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.