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
     
      
 

Main Street Huntington Beach

By God, we actually had a on shore breeze today, so I took the hint and headed to the Main Street Library. Built in 1914 it is the fist so not treated for air conditioning but treated for mold. Don't know how many dollars were spent and how many book were thrown out, but I can assure you that a good A'C system would have saved lots of money.
   My lungs actually sang today, and no need to open my throttle to breath air. I worked on a few stories written in San Diego that have a religious flavor. Hope to have them ready for the high holey days.
   Three bikes outside meant a few young street people had entered before me. Sure enough, a couple of the computers already had been taken but not number one. After one hour, I headed outside to eat my lettuce and egg sandwich. A muscle bound tattoo then sat next to me. After a few minutes muscles had fallen asleep. Of course the homeless use the library for their R and R.
   Long Beard waited patiently for a computer to become available. Muscle bound  fell into a deep sleep. The frantic librarian tried, to no avail, to awaken him. Her shouts and even a visit by another one didn't change the picture. He was dead asleep, probably a heavy night of drinking drugs.
 The super dialed 911.
   "Sir," she touched him, "We are the police, you have to leave. Sir.."
    Muscles muttered some idle word and slowly extricated himself from the computer. The police followed him outside where he put a bag inside a basket and began to walk the bike back to his hideaway going east.
     All awhile I still typed. On this day, nothing could bother me, well except my appetite. I opened up my peanut butter sandwich and endulged. After reading the L.A. Times, I headed for the beach and if lucky,  a volleyball game.
No such luck. Anyway, my was set to visit Mel. I felt happy he had been in good hands at the Huntington Memorial off of Beach. I had told his doctor that I would like any of the care-facilities to be located closer to my Florida Street abode.  The 29 bus off Pacific took me two blocks from the facility.
   Mel was dead asleep. And I mean dead! "Discharge" was posted on a wall chart along with the doctors and nurses in his care. At the nurses station, Mel's nurse was nice enough to give me a summary of his medical problems.
   "He leaves at 3 today."
   "Where is he going?"
   "Seacliff Nursing Home."
   "Hey, that is on my block."
   The movers came, but fortunately did not charge to life the $240 brother of mine. He was dead weight. I drove inside the coach and watched as the attendants pushed him to his new room. I signed the usual consent forms and trudged back to my apartment down the street -- with the knowledge he was in good hands.
    Oh yes, the paper mentioned diabetes, heart, infected ear and eye, blind and a host of other ditties, but the main thing is he had me to watch over him, as My Mom Edith requested on her death bed.

   

A Surf City Mexcan/American

Trader Joe's inside the Five Points Senior Center is where I begin and end each day.  Located on Main Street a block from Beach, in the Five  Points Shopping Plaza, the store wakes me up in the morning  with its 17 cent bananas and free coffee.  But it is the sunset of each day that I enjoy most.
   There is an endless parade of  flip-flops or flats  flats who hobble back to their black SUV's laden with  bags of wine, cheese, meats, frozen fish and veggies and just about anything you can think of. There is no football game today outside the Sushi restaurant so I settle for my lawn chair next to Trader Joe's.
   A wooden lawn chair is where I spread out and allow my feet to relax after a day of chasing buses. I am happy that Mel is inside the Huntington Beach Hospital on Beach Blvd. I am overjoyed that the Huntington Beach doctor got to the core of his problem" conjunctivitis, and a bladder infection to be exact.  
      This evening,  one of the two slanted chairs was taken, and I recognized the thin man. It was Carlos Griego, who I had met at Wal Marts when I first moved to Huntington Beach. That was when I drove my car there for a ninety cent coffee. He recognized me and allowed me to sit next to him.
    "How is it going Carlos?"
     "My buddy at the Gothard Shelter  got me $160 of food stamps. So now I have enough wine to last me to the end of the month. Found a good place to sleep, in back of the baseball field on Talbert. Only trouble I have is with the mosquitoes. The police don't bother me since I put everything in the trash and keep my little spot clean."
      "I treated myself to these strawberries. Have one?"
      "No, just eaten...tired of these young kids taking all of these drugs. They are filthy!
      "Why don't you get Social Security? You've got to be over sixty five."
       "Wished to live day by day so took some out. Now I can't get any. But my health is excellent and I don't need much to be happy, just a little wine at night. But those dam mosquitoes and lizards bug the hell out of me."
       "Can't be a pound over one hundred a five."
       "Actually one hundred and ten."
      Just then I heard the second siren of the night headed down my street while Carlos stood and left. I remained watching the Gap shoppers buy last minutes item while another skateboarder whizzed-by. It was going on seven and I decided to go to the fourth floor to play the piano.
       Music has filled my life with joy and was a good way to relax before I headed to my room to listen to the Dodger game before dozing off to sleep.


