There is nothing like a Mac Deluxe to wet your appetite for living. Yesterday I arose from sick bay to air out my body. The Orange County newspaper Register mentioned that allergies would be the worst in years, and particularly little spores that the lungs can't defend. George settles in at the Mac Donald's Warner Avenue Store off of Beach. And oh yes, it is seven thirty.
A sea of aged Vietnamese have homesteaded the store. He leaves his seat across from them to order. None of them ever are seen at rallies anywhere, and why not, you ask, they are lost on life itself. Their coffee cups are filled with laughter, talk and the thrill of another day inside Surf City. George hustles up to the counter.
"Notice a new sign. Do you still have the Deluxe Breakfast?"
"Sign changed recently, along with furniture. We still have it?"
George thanked Victor and plunked down my four seventy five and waited for my number to be called. Another two couples of Vietnamese entered, bowed and sat with the now group of ten. He remembered when he met a Vietnamese patient at the Sea Cliff Health Center on Florida Street. He can still hear the heated words of the eighty three year old patient in bed two, and unlike her parents she spoke and understood English.
"Am still upset that the Huntington Memorial Hospital returned him to his home after he had complained of a head ache, and more importantly, what the attending doctor told us. ' At his age what do you expect.'" George found out that at any age, each Vietnamese is a vital clog for their family.
While he delved into his muffin, and bacon bits, he noticed his friend, the Silver Fox in the corner placing more cups of half and half inside his coffee. The tall thin one owned a thinner face, with long laced snow white hair covering his head. With the closure of the other store at Wal-Mart, he had been coming here for comfort and coffee.
Out the window he recognized Old Sadie. She stood in front of a shopping cart as if she was a cigar store Indian. She sallied over to a trash receptacle and grabbed anything eatable. A Lexus pulled up after its order had been filled, and handed the sun bleached lady a dollar. Her grin revealed a set of perfectly shiny white teeth, made whiter by her sun bleached dark skin. She ran inside to order a hash brown sandwich, while the Silver Fox exited for a smoke.
George had forgotten how hungry he had been and finished off his pancakes without noticing. He left for the 29 bus gong South to the coast. He dismounted at First Street and walked down Walnut. He stopped and marveled at some of the two story homes and apartments, made taller by their 25 foot fronts. Two lots had derricks pumping oil from the ground.
He saw a yellow ribbon and a policeman . He was told a crew shooting a movie had settled inside of Oil City. What looked like a golf screen was ahead of him. Three police cars, camera people and others told him a movie was in progress He found a small staircase to view the scene for free that looked north over Main and the Baskin Robbins Ice cream store and B J's.
"Ok background...background...its a shoot!"
The movie set looked like Quincy back in the day. On Main Street were the medics, ambulance and a dead body dressed in a powder blue suit. What appeared like the main actors peered below and spoke. Each policeman or detective looked as if they had been born a Muscle Beach He envied their build.
His day was not quite over. A donut lift his newspaper on a table in front of Fred's Mexican foods. He smiled when he noted that Trump and a buddy now in Putin. A rich plutocrat was taking on Putin and had been sent to jail George watched some volleyball before wilting over to the bus stop for his ride back to Beach.
Hunger trailed him and he engaged a one dollar and change two tacos at Jack N the Box (Not edited.)
Tuesday, March 28, 2017
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
A Metro Link Beauty
I couldn't believe my good fortune. Just what I needed to energize my lungs. She wore a multicolored skirt and adorable white blouse for contrast.
I had just entered Metro-Link at the Buena Park Station and taken one of a few remaining seats on the first level of the commuter train. It felt great to leave Huntington Beach and all of the pollutants. The trains AC would provide the energy for my tuba to clean its mouthpiece. For the first time in days, I sneezed. And that is when the dark haired beauty walked towards me, yes me, and not the two business men who sat on the aisle to my right side.
I had begun to read my book about the history of Russia and got to the part of Ivan the Terrible when I looked up and saw this breath of fresh air come in my direction. I knew she would sit opposite me. Her short skirt revealed the most beautiful legs I had seen in a long long time.
Demurely she smiled and crossed her legs. She wore no nylons since her legs didn't need to be covered. A small lump over her waist told me she probably was pregnant. Again she looked me over and smiled. At the Norwalk stop, the man in the next aisle left, and I wished more room as her gorgeous legs were too much for me.
"Legs" looked up and I waved my hand to indicate if she wished to take the empty space. She did and I could breath again. I continued to read my book about Ivan the Terrible and his battles with Alexander of Poland. I had become enmeshed in the history of Russia for weeks.
