(The names and character descriptions have been changed, to avoid litigation.)
A visit to Trader Joes begins my day. When lucky, the sun is out so that I can absorb rays of vitamin D at a table next to the health store. In the rear of Trader Joe's, I fill up a small cup of coffee with a squirt of half-n-half. And it is free! It is not always that you can get a free cup of coffee, even if tiny. And by and by, I grind all my coffee there since it is rich in taste and inexpensive.
"Morning George, How are you doing?"
"Allow me to drip a few drops into the cup and I will be able to answer you."
A large smile welcomes the day. One employee told me that they must smile and look excited or they are farmed out to Ralph's. A shot of coffee does wonders for my morale. I usually pick up a small can of tuna, two bananas and a large bottle of Trader Joe's Sparkling mineral water. Again the cashier throws a happy face my way and asks if I wish a bag.
"A small bag if you please...thank you."
"You know they are ten cents."
I sit at an outside table and enjoy the rays of Mr. Sun. There is no wind today, except the wind-bag in front of me. The heavy looking man wears a large heavy coat and lights up one. I first set eyes on him a few months ago when he left the bushes in back of the Talbert Library.
I called him the Marlboro Man since he is always filtering his smoke my way. His face and jaw resembles a prize fighter who has had one too many fights. He speaks with a Bronx accent to anyone withing an arms distance.
The parking lot is jammed with large expensive cars. Those who leave carry a Trader Joes bag. They walk to the store as if they are modeling for a men's fashion magazine. Later in the day I return to buy their New York Skirt Steak and a large quart of chocolate chip ice cream You just can't beat their meat or ice cream.
In case you haven't guessed it I am a people watcher. A couple of denizens emerge carrying several bouquets of flowers. I have seen some place them inside their own stores.
Well it is time for me to visit my brother down the street. I bring him a few Trader Joe Cutie tangerines for his desert at the Sea Cliff Health Center.
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Friday, February 24, 2017
Terror grips Huntington Beach
The following post is written in third person. For a new perspective, I wish to view George's daily life from above, like an angel so-to-speak.
George sleeps deeper now. It feels great to have a roof over his head and a stomach that no longer yearns for fuel. The night before he invited a New York Skirt Steak for dinner -- the first meat he has had in over one month.
He was able to live on two or three dollars a day, that is his newly directed State Check arrived. Why he even bought a pint of chocolate ice cream from Trader Joe's to end his night, that is after playing music from La La Land. He enjoys playing the piano on the fourth floor of the his apartment building at night, and ending the evening with a night at eating desert at Trader Joe's, across the street.
He listens to 10:70 on his cheap radio to fall asleep after watching the cars filter out of the Five Points Shopping Center. Since he is now eating solids again, his fluid intake has tripled. He fills up his quart water bottle at the library since the water in his apartment has an odor. At least he no longer has a pain in his stomach
He gets up a few times, since at ripe old age of 77, his plumbing has become rusty. The morning comes not soon enough. He looks forward to the bus rides and a day of writing and viewing the street scenes. But is bothers him that the Land of Disney has been invaded by the skateboard people. The news keeps speaking about an incident where a policeman shot a gun in the city of Donald Duck and now has been reassigned.
Since he lives on buses, he knows the populace is mainly Latino. Many have a less than less than normal regard for anything American. They are Mexicans through and through since Spanish is spoken throughout their daily lives.
Terror now grips their lives They can't stand authority, in particular the police. They never heard of Guadalupe Hidalgo, a treaty with Mexico that gave California, Texas and a few other states to the United States. Yes, for about $15,000,000 the Mexican government sold their property to the Manifest Destiny United States.
As a retired teacher, he knows that kids with terror in the minds no longer can concentrate in school. They never heard of Adolph Hitler who had his storm troopers in 1938 knock on doors in Berlin and take the men to concentration camps.
But so much for the radio. He puts on his apace heater to remove the cold and turns on one grill for his hard boiled eggs. He turns on the shower with the knowledge that he had bought a new bar of soups from the dollar store. He takes a long hot shower and uses a clean towel to wipe himself dry. He then grabs three jumbo eggs and drops them inside a pot. Trader Joe opens at eight. He toasts two sliced onion bagels and removes the now hard boiled eggs.