     


     
    
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A Sunday in Surf City

My San Diego Chabad rabbi a couple of years ago gave the Manchester Hyatt congregation good advice after a day of fasting, during the Day of Atonement: "Make each day as if it were the last day of your life." Ever since I have tried to remove the bullshit in my life and made my life more pleasant and meaningful, of course living according to the laws of Moses and the Ten Commandments.

Sunday morning my day began at Whole Foods in Surf City. It provided clean air,  and a place to read and enjoy the everyday frolic of shoppers filling their baskets to fill them for the week.  For me all I had was a Dollar Tree baloney sandwich and a decaf honey coffee. It felt great to remove myself from my hot moldy apartment on Main.
   I brought a book about the Flying Tigers and like these mammoths, I had a great desire to fill my mind with the excitement of these heroes during World War 2. Of course watching a football game or two didn't hurt. A stop a Starbucks and a free lucky newspaper juiced my day. At two o'clock, I felt top of the day and took a bus to my brother's assistant living facility in Midway City. The 29 A bus dropped me off on Balsa and Beach, a few blocks from my brother's eight year residence.
 I paid my usual five dollars for the first seating at four thirty and grabbed a seat and then...
   "George did you bring me tacos?"
    "Not today Dotty, but during the week I will go to Jack in the Box for them...What is the name of the picture today?"
    "Showboat."
     Everyone watched the T.V. of this Kern and Hammerstein production. Mel, as usual was upstairs, probably listening to the Dodger game on the radio. Dotty brought me an orange from the snack-bar until four o'clock signaled the first seating  Mel had already seated himself as did Mary. I sat across from Mary. A puss coated Mel's left eye and he seemed listless and leaned to one side. 
     A brisket, mashed potatoes, and asparagus were our choices for today. Mel couldn't open is eyes and puss ran out of his left one. Totally blind. I ignored his state and cut his food. I glided his hand to fresh piece and he placed it inside his gullet. He chewed and chewed without swallowing it. Then the endless coughing ensued.
     "Mel cover your mouth, I said cover your mouth!"
     "We don't wish to eat germs along with the meat!" Mary chimed in.
      He gagged on the meat but could not swallow it. His plate had not been touched. Dotty gave me  her chicken finger plate. She loathes American food but loves tacos from Jack in the Box. The Filipina lady from Manila detests American food but loves Mexican.
      Mel could not leave the table. In fact he couldn't move. Overjoyed that the illness happened while I had visited him, I told the manager not to move him and to call emergency. She did not look overjoyed and wished to try to feed him and carry him to is room. Finally she dialed 911 again.
       A fireman entered the room. I recognized Mr. Kelly from the Orange County Fire Department. Kelly looked astounded when I told him it was my brother Mel. His vital signs were within normal and I felt glad to ride in an ambulance.  
Huntington Memorial's ER room was full so Mel remained in the gurney. I signed a few forms and felt glad that I had gotten Him Medical since it is better to have two rather than one.
    "He hasn't eaten the way he should for about a month...He is depressed about his vision. He is aware that he is blind."
     "Is he paranoid.?"
      "No there is nothing wrong with him but his eyes and the snake pit he is in. Three ambulances already shuffled inmates back and forth!"
      A Persian doctor entered and he apologized for his hard-to-pronounce Persian name. I provided him with  much needed information about Mel, kissed Mel good-by and out the door I flew to catch the next bus to Main.  
The Huntington I knew would service him well. Again, I felt overjoyed to ride in an ambulance.
      