The Metro pulled into Union Station at about nine thirty. I allowed the city workers to get off first and followed. I walked to the lobby and downstairs to the underground. i taped my three dollar metro ticket and boarded the purple line train for the Seventh Street Station.
Exhilarating I felt after the escalator took me to street level. The soft breezes from the Pacific Ocean was just the tonic I needed. I wished to get to Starbucks before heading towards the library. I felt too worn out to proceed to U.S.C. today and drum up support for my finished Schindler story.
"Can you tell me where Figueroa is please..I know that Starbucks is on that street."
"Make two lefts and you will hit the coffee shop sir,"answered the Champion Security guard.
Beside Morton's Steak House and a tall Korean Bank structure going up, I knew this was the Starbucks I wrote about over a year ago at Christmas time.
The business people wore tailor made suits with shoes to match. Every fiber on their head was placed to perfection. A legless wheel chair greeted me inside while I ordered a little coffee. With little room inside I took up a seat beside a round white table. Across from me was a Brinks truck and a brick Bank of America. I was mesmerized by the city scene and knew that the thrill of downtown had been missing from my life.
White socks kept circling me. "Not today but next time will buy you a coffee
I then walked north and then east to the downtown Central Library. I needed to cross the street as more work was being done underground. Inside the library I checked out a microfilm for October of 1937 on the Herald Examiner Even though tired, I engaged the football world of Schindler until my stomach told me it was time for Panda.
Panda Express downstairs had a long long line but the wait was worth it. I ordered the white rice with two entrees and my body woke up. Highly seasoned, I coughed so much I thought emergency might soon arrive. It felt thrilling to note that the Micro Machine had been updated and carefully supervised, unlike the broken one inside the Huntington Library. I could send pictures now to my e mail.
I retraced my steps to the Seventh Street Station and bumped up my tap card for the ride on the Blue Line Train. Two policeman came on board at Firestone and asked for tickets. Most did not have any and were told to get off at the next station to put money on their tap card
After three more buses, I landed back in Huntington Beach, thoroughly invigorated.
I had just entered Metro-Link at the Buena Park Station and taken one of a few remaining seats on the first level of the commuter train. It felt great to leave Huntington Beach and all of the pollutants. The trains AC would provide the energy for my tuba to clean its mouthpiece. For the first time in days, I sneezed. And that is when the dark haired beauty walked towards me, yes me, and not the two business men who sat on the aisle to my right side.
I had begun to read my book about the history of Russia and got to the part of Ivan the Terrible when I looked up and saw this breath of fresh air come in my direction. I knew she would sit opposite me. Her short skirt revealed the most beautiful legs I had seen in a long long time.
Demurely she smiled and crossed her legs. She wore no nylons since her legs didn't need to be covered. A small lump over her waist told me she probably was pregnant. Again she looked me over and smiled. At the Norwalk stop, the man in the next aisle left, and I wished more room as her gorgeous legs were too much for me.
"Legs" looked up and I waved my hand to indicate if she wished to take the empty space. She did and I could breath again. I continued to read my book about Ivan the Terrible and his battles with Alexander of Poland. I had become enmeshed in the history of Russia for weeks.
The Metro pulled into Union Station at about nine thirty. I allowed the city workers to get off first and followed. I walked to the lobby and downstairs to the underground. i taped my three dollar metro ticket and boarded the purple line train for the Seventh Street Station.
Exhilarating I felt after the escalator took me to street level. The soft breezes from the Pacific Ocean was just the tonic I needed. I wished to get to Starbucks before heading towards the library. I felt too worn out to proceed to U.S.C. today and drum up support for my finished Schindler story.
"Can you tell me where Figueroa is please..I know that Starbucks is on that street."
"Make two lefts and you will hit the coffee shop sir,"answered the Champion Security guard.
Beside Morton's Steak House and a tall Korean Bank structure going up, I knew this was the Starbucks I wrote about over a year ago at Christmas time.
The business people wore tailor made suits with shoes to match. Every fiber on their head was placed to perfection. A legless wheel chair greeted me inside while I ordered a little coffee. With little room inside I took up a seat beside a round white table. Across from me was a Brinks truck and a brick Bank of America. I was mesmerized by the city scene and knew that the thrill of downtown had been missing from my life.