He can smell the package of lox he is about to buy. It feels great to afford lox. After his breakfast he walzes across the street for this purchase, and with two 19 cent bananas, returns to the apartment. He is ready to pack his lunch inside his nap sack and leave for Beach and the 29 bus.
George sleeps deeper now. It feels great to have a roof over his head and a stomach that no longer yearns for fuel. The night before he invited a New York Skirt Steak for dinner -- the first meat he has had in over one month.
He was able to live on two or three dollars a day, that is his newly directed State Check arrived. Why he even bought a pint of chocolate ice cream from Trader Joe's to end his night, that is after playing music from La La Land. He enjoys playing the piano on the fourth floor of the his apartment building at night, and ending the evening with a night at eating desert at Trader Joe's, across the street.
He listens to 10:70 on his cheap radio to fall asleep after watching the cars filter out of the Five Points Shopping Center. Since he is now eating solids again, his fluid intake has tripled. He fills up his quart water bottle at the library since the water in his apartment has an odor. At least he no longer has a pain in his stomach
He gets up a few times, since at ripe old age of 77, his plumbing has become rusty. The morning comes not soon enough. He looks forward to the bus rides and a day of writing and viewing the street scenes. But is bothers him that the Land of Disney has been invaded by the skateboard people. The news keeps speaking about an incident where a policeman shot a gun in the city of Donald Duck and now has been reassigned.
Since he lives on buses, he knows the populace is mainly Latino. Many have a less than less than normal regard for anything American. They are Mexicans through and through since Spanish is spoken throughout their daily lives.
Terror now grips their lives They can't stand authority, in particular the police. They never heard of Guadalupe Hidalgo, a treaty with Mexico that gave California, Texas and a few other states to the United States. Yes, for about $15,000,000 the Mexican government sold their property to the Manifest Destiny United States.
As a retired teacher, he knows that kids with terror in the minds no longer can concentrate in school. They never heard of Adolph Hitler who had his storm troopers in 1938 knock on doors in Berlin and take the men to concentration camps.
But so much for the radio. He puts on his apace heater to remove the cold and turns on one grill for his hard boiled eggs. He turns on the shower with the knowledge that he had bought a new bar of soups from the dollar store. He takes a long hot shower and uses a clean towel to wipe himself dry. He then grabs three jumbo eggs and drops them inside a pot. Trader Joe opens at eight. He toasts two sliced onion bagels and removes the now hard boiled eggs.
He can smell the package of lox he is about to buy. It feels great to afford lox. After his breakfast he walzes across the street for this purchase, and with two 19 cent bananas, returns to the apartment. He is ready to pack his lunch inside his nap sack and leave for Beach and the 29 bus.
Thursday, February 23, 2017
A Birthday in Huntington Beach
Sometimes when I least expect it, I get what I want. And so it was in the afternoon of the 21st of February. It had been fifteen days since I had informed the Retirement section of my lost check. With the help of Alex, I was able to register on line my new address. The state had sent two letters confirming the change.
After a nap of twenty minutes I decided to go to the mail room and open my box. I just knew nothing would greet me, but I had no choice. I walked down the hall and entered the isolation chamber. I opened the tin mail box and saw on the bottom my check. I made it! Too dead tired to jump, I smiled, and kissed myself. Good going George. A close call but its your turn to call the shots.
I returned to my apartment and opened the shower to real hot. I remained in the shower and used up the last piece of Dove soup. I still had five dollars in my anemic wallet, two that Andy the Swede and loaned me. After the hot shower, I waited the thirty minutes before walking to see my brother Mel, whose dead eye began to open up again.
Early the next morning, I ate two large hard boiled eggs and left for the bus stop. As Always, Walmart would cash my check. They open at seven. The 29 bus took me to Talbert where I walked jp the street to the east side of Walmart. Inside now, I noticed Big Mac Donald's was no more, a wall had been thrown up in front of the store. Jacob with a big smile stood in the area where exchanges, refunds, cashiers checks or checks could be cashed at the best customer service area money could buy.
I handed him my check and he returned it to me to endorse. I tapped in my social security number and removed my drivers license. He opened the register and pulled out several hundreds.He counted out the specified amount less the six dollar fee.
