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
Friday, December 30, 2016
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
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)
Thursday, December 15, 2016
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 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?
Thursday, December 8, 2016
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
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.)
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
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.)
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.)
Thursday, December 1, 2016
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.
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.
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