      

Surf City Senior Center

The Center has been my salvation lately. With my State Teacher's check but by by $142 each month-and to continue for the next two years until their book keeping error has been exonerated.
    The Huntington Beach Senior Center has kept me afloat during Obama Times when the middle class has joined up with the poor. Those without mean can obtain a  half-a-belly full of food at the new center in the rear of the Talbert Library on Golden West Blvd. 
    But its not the bingo, movies, chess, or fitness room that makes me return day-in-and-day-out. Its the people -- just like me,that are the star attraction. Just take today for example. 
    "Let me move over, so you can sit by your wife...I see that you wear a U.S.C. sweatshirt..did you go there" 
     "My name is Bob and that is my wife Sally ...I was on the water polo team at U.S.C. in the sixties. A friend in Connecticut got me a scholarship to U.S.C. where I majored in education. I was on the swimming and water polo team where I lettered and got my administrator credential." 
      His wife Sally smiled at him   while a chicken crab salad were served.  She was better than average height and owned a radiant smile while looking at her tallish handsome-brute of a husband. Others at the table were Mildred and Andrew. 
    We sit in the lunch room that sits thirty tables and over one hundred people for feeding. Our table is in the back -- way in the back so my words can't infect the digestion of others. Not to mince, words I wished to keep the conversation bouncing,  like a volleyball.  
    "Married Sally after my divorce in '88. She was twenty years younger." 
    "He did not ask me...He told me that I must marry him! I'm from Pittsburgh. My Grandpa worked in a mine for years but never came down with black lung disease. He enjoyed his vegetable garden and I used the raspberries he grew for my cream of wheat cereal. I was closest to my cousins and my Dad was a wheel dealer who made deals to keep us afloat." 
    "Let me talk Sally. I became an administrator in a school in the Buena Park area. We had many a dinner with Mr. Knotts of berry fame  and his wife. He was simple and meek and happy...After my divorce, I lived inside a trailer and during the L.A, Olympics, Buss allowed me to park it by the Sports Arena. He bought it from Cook, the previous owner of the Redskins." 
     By this time, Tony's son showed up and he too helped us dig up stories from the past... Why just the other day, a Colonel spoke about 220 missions flying in the Vietnam War and we re-opted to three times during the war. His wife spoke about how her father had written the license plate of Bonnie and Clyde that helped the police capture the duo. 
     Every-buddy has a story. Each thinks, like me, that ours is the best. And each comes to enjoy the mirth and family atmosphere that their home does not provide. I left the center with my buddy Billy. I met the lass at a bus stop a week earlier. We took a short cut through a hiking trail below. Since fall was sure to show its leafs sooner than later, we enjoyed our bout on the cement bench. She marveled and how great I looked. 
    Well I save up my pennies just to have a haircut from Mr. Hoeng. Every time I get my retirement check, I bus it to his shop barber shop on the north east corner of Golden West and Warner for my cut of the month. The other day I asked him why he chose to cut hair. 
      "Back inside San Diego, I played football and one day a tackle asked me to  trim his hair. Ever since that day, I have wanted to cut hair. I  get a cut from the other barbers and what I trim  I put away in savings."
      "Well Billy, my gal Gloria told me moon-ago that she judges a man by their head and shoes. Ever since that day, my head and feet have become a priority for me...She was and is the love of my life."