"Do you have an envelope? Let me have a few twenties and the rest I will place here. Thanks"
"Have a good day."
My body ached for real food, not those five a dime sandwiches. I felt like a Whole Food's breakfast that consisted of lean bacon with vegetables to spice it up. I didn't even mind the cold when the bus came a little late.
The bus dropped me off at the Bella Terra stop and I inched forward to Whole Foods. I sat my stuff down at a counter and strolled to where the breakfast waited for me.buffet waited for me. I scooped up several lean bacon parts and decided on a egg burrito also. I deserved it. It felt like a million dollar breakfast to me.
With background music, i even danced my way back to my counter stool. A spoonful of a little hot sauce gave my breakfast a bath. After I had finished the five dollar meal, I sauntered over to the produce area. $2.95 a pound for grapes were out of my ballpark but today was my birthday, and i would hit a home run with a pound of grapes I sampled a few and bought four forties worth.
I munched on a few clusters and then took my stuff to Bank of America. I needed to part company for some of these hundreds and send a few off into space. After this, I walked to the Navy Store. I desired a new identity so bought a large wool shirt with bright lined colors. I paid thirty for it and put in on. Outside, I sat in a metalic bench. The sun's rays felt so, so good. I was in a trance.
I then went to Starbucks for a few laughs. I bought a New York Times to see what that jerk Trump was up to now. I began to sing my favorite nursery rhyme: Humpty Trumpty sat in his tower,No finished.
After a nap of twenty minutes I decided to go to the mail room and open my box. I just knew nothing would greet me, but I had no choice. I walked down the hall and entered the isolation chamber. I opened the tin mail box and saw on the bottom my check. I made it! Too dead tired to jump, I smiled, and kissed myself. Good going George. A close call but its your turn to call the shots.
I returned to my apartment and opened the shower to real hot. I remained in the shower and used up the last piece of Dove soup. I still had five dollars in my anemic wallet, two that Andy the Swede and loaned me. After the hot shower, I waited the thirty minutes before walking to see my brother Mel, whose dead eye began to open up again.
Early the next morning, I ate two large hard boiled eggs and left for the bus stop. As Always, Walmart would cash my check. They open at seven. The 29 bus took me to Talbert where I walked jp the street to the east side of Walmart. Inside now, I noticed Big Mac Donald's was no more, a wall had been thrown up in front of the store. Jacob with a big smile stood in the area where exchanges, refunds, cashiers checks or checks could be cashed at the best customer service area money could buy.
I handed him my check and he returned it to me to endorse. I tapped in my social security number and removed my drivers license. He opened the register and pulled out several hundreds.He counted out the specified amount less the six dollar fee.
"Do you have an envelope? Let me have a few twenties and the rest I will place here. Thanks"
"Have a good day."
My body ached for real food, not those five a dime sandwiches. I felt like a Whole Food's breakfast that consisted of lean bacon with vegetables to spice it up. I didn't even mind the cold when the bus came a little late.
The bus dropped me off at the Bella Terra stop and I inched forward to Whole Foods. I sat my stuff down at a counter and strolled to where the breakfast waited for me.buffet waited for me. I scooped up several lean bacon parts and decided on a egg burrito also. I deserved it. It felt like a million dollar breakfast to me.
With background music, i even danced my way back to my counter stool. A spoonful of a little hot sauce gave my breakfast a bath. After I had finished the five dollar meal, I sauntered over to the produce area. $2.95 a pound for grapes were out of my ballpark but today was my birthday, and i would hit a home run with a pound of grapes I sampled a few and bought four forties worth.
I munched on a few clusters and then took my stuff to Bank of America. I needed to part company for some of these hundreds and send a few off into space. After this, I walked to the Navy Store. I desired a new identity so bought a large wool shirt with bright lined colors. I paid thirty for it and put in on. Outside, I sat in a metalic bench. The sun's rays felt so, so good. I was in a trance.
I then went to Starbucks for a few laughs. I bought a New York Times to see what that jerk Trump was up to now. I began to sing my favorite nursery rhyme: Humpty Trumpty sat in his tower,No finished.