White socks kept circling me. "Not today but next time will buy you a coffee
I then walked north and then east to the downtown Central Library. I needed to cross the street as more work was being done underground. Inside the library I checked out a microfilm for October of 1937 on the Herald Examiner Even though tired, I engaged the football world of Schindler until my stomach told me it was time for Panda.
Panda Express downstairs had a long long line but the wait was worth it. I ordered the white rice with two entrees and my body woke up. Highly seasoned, I coughed so much I thought emergency might soon arrive. It felt thrilling to note that the Micro Machine had been updated and carefully supervised, unlike the broken one inside the Huntington Library. I could send pictures now to my e mail.
I retraced my steps to the Seventh Street Station and bumped up my tap card for the ride on the Blue Line Train. Two policeman came on board at Firestone and asked for tickets. Most did not have any and were told to get off at the next station to put money on their tap card
After three more buses, I landed back in Huntington Beach, thoroughly invigorated.
Friday, March 17, 2017
Another day in Surf City
Slowly, ever so slowly George is removing anything that does not help him grow into the next Charles Dickens or perhaps even better. Yet while I divorced mine, he kept his wife busy producing babies. He also had the fortune to stay with an Uncle with a large library in old London Town.
His first meal changed. He had overslept and did not even see his brother Mel last night. Too many buses and the misfortune of not finding a new pair of shoes at Costco after a thrilling day of writing at the Main Street Library.
The evening before he bought a ten dollar package of lox at Trader Joe's. Something about the wild fish that helped his chronic asthma. Along with a Trader Joe onion bagel and Von's tomato he made a sandwich that tasted just divine...Still in a slumber after removing the vestiges of his asthma attack and sensitive bronchial tubes, he read and took the staircase upstairs to play La La Land on the piano to ready him for the day.
Too exhausted with bad allergies, he decided to replicate the last few days and visit the downtown old Main Street Library where only a few other lost souls play the outdated computers. As already stated, the large regular library is like a circus, and to compound matters, the microfilm machine is still on the blink.
He left the apartment at about nine thirty to get to the bus stop off of Beach Blvd. He arrived when he saw the bus coming his way towards the his stop. He poured out the remains of coffee from his cup and climbed aboard, sliding his ticket through a sensor. It felt good that the monthly pass cost only $22 and change, and he did not need to watch out for anybody to shoot him from another car.
He saw three others on the bus that went south towards the beach. He was not alone since three others sat in the back. One was a domestic probably worked at hotels or restaurants. Yes they were Mexicans, about one foot smaller then me. Their English was limited but hot their energy for work.
At about Atlantic, the Bush Man stumbled aboard. He wore a wild red beard and carried chains everywhere He must have had a fascination for iron. He seemed robust and healthy and carried three bags, one an antique Trader Joe's one caked in mud.
Most folks would find this part of the day boring, but not George. Everything he sees and smells becomes part of his encyclopedia for events. Why yesterday he saw a bald headed white man asleep in back of a bus stop on the other side of the In-in-out burger place. Quite a few homeless sleep during the day for lack of food,
The first time he saw Mr. Clean was inside the hamburger joint. He had returned with his $3.22 double double and sat down and made the error of looking down. Staring back at him were two dirty long feet with toes that dangled every which way.
To his left he saw the owner of these tall appendages. His large round face and snoopy nose could have made a comic strip. He had grabbed his feast with two hands and in two bites had eaten the double double. I dare say he perhaps could have swallowed ten more whole.
Yes George felt glad that he had a roof over his head and his number one daughter had bailed him out. There was a time he could have been called Mr. Clean. Why even his number one daughter told him to clean up his act. He still felt cheated that he could find a new pair of shoes in his price range at Costco since the pair he wears smells.
The one thing on his mind now is Brother Mel, who has resided inside a nursing home for...well going on six months now. An eye doctor visited him yesterday but I admonished him for not finding out his name and when he would return.
Tips from Gorgeous George: It is not good enough to put o shoes without a double knot tie. Life is slippery enough without falling on laces.
His first meal changed. He had overslept and did not even see his brother Mel last night. Too many buses and the misfortune of not finding a new pair of shoes at Costco after a thrilling day of writing at the Main Street Library.
The evening before he bought a ten dollar package of lox at Trader Joe's. Something about the wild fish that helped his chronic asthma. Along with a Trader Joe onion bagel and Von's tomato he made a sandwich that tasted just divine...Still in a slumber after removing the vestiges of his asthma attack and sensitive bronchial tubes, he read and took the staircase upstairs to play La La Land on the piano to ready him for the day.