Today the 15th of September, Beth sat at our back table. As usual, I probed her with my scalpel -- I mean my mouth. She returned to the back table and knew that anything-goes at this back table.  
   Beth looked to be spinster with charm and a Wonder Bread body. She wore a Green Bay Packer sweat shirt which revealed a well endowed upper body.
   "So, you from Wisconsin. Probably graduated there."
    "Yes married my first husband there and began teaching school. But after my hit-and-run divorce, I moved to Marin County in the Bay area...Since my ex flew planes, I jumped at the chance of working for the "Flying Tiger Airlines" when one of my friends spoke about the San Francisco Airline."  
     "Wasn't General Chennault the one who bombed Tokyo at the beginning of World War 2, and didn't he fly off of an Aircraft carrier?"  
     "Yes, that's the one. We flew out of San Francisco during the Vietnam War with stops in Alaska, and the Philippines before landing inside Saigon."
      "I carried the supplies on board the ship but was unaware that some of the recruits would return in body bags."
       During our discussion, the breaded fish, soup and shopped fruit was served. Bertie, can you pass the salt. Thanks. Bertie had just joined the table with the Swede and the gal from Brazil.
        "Did you have other jobs Beth?"
         "Yes I continued with my teaching career. I taught ceramics and graphics on computers...But the job I loved was working for a traveling college. The college kids visited  different European countries, and thank God they needed an English translator. 
          "But of all of the countries, I enjoyed the one called the Pearl of Europe by tourists. All Czechs who visit Budapest return with the same response. 'Budapest isn't even close to the beauty of Prague.' "
       
         
     
   
     
   
 
 

A Free Ride to San Clemente.

My birthday month proved the most difficult-- what with only a budget of $100 to last until the end of August. But family matters and the fact that my retirement check had been cut about one and a half hundred made me almost buckle to my knees...
   While having a taco lunch with my friends at the Huntington Beach Senior Center, I told them I could travel to Oceanside without spending one penny. I needed to pick up my retirement check inside the Carlsbad Post Office. My rent check and other payments were duly due. 
   
Eight dollars, yes eight dollars separated me from those who bank at the Albertson's recyle center to exchange tin for food-money.  My state check waiting for me at a Carlsbad post office.  
    Back inside my Elis apartment, I heated up a baked potato and beans and threw them fully cooked inside my nap sack. I needed to pick up and get to Carlsbad where my state check awaited inside my P.O. Box. The 29 bus crossed Main Street and stopped at the bus stop. 
    Mainly Latinos took up most of the seats, some asleep, or just gazing outside. I slid my monthly pass inside a slot and took up a seat in the rear of the bus. The bus arrived at P.C.H. at about six o'clock and I got off along with three other Mexicans. 
     "Can you tell me where the #1 bus stop is?" 
      "Over there sir, where the Mexicans have stopped.", the sweat driver confessed.
     Several homeless blankets slept beside the concrete benches. The smell of tobacco and urine was prevalent, but I am immune to these smells by now. I felt happy to have worn my sweater, bought for me by my ex-girl friend Gloria. I felt the approach of Mr. Fall. 
       It felt strange to be the only white on the bus as all wore buns or black pony tails, that is except for the sleeping lady wrapped in a blanket and hood. Her left foot dangled in the aisle  In the back a few began to chatter and laugh. I have never witnessed so many happy faces going to work. Whether a maid, servant, cook, or laborer, each made the best of it and a few began to sing. 
   
We traveled south through Balboa, and at Newport Beach, took a side trip to a transit station where about fifteen climbed aboard. A little white lady, at least one hundred and twenty years old climbed, or tried to climb aboard. The driver pressed his lift button and she scrambled to a disabled seat. 
    My eyes opened wider as circled the harbor and finally got to Laguna Beach, larger than I ever thought it was. The rays from the suns shadow alerted me it was still morning. Just listening to the steady beat of Spanish as the harbor and vintage shops made this ride thrilling. 
   Nary any were depressed. They all looked forward to work and the bus stepped forward to Aliso Creek  and other smaller drinks of water. The bus left Laguna and crept on to Dana Point. It was now almost eight o'clock and I knew that my stop inside San Clemente was coming up. 
    It freeway-ed on he Five for a minute and invaded a  San Juan \Capistrano community for a mile or two before descending to San Clemente, a city built next to the ocean with a rusty hill of  houses, like inside a  stadium, enjoying the views below of blue water against a morning blue  sky. 
    " Can you tell me where the station is?" (More to come, unedited.)