Huntington Beach Pier March
On President's Day, I had gone to the Sea Cliff Health Center to take my brother Mel for a walk. The Center is located about two buildings south of my Five Points Apartments. And since I still waited for my State Retirement check, a free cup of coffee would sure help.
Mel resided in the hospice part of the hospital in room 125B. I was sitting up and as always seemed happy to see me. I told the nutritious that Mel would enjoy a spaghetti and meat ball meal and beets today.
She gleefully responded to my request. My brother lives for food, and the meals are inadequate to stay alive and healthy, unless and friend augments the meals or takes the occupant out. But since my own car had been stolen, we had to make do. The staff, nurses and most everyone worked hard on their jobs.
I had no idea, at twelve, what I would be doing. but is wasn't too cold and the rain had ebbed to a stop. I decided to pack an eggs sandwich inside my nap sack and get to the Huntington Beach Pier. Inside the number 29 bud was a guitar player who pitched up a duet with a flute player.
"Back at Spokane, they had a week of music and fun. I dropped down my guitar case and after the week had passed, gathered up close to eight hundred dollars in change.. Hell at one time I was good enough to pay on tour."
While another guitar entered and tried to calm his nerves, he confided that he would set out for the pier and strum a few notes for change. I got off on First and lumbered to the pier. My pocket book was almost empty so there would be no drinks for me.
Outside the pier was a KTLA truck and I saw loads of marchers on the pier. Black Lives Matter, Free choice, and a Hitler in the White House. The majority of these angry marchers were ladies whose demeanor demonstrated the our new president had made an impact his first month in office.
It felt good to be alive, even though somebody had not just shut my P.O. Box in Carlsbad, but returned all mail to sender. On that forgettable Saturday, somehow I had made it back to Huntington Beach and had a daughter pay my February rent including the $75 late payment fee.
"Dad, I don't wish you to be evicted, but pay me back before the end of the month...don't wish to be charged extra " If there is anybody who is deciding about having kids, there is the answer. One day when you grow older, you will become a child again and only too happy to have somebody steer the boat to shore.
A large group of people clustered at the end of the pier for a chance to go to Ruby's during Washington's birthday celebration. Yet I had my luncheon inside my nap sack, a lonely egg salad sandwich. Oh how I would have loved it if anybody invited this old geezer inside Ruby's. I felt starved.
I sat on a bench facing a few fisherman. i remember when somebody caught a big white here a week ago and it cut the line from the fishing pole. The 20's music relaxed my frayed nerves while i made sure to eat every morso from the sandwich
Somehow I made it another day and hoped my retirement check would come to my new mail box soon. While I walked back on the pier, I heard some good guitar music. It was my friend on the bus and judging from the greenbacks inside his guitar case, he would be eating well that night.
Mel resided in the hospice part of the hospital in room 125B. I was sitting up and as always seemed happy to see me. I told the nutritious that Mel would enjoy a spaghetti and meat ball meal and beets today.
She gleefully responded to my request. My brother lives for food, and the meals are inadequate to stay alive and healthy, unless and friend augments the meals or takes the occupant out. But since my own car had been stolen, we had to make do. The staff, nurses and most everyone worked hard on their jobs.
I had no idea, at twelve, what I would be doing. but is wasn't too cold and the rain had ebbed to a stop. I decided to pack an eggs sandwich inside my nap sack and get to the Huntington Beach Pier. Inside the number 29 bud was a guitar player who pitched up a duet with a flute player.
"Back at Spokane, they had a week of music and fun. I dropped down my guitar case and after the week had passed, gathered up close to eight hundred dollars in change.. Hell at one time I was good enough to pay on tour."
While another guitar entered and tried to calm his nerves, he confided that he would set out for the pier and strum a few notes for change. I got off on First and lumbered to the pier. My pocket book was almost empty so there would be no drinks for me.
Outside the pier was a KTLA truck and I saw loads of marchers on the pier. Black Lives Matter, Free choice, and a Hitler in the White House. The majority of these angry marchers were ladies whose demeanor demonstrated the our new president had made an impact his first month in office.
It felt good to be alive, even though somebody had not just shut my P.O. Box in Carlsbad, but returned all mail to sender. On that forgettable Saturday, somehow I had made it back to Huntington Beach and had a daughter pay my February rent including the $75 late payment fee.