Too exhausted with bad allergies, he decided to replicate the last few days and visit the downtown old Main Street Library where only a few other lost souls play the outdated computers. As already stated, the large regular library is like a circus, and to compound matters, the microfilm machine is still on the blink.
He left the apartment at about nine thirty to get to the bus stop off of Beach Blvd. He arrived when he saw the bus coming his way towards the his stop. He poured out the remains of coffee from his cup and climbed aboard, sliding his ticket through a sensor. It felt good that the monthly pass cost only $22 and change, and he did not need to watch out for anybody to shoot him from another car.
He saw three others on the bus that went south towards the beach. He was not alone since three others sat in the back. One was a domestic probably worked at hotels or restaurants. Yes they were Mexicans, about one foot smaller then me. Their English was limited but hot their energy for work.
At about Atlantic, the Bush Man stumbled aboard. He wore a wild red beard and carried chains everywhere He must have had a fascination for iron. He seemed robust and healthy and carried three bags, one an antique Trader Joe's one caked in mud.
Most folks would find this part of the day boring, but not George. Everything he sees and smells becomes part of his encyclopedia for events. Why yesterday he saw a bald headed white man asleep in back of a bus stop on the other side of the In-in-out burger place. Quite a few homeless sleep during the day for lack of food,
The first time he saw Mr. Clean was inside the hamburger joint. He had returned with his $3.22 double double and sat down and made the error of looking down. Staring back at him were two dirty long feet with toes that dangled every which way.
To his left he saw the owner of these tall appendages. His large round face and snoopy nose could have made a comic strip. He had grabbed his feast with two hands and in two bites had eaten the double double. I dare say he perhaps could have swallowed ten more whole.
Yes George felt glad that he had a roof over his head and his number one daughter had bailed him out. There was a time he could have been called Mr. Clean. Why even his number one daughter told him to clean up his act. He still felt cheated that he could find a new pair of shoes in his price range at Costco since the pair he wears smells.
The one thing on his mind now is Brother Mel, who has resided inside a nursing home for...well going on six months now. An eye doctor visited him yesterday but I admonished him for not finding out his name and when he would return.
Tips from Gorgeous George: It is not good enough to put o shoes without a double knot tie. Life is slippery enough without falling on laces.
Thursday, March 16, 2017
A Clear Day in Huntington Beach
George knows a good thing when he finds it. And so it was yesterday when he forsook the Senior Center for downtown Huntington Beach and sat in front of the Java coffee and donut shop on the east corner of Main Street, U.S.A.
Inside a small bag inside his knap sack were three large eggs and two onion bagels bought from Trader Joe's. A stuffed belly from the two tuna sandwiches told him to wait till later to have breakfast. Like yesterday, he took the 29 Beach bus and departed on First Street. He walked along Olive and again saw the tubes removing the oil from a lot. The oil drums had to be removed before another apartment could move in.
He walked west and passed Second and Third Street before making a left on Main Street. The same group of old farts my age or older sat reminiscing. But not for him. He enjoys himself and speaking to his own thoughts. He did relish the men and ladies jogging in their black wet suits towards the ocean. No matter the age, they are in great shape
Surf boards of every size sat in front of him for rent. One board spoke to George . "I am lonely, rent me and I will show you how to surf a wave."
"Not today. But my buddy who will be one hundred made you guys out of redwood and balsa moons ago."
"Yes, but now we are made of fiberglass and can live forever. You are still invited to join us on the west side of the pier."
He walked inside the Java Coffee Shop where a young girl whipped up a brew for another. He ordered a small coffee for the right to sit on their table. The old farts to his right laughed and carrying on so, but not me. I broke open the shell of one of my eggs and indulged. I slid one bagel over some butter and creamed it.
A foggy wave came in for only a few minutes but then the sun came out again. Yes it was a gorgeous day, if only I had gone to the bathroom earlier. The coffee shop had no bathrooms so I had to make the best of it.
While he munched on an egg, he recalled yesterday when I had visited Kaiser to order some bullets or amoxicillin just in case my rescue inhaler did not do the job. All the doctors at Kaiser are Vietnamese so he has to repeat himself. .
My blood pressure standing up was 120 over 70 which to me meant that all of that walking was so good. While I awaited for my prescription, I met a Rabbi out of Long Beach. He invited me to his synagogue on Atlantic
Well here I am again at the Main Street Library, still without any AC. But it felt good to leave the senior center for one more natural, Main Street U.S.A.
