and herring.
My memories of 2006 were inside a booklet I had brought to copy on a new document. I was engrossed in a volleyball game I had played about ten years ago at Muscle Beach when a blond old lady, my age came my way.
"I took your example and gave the lady a dollar too. It is too bad our country is not taking care of our own. I will give a dollar from now on to those who are hanging on to life."
"May God bless you...We are all from the same apple tree and nobody is better than the next.
She smiled and gave me a peck on my cheek and left. Another man gave her some change while he petted the car on top of her top heavy shopping car. I returned to my booklet and am now inside the Surf City Library copying what I had written on January 18th of 2006. The following story was written at Ralph's on Pico when the store had a counter for patrons. I enjoyed noshing there after a day of volleyball. I did edited it a bit...can't you tell?
I had played three games today. And the last was a nail-biter. But it was the last game that disturbed me-still. Muscle Beach, Santa Monica, some say the birth place of beach volleyball was the set for this memorable game.
We led 21 to 20, and we had the serve. One more point and the game would be mine to relish over a hot dog and fries next door at the Hot-Dog-and a Stick. My partner, a "ringer" wound up and banged a hook just outside the lines. Of course, when you have a point game in hand, and serve it out you don't deserve to win. Nonetheless we still were ahead.
The opposing team had the serve. We had a close rally and I heard somebody say, "Thanks." I thought the point had finished, so I just watched. The opposing player shot up and hooked a winner to the corner. They beat us 23 to 21. I took the loss hard since I like to win close games.
The weather was in the upper sixties today but cloudy the rest of the day, according to the weather channel. I removed my soaked shirt and sat on the bleachers that blocked the wind but not the sun. The wooden bleacher seats are about five degrees warmer than the courts below.
After about one hour, I wrapped my nap sack over my shoulders and trudged up the pier to the waiting number 7 blue bus on Ocean. The blue was an adventure as I climbed aboard. Several Latinos slept in the rear of the bus. A cowboy did hot have change and needed to exchange a dollar for quarters. He wore a wide beaten-up cowboy hat along with jeans that hung half-way down his buttocks. . I must say he had wonderful Texas smile. The gals laughed and took a gander at his falling arches. A few teenagers got on board and began to cuss. I ignored them as usual. Martin Luther King Day would be tomorrow.
My breathing was labored but my body felt tired but totally relaxed. I got off at the Persian Market and bought a few tangerines. They were forty four cents a pound whereas Ralph's wished for $3.95 a pound for fruit picked too soon.
I returned to Ralph's for their fried chicken and jotted down what you are reading now.
Nuts and Bolts for Today: In life, like volleyball, you seldom get another chance -- so when the opportunity comes, take it.
My banking is done at Walmart. They charge a few cents to cash my check and then give me a money order for Verizon or Edison. Both utilities have a lock on Huntington Beach...and as Frank Sinatra sung, "You can't have one without the other."
I sat at a back table. The young gal without a mouth interested me. She sat by the railing with her shopping cart in front of her. Too thin to stay alive, I approached and lay a dollar on the table. I returned to my seat and began to eat my 25 cent banana. I had already had a small breakfast of eggs and herring.
My memories of 2006 were inside a booklet I had brought to copy on a new document. I was engrossed in a volleyball game I had played about ten years ago at Muscle Beach when a blond old lady, my age came my way.
"I took your example and gave the lady a dollar too. It is too bad our country is not taking care of our own. I will give a dollar from now on to those who are hanging on to life."
"May God bless you...We are all from the same apple tree and nobody is better than the next.
She smiled and gave me a peck on my cheek and left. Another man gave her some change while he petted the car on top of her top heavy shopping car. I returned to my booklet and am now inside the Surf City Library copying what I had written on January 18th of 2006. The following story was written at Ralph's on Pico when the store had a counter for patrons. I enjoyed noshing there after a day of volleyball. I did edited it a bit...can't you tell?
I had played three games today. And the last was a nail-biter. But it was the last game that disturbed me-still. Muscle Beach, Santa Monica, some say the birth place of beach volleyball was the set for this memorable game.
We led 21 to 20, and we had the serve. One more point and the game would be mine to relish over a hot dog and fries next door at the Hot-Dog-and a Stick. My partner, a "ringer" wound up and banged a hook just outside the lines. Of course, when you have a point game in hand, and serve it out you don't deserve to win. Nonetheless we still were ahead.
The opposing team had the serve. We had a close rally and I heard somebody say, "Thanks." I thought the point had finished, so I just watched. The opposing player shot up and hooked a winner to the corner. They beat us 23 to 21. I took the loss hard since I like to win close games.
The weather was in the upper sixties today but cloudy the rest of the day, according to the weather channel. I removed my soaked shirt and sat on the bleachers that blocked the wind but not the sun. The wooden bleacher seats are about five degrees warmer than the courts below.
After about one hour, I wrapped my nap sack over my shoulders and trudged up the pier to the waiting number 7 blue bus on Ocean. The blue was an adventure as I climbed aboard. Several Latinos slept in the rear of the bus. A cowboy did hot have change and needed to exchange a dollar for quarters. He wore a wide beaten-up cowboy hat along with jeans that hung half-way down his buttocks. . I must say he had wonderful Texas smile. The gals laughed and took a gander at his falling arches. A few teenagers got on board and began to cuss. I ignored them as usual. Martin Luther King Day would be tomorrow.
My breathing was labored but my body felt tired but totally relaxed. I got off at the Persian Market and bought a few tangerines. They were forty four cents a pound whereas Ralph's wished for $3.95 a pound for fruit picked too soon.
I returned to Ralph's for their fried chicken and jotted down what you are reading now.
Nuts and Bolts for Today: In life, like volleyball, you seldom get another chance -- so when the opportunity comes, take it.
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