"Dad, I don't wish you to be evicted, but pay me back before the end of the month...don't wish to be charged extra " If there is anybody who is deciding about having kids, there is the answer. One day when you grow older, you will become a child again and only too happy to have somebody steer the boat to shore.
A large group of people clustered at the end of the pier for a chance to go to Ruby's during Washington's birthday celebration. Yet I had my luncheon inside my nap sack, a lonely egg salad sandwich. Oh how I would have loved it if anybody invited this old geezer inside Ruby's. I felt starved.
I sat on a bench facing a few fisherman. i remember when somebody caught a big white here a week ago and it cut the line from the fishing pole. The 20's music relaxed my frayed nerves while i made sure to eat every morso from the sandwich
Somehow I made it another day and hoped my retirement check would come to my new mail box soon. While I walked back on the pier, I heard some good guitar music. It was my friend on the bus and judging from the greenbacks inside his guitar case, he would be eating well that night.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
The Sunflowers are out -- and how!
Last Saturday almost did me in. So said Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady moons ago. And so it was with me as I went from a prince to a pauper in one sunny Sunflower day. As always, I rode the number one down the coast to retrieve my state teachers check. And the ride to San Clemente costs me not a farthing.
I boarded the coastal number one bus at about seven forty. Inside slept two homeless ones wrapped in several layers of blankets. It helps to ward off the rain and wind. Blankets and supplies filled their overflowing bags -- especially the large black trash bag that contained cans and bottles. One was a five hundred pound lady whose shoes needed resoling.
To the south the sun played peekaboo with the large pines. It felt great to visit my La La Land world up the coast. Football fields of white and yellow flowers smiled my way as the bus made a left towards the Newport Transit Station and Corona Del Mar. One lady spoke to the bus driver and left the bus to buy something from a Taco truck.
In the meantime, about twenty domestics climbed aboard. I felt happy to be perched in the back of the bus and listen in to the beehive of Spanish chatter. It felt like a Mexican Fiesta on the bus and I felt at home, although I had hoped that the domestic would share some of her burrito with me.
The bus backtracked and continued south on P.C.H. The majority of riders staffed restaurants or hotels. The domestics held mirrors to their faces to make sure their makeup or eyeliners looked perfect. One plucked a few eye lashes out. The reflected sun's rays bounced off some ocean rocks just below the cliffs. An early volleyball game was in progress on the grassy knoll. The number one bus now entered the city of Dana Point.
Dana Point recognized the name of Henry Dana who wrote Two Years Before the Mast. The Ship Pilgrim sailed out of Boston and navigated around Cape Horn. the shoe of South America and continued up the coast. The ships would trade for hides, and spices before returning to Boston.
Like me, Dana needed to keep his sanity during idle times, so he kept a daily log of his experiences. A Harvard graduate, he thought a boat trip for a year or two would restore the sight of hs eyes -- and it did. He wrote about the California coastline in the early nineteenth century. (a bust of Dana can be seen at Dana Point.)
The bus made a short detour and advanced to the 405 freeway and continued its charge through the spacious homes and golf course of San Juan Capistrano. A sea of green grass and Rosemary and Daffodil flowers greeted me. We passed the D,M.V. and a Ralph's shopping area before my stop came up at Pico. Another patron got off and took his time extracting two bikes from the front rack. He also had a tool kit. (A Seven Eleven is to the side of this stop.)
It felt great to make it to the Metro Link Station and my second leg to Carlsbad. The train, if on time, would stop there and get me to Oceanside. At the corner coffee shop I warmed my palate for a one dollar and ninety cent coffee, with enough room for cream. Bikers, even older than me, stopped for a rest. Their leg muscles swelled with pride and their bodies didn't have any fat.
This time, I paid the four dollars for the trip to Oceanside. I didn't wish to be too greedy. I sat by the window and looked over the ocean. San Clemente has trucked up sand as most of theirs had eroded to the sea. An Asian took a seat opposite and in front of me. He looked me over and smiled. I took up a seat in front of him on the east side of the train.
"Name is Conrad...Make sure you when you die you cremate your remains." The little thin man repeated this several times."
"Why?"
"You body will decompose anyway and this way you can visit your love one insside a mausoleum and place a flower or gift inside the her box."