Inside a small bag inside his knap sack were three large eggs and two onion bagels bought from Trader Joe's. A stuffed belly from the two tuna sandwiches told him to wait till later to have breakfast. Like yesterday, he took the 29 Beach bus and departed on First Street. He walked along Olive and again saw the tubes removing the oil from a lot. The oil drums had to be removed before another apartment could move in.
He walked west and passed Second and Third Street before making a left on Main Street. The same group of old farts my age or older sat reminiscing. But not for him. He enjoys himself and speaking to his own thoughts. He did relish the men and ladies jogging in their black wet suits towards the ocean. No matter the age, they are in great shape
Surf boards of every size sat in front of him for rent. One board spoke to George . "I am lonely, rent me and I will show you how to surf a wave."
"Not today. But my buddy who will be one hundred made you guys out of redwood and balsa moons ago."
"Yes, but now we are made of fiberglass and can live forever. You are still invited to join us on the west side of the pier."
He walked inside the Java Coffee Shop where a young girl whipped up a brew for another. He ordered a small coffee for the right to sit on their table. The old farts to his right laughed and carrying on so, but not me. I broke open the shell of one of my eggs and indulged. I slid one bagel over some butter and creamed it.
A foggy wave came in for only a few minutes but then the sun came out again. Yes it was a gorgeous day, if only I had gone to the bathroom earlier. The coffee shop had no bathrooms so I had to make the best of it.
While he munched on an egg, he recalled yesterday when I had visited Kaiser to order some bullets or amoxicillin just in case my rescue inhaler did not do the job. All the doctors at Kaiser are Vietnamese so he has to repeat himself. .
My blood pressure standing up was 120 over 70 which to me meant that all of that walking was so good. While I awaited for my prescription, I met a Rabbi out of Long Beach. He invited me to his synagogue on Atlantic
Well here I am again at the Main Street Library, still without any AC. But it felt good to leave the senior center for one more natural, Main Street U.S.A.
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
Surf City Donut
George knew his time inside Surf City, California would soon come to and end -- or it just might mean his! The pollen count would be the highest in decades -- and he with asthma. His mind kept saying, "Go to Santa Monica, where the westerly winds blow out the muck and pollen." He discovered lately that one must go south to hit the Huntington Beach beaches, so that the winds that blow west stay at the beach
He knew the pollen count would be high, ever since he had taken the Metro-Link to Oceanside on over a month ago to pick up a check. He had witnessed flowers blooming for the first time in years. The bees would be out in full force looking for the flowers with the best pollen scent.
After a Trader Joe's breakfast of lox, bagels and hard boiled eggs, he left mold infested apartment and took the bus to Main Street, U.S.A. It was going on seven and the bus driver somehow could make him out of the foggy morning. The inversion layer had been a beach guest now for over one week. He sat in front of the Java bagel and donut shop. Across the street was Jack's, with their surfboard logo and lots of beach wear to go with it.
He had his first donut in years two nights ago, and watching a man dunk a donut into his coffee made him yearn for another round. He left the round metallic table and entered a newborn beach store that served breakfast.
"Ah...could I have the one with chocolate over it?"
"Do you mean this one?" She placed her plastic gloved hand inside a display of sugar treats.
"No...there...the large glazed one. Yes, Yes."
"Would you like coffee to go with it."
"Brought my own, but thanks for asking."
Outside now, the fog began to lift...and his lungs opened up. The salty sea felt good inside his oxygen tank. He took his first of six bites of the chocolate covered treat. A few leashed dogs took interest in his desert but were pulled away by their owners. Yes the fog had lifted and so too his spirits. It was eight thirty and the Main Street Library would open at nine. A lady at another table came over. She smiled.
"Remember me from the Senior Center...and the Dollar Store. Name is Mable."
"Sure do, can't forget your smile. But you can keep the candy bar...Try not to go to the Center for more than once a week. I feel old there. Other day had a burrito at Sanchez. Wow, did they have a long line.
She left and George thought about how he had kept Mel alive for now going on Five months at the sea cliff. Mel had told him that an eye doctor had screened him for glasses, but I had warned him about getting his name. My experience is that doctors seldom follow through.
But seeing Mel every evening had taken its toll. The death bell would sound for him if he kept it up. Now he had to go to U.S.C. and buy a shirt and publicize his book. Schindler was still alive and next month on the 21st of April would celebrate his Centennial birthday.
George just knew he had to stay alive until the book was published. He also knew it was so good that it would be picked up at every library in the U.S.A. Shell, Smith, Mena, Robertson had died heading to one hundred.
He also knew that if he died, fans would forget the Howard Jones class of the late 30's when the Trojans became ranked number one and Schindler had decimated the Tennessee Volunteers on New Years Day of 1940.
You can be sure that Schindler had stayed alive to witness the event of the book signing.
He knew the pollen count would be high, ever since he had taken the Metro-Link to Oceanside on over a month ago to pick up a check. He had witnessed flowers blooming for the first time in years. The bees would be out in full force looking for the flowers with the best pollen scent.
After a Trader Joe's breakfast of lox, bagels and hard boiled eggs, he left mold infested apartment and took the bus to Main Street, U.S.A. It was going on seven and the bus driver somehow could make him out of the foggy morning. The inversion layer had been a beach guest now for over one week. He sat in front of the Java bagel and donut shop. Across the street was Jack's, with their surfboard logo and lots of beach wear to go with it.
He had his first donut in years two nights ago, and watching a man dunk a donut into his coffee made him yearn for another round. He left the round metallic table and entered a newborn beach store that served breakfast.
"Ah...could I have the one with chocolate over it?"
"Do you mean this one?" She placed her plastic gloved hand inside a display of sugar treats.
"No...there...the large glazed one. Yes, Yes."
"Would you like coffee to go with it."
"Brought my own, but thanks for asking."
Outside now, the fog began to lift...and his lungs opened up. The salty sea felt good inside his oxygen tank. He took his first of six bites of the chocolate covered treat. A few leashed dogs took interest in his desert but were pulled away by their owners. Yes the fog had lifted and so too his spirits. It was eight thirty and the Main Street Library would open at nine. A lady at another table came over. She smiled.
"Remember me from the Senior Center...and the Dollar Store. Name is Mable."
"Sure do, can't forget your smile. But you can keep the candy bar...Try not to go to the Center for more than once a week. I feel old there. Other day had a burrito at Sanchez. Wow, did they have a long line.
She left and George thought about how he had kept Mel alive for now going on Five months at the sea cliff. Mel had told him that an eye doctor had screened him for glasses, but I had warned him about getting his name. My experience is that doctors seldom follow through.
But seeing Mel every evening had taken its toll. The death bell would sound for him if he kept it up. Now he had to go to U.S.C. and buy a shirt and publicize his book. Schindler was still alive and next month on the 21st of April would celebrate his Centennial birthday.
George just knew he had to stay alive until the book was published. He also knew it was so good that it would be picked up at every library in the U.S.A. Shell, Smith, Mena, Robertson had died heading to one hundred.
He also knew that if he died, fans would forget the Howard Jones class of the late 30's when the Trojans became ranked number one and Schindler had decimated the Tennessee Volunteers on New Years Day of 1940.
You can be sure that Schindler had stayed alive to witness the event of the book signing.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
A Saturday inside Surf City
George woke up after a blissful sleep. The day before on the third, his state check arrived. He could pay his rent, send money to a family member, and go to Whole Foods for their delightful breakfast. Yes he had survived February when the Carlsbad P.O closed his box, sent mail back to sender and kissed his ass good-by.
But little did they know that a black Saturday would make him stronger and also, his first daughter loaned him money for rent. God spoke to him on Saturday of the fourth. He has always walked with Hashem but this time has become a lot closer.
"George, you were given a new life. Don't waste it and get your ass to the Sanctuary on Warner and Bolsa Chica." When God speaks he listens. He never felt better and played a few songs from La La Land, before he took two buses to get to the Warner Avenue Synagogue and sang all the way .
The Rabbi gave a great speech about Purim and how Esther set up shop as a Queen of Persia and saved the Jews from a darkest of periods. Ingrained inside George are memories as a kid when his Dad Harry took him to a synagogue in West Los Angeles. And his grandfather Louis Jacob helped to fund it.
Harry, his father, had driven George and Mel in his brand new Packard to the brick synagogue. He remembers the smell of the shoes by the door and the odor from the mouths of this congregation. Yet the sounds of the songs inside this Chabad reminded him of those days gone by. In no way did he ever think he would become a practicing Jew again.
Grandfather went through a dark period when pogroms traversed the towns in the Ukraine. He lived outside of Kiev, once the capital of Russia and came with a few rubles to Montreal. Oh yes, he came with the desire to make a living and begin a new life in Canada.
The Huntington Beach service ended at 12:30 with a Kaddish or