"When did your wife die?"
"Three years ago. I visit her in Westminster every day. She was Caucasian."
"What are you."
"Am Japanese. Family came to Huntington Beach in 1923. They were farmers and owned several acres here. Trucks would load the produce and take them to stores in downtown Los Angeles."
"What happened to their agriculture business?"
"We were related to a camp beside the Colorado River when the war broke out. My two older brothers did serve in Europe. My family did get their farm back after the war."
Oceanside was coming up, so I said "good-by" to my little friend and departed to the bus transit station I needed to wait about 15 minutes for the 101 Breeze bus, but knew in a matter of one hour I would have my retirement check in hand.
Now in Carlsbad, I walked across Roosevelt to my P.O. Box. I removed my key and noticed that the box was empty. I took a double-take and my body shook with pain.
I knew that my mail probably was waiting for me so I stood in line. I rather heavy set man took ages to look for my mail from 1241. Why it took him about ten minutes. He returned and handed me a envelope.
"We returned all the mail to sender."
So I knew I was in big big trouble. No longer could I think. My mind, like my body, dried up. How could I live without any money? Would I be on the street again?
My mind felt like an overheated chicken. I had to get back to Huntington Beach, and luckily this time I had about thirty dollars on me.
I took the 101 going to La Jolla and when I got off, I noticed that my bus had passed on by. I was late taking the Metro-Link bus as it left on time so I decided to take the El Camino bus or the 395. One problem, it stopped in Camp Pendleton and went no further.
It was three o'clock by then so I bought a ticket to Santa Ana. I had forgotten that the 560 bus did not run on weekends so I continued on to Fullerton.
I can't remember feeling so scared crazy. A man rushed inside and told me that a #35 bus could take me to Beach. I scampered outside and the bus driver pointed to the number 47, two streets north.
"This bus does go to Newport and P.C.H."
It was going on four forty five. I entered not knowing that the bus would take a circuitous route through Santa Ana, Anaheim, and several other cities before landing me on the P.C. H. at just passed six at night.
The #47 stopped across from a Jack-in-the-Box and I jumped out and ran across the highway for the bus stop. It was pitch black now and cold, too cold for this 77 year old to be huddled outside.
A young couple who had driven on the bus joined me. They were lucky to cuddle and ward if the bitter cold with the warmth of love. Their youthful plumbing made sure the ice cold night would not hinder their affair.
At six forty, a young man wearing only shorts and matching top entered the bus stop. I knew the bus must now be coming. It felt great to sit inside a warm bus. At Beach, I jumped out and waited for the good-old 29 to return me.
After buying two tacos for a dollar and change at a Jack in the Box I got home and collapsed.
I boarded the coastal number one bus at about seven forty. Inside slept two homeless ones wrapped in several layers of blankets. It helps to ward off the rain and wind. Blankets and supplies filled their overflowing bags -- especially the large black trash bag that contained cans and bottles. One was a five hundred pound lady whose shoes needed resoling.
To the south the sun played peekaboo with the large pines. It felt great to visit my La La Land world up the coast. Football fields of white and yellow flowers smiled my way as the bus made a left towards the Newport Transit Station and Corona Del Mar. One lady spoke to the bus driver and left the bus to buy something from a Taco truck.
In the meantime, about twenty domestics climbed aboard. I felt happy to be perched in the back of the bus and listen in to the beehive of Spanish chatter. It felt like a Mexican Fiesta on the bus and I felt at home, although I had hoped that the domestic would share some of her burrito with me.
The bus backtracked and continued south on P.C.H. The majority of riders staffed restaurants or hotels. The domestics held mirrors to their faces to make sure their makeup or eyeliners looked perfect. One plucked a few eye lashes out. The reflected sun's rays bounced off some ocean rocks just below the cliffs. An early volleyball game was in progress on the grassy knoll. The number one bus now entered the city of Dana Point.
Dana Point recognized the name of Henry Dana who wrote Two Years Before the Mast. The Ship Pilgrim sailed out of Boston and navigated around Cape Horn. the shoe of South America and continued up the coast. The ships would trade for hides, and spices before returning to Boston.
Like me, Dana needed to keep his sanity during idle times, so he kept a daily log of his experiences. A Harvard graduate, he thought a boat trip for a year or two would restore the sight of hs eyes -- and it did. He wrote about the California coastline in the early nineteenth century. (a bust of Dana can be seen at Dana Point.)
The bus made a short detour and advanced to the 405 freeway and continued its charge through the spacious homes and golf course of San Juan Capistrano. A sea of green grass and Rosemary and Daffodil flowers greeted me. We passed the D,M.V. and a Ralph's shopping area before my stop came up at Pico. Another patron got off and took his time extracting two bikes from the front rack. He also had a tool kit. (A Seven Eleven is to the side of this stop.)
It felt great to make it to the Metro Link Station and my second leg to Carlsbad. The train, if on time, would stop there and get me to Oceanside. At the corner coffee shop I warmed my palate for a one dollar and ninety cent coffee, with enough room for cream. Bikers, even older than me, stopped for a rest. Their leg muscles swelled with pride and their bodies didn't have any fat.
This time, I paid the four dollars for the trip to Oceanside. I didn't wish to be too greedy. I sat by the window and looked over the ocean. San Clemente has trucked up sand as most of theirs had eroded to the sea. An Asian took a seat opposite and in front of me. He looked me over and smiled. I took up a seat in front of him on the east side of the train.
"Name is Conrad...Make sure you when you die you cremate your remains." The little thin man repeated this several times."
"Why?"
"You body will decompose anyway and this way you can visit your love one insside a mausoleum and place a flower or gift inside the her box."
"When did your wife die?"
"Three years ago. I visit her in Westminster every day. She was Caucasian."
"What are you."
"Am Japanese. Family came to Huntington Beach in 1923. They were farmers and owned several acres here. Trucks would load the produce and take them to stores in downtown Los Angeles."
"What happened to their agriculture business?"
"We were related to a camp beside the Colorado River when the war broke out. My two older brothers did serve in Europe. My family did get their farm back after the war."
Oceanside was coming up, so I said "good-by" to my little friend and departed to the bus transit station I needed to wait about 15 minutes for the 101 Breeze bus, but knew in a matter of one hour I would have my retirement check in hand.
Now in Carlsbad, I walked across Roosevelt to my P.O. Box. I removed my key and noticed that the box was empty. I took a double-take and my body shook with pain.
I knew that my mail probably was waiting for me so I stood in line. I rather heavy set man took ages to look for my mail from 1241. Why it took him about ten minutes. He returned and handed me a envelope.
"We returned all the mail to sender."
So I knew I was in big big trouble. No longer could I think. My mind, like my body, dried up. How could I live without any money? Would I be on the street again?
My mind felt like an overheated chicken. I had to get back to Huntington Beach, and luckily this time I had about thirty dollars on me.
I took the 101 going to La Jolla and when I got off, I noticed that my bus had passed on by. I was late taking the Metro-Link bus as it left on time so I decided to take the El Camino bus or the 395. One problem, it stopped in Camp Pendleton and went no further.
It was three o'clock by then so I bought a ticket to Santa Ana. I had forgotten that the 560 bus did not run on weekends so I continued on to Fullerton.
I can't remember feeling so scared crazy. A man rushed inside and told me that a #35 bus could take me to Beach. I scampered outside and the bus driver pointed to the number 47, two streets north.
"This bus does go to Newport and P.C.H."
It was going on four forty five. I entered not knowing that the bus would take a circuitous route through Santa Ana, Anaheim, and several other cities before landing me on the P.C. H. at just passed six at night.
The #47 stopped across from a Jack-in-the-Box and I jumped out and ran across the highway for the bus stop. It was pitch black now and cold, too cold for this 77 year old to be huddled outside.
A young couple who had driven on the bus joined me. They were lucky to cuddle and ward if the bitter cold with the warmth of love. Their youthful plumbing made sure the ice cold night would not hinder their affair.
At six forty, a young man wearing only shorts and matching top entered the bus stop. I knew the bus must now be coming. It felt great to sit inside a warm bus. At Beach, I jumped out and waited for the good-old 29 to return me.
After buying two tacos for a dollar and change at a Jack in the Box I got home and collapsed.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Notes from Amby Schindler Story
As it is just a few days for the Super Bowl, It is only fitting to write more about a soon-to-be-published book about Amby Schindler. His 100 birthday is on April 21.
"During the 1937 Oregon game at the Coliseum, I was back peddling when my bottom cleat stuck-and I was hit from behind. Even though injured, Jones threw me back in the game and this time I had to be carried off the field...My best track event was the high hurdles...Received scholarships to Berkeley, Stanford, and Notre Dame...At El Camino College, I taught swimming, golf, racket ball, scuba diving, and platform diving,"
My life had been quite boring -- that is until I met my Dad's idol. My passion to become a great writer grew into one what wished to develop into a celebrated one. These interviews with Schindler over a two year period, put some mustard into my life. I looked forward to eating out with him and we developed a close relationship on the way. Along the way I fell in love with life.
"My Mom made the best apple pie in the world and she canned fruit from our fig and apricot tree in the back yard...My cousin Rod called his Ford "the whoppy' and did he make it big with the girls. At Balboa Park, my Dad worked on pouring concrete for the many buildings. Eventually he made it up to supervisor at the Park."
"My Dad told me he found each day in San Diego the same, beautiful. He fell in love with the weather. In about 1914 he opened up a bicycle shop on India Street. He also sold Studebakers and drove tourists to Arizona on a Pope Hartford touring car. He also had the first portable gas tank at the Golden State Garage."
Besides the football gridiron, the "Golden Boy" was quite good as a dancer. The weekend of his first game where 43, 000 were expected at the Coliseum for the Trojans first game of the season. A dance was held on the eve of the game at the Deauville Cub in Santa Monica. Those with tickets could dance with the regulars and enjoy the coming out party of the new sophomores. If lucky the gals could sign Schindler's dance card and wait for their turn.
"In 1944, I asked Alonzo Stagg if I could play for the College of Pacific. He agreed and I remembered that against St. Mary's Pre Flight team, I faked a lateral, hesitated and ran it in for a touchdown. I stuck out my tongue, touched my ear or some other sign for the ball to be hiked."
"I only go out with girls 15 years younger than me."
Unless Mr. Schindler has already been disposed inside a freezer, chances are that he will out live me on his way to 100 years old.
"During the 1937 Oregon game at the Coliseum, I was back peddling when my bottom cleat stuck-and I was hit from behind. Even though injured, Jones threw me back in the game and this time I had to be carried off the field...My best track event was the high hurdles...Received scholarships to Berkeley, Stanford, and Notre Dame...At El Camino College, I taught swimming, golf, racket ball, scuba diving, and platform diving,"
My life had been quite boring -- that is until I met my Dad's idol. My passion to become a great writer grew into one what wished to develop into a celebrated one. These interviews with Schindler over a two year period, put some mustard into my life. I looked forward to eating out with him and we developed a close relationship on the way. Along the way I fell in love with life.
"My Mom made the best apple pie in the world and she canned fruit from our fig and apricot tree in the back yard...My cousin Rod called his Ford "the whoppy' and did he make it big with the girls. At Balboa Park, my Dad worked on pouring concrete for the many buildings. Eventually he made it up to supervisor at the Park."
"My Dad told me he found each day in San Diego the same, beautiful. He fell in love with the weather. In about 1914 he opened up a bicycle shop on India Street. He also sold Studebakers and drove tourists to Arizona on a Pope Hartford touring car. He also had the first portable gas tank at the Golden State Garage."
Besides the football gridiron, the "Golden Boy" was quite good as a dancer. The weekend of his first game where 43, 000 were expected at the Coliseum for the Trojans first game of the season. A dance was held on the eve of the game at the Deauville Cub in Santa Monica. Those with tickets could dance with the regulars and enjoy the coming out party of the new sophomores. If lucky the gals could sign Schindler's dance card and wait for their turn.
"In 1944, I asked Alonzo Stagg if I could play for the College of Pacific. He agreed and I remembered that against St. Mary's Pre Flight team, I faked a lateral, hesitated and ran it in for a touchdown. I stuck out my tongue, touched my ear or some other sign for the ball to be hiked."
"I only go out with girls 15 years younger than me."
Unless Mr. Schindler has already been disposed inside a freezer, chances are that he will out live me on his way to 100 years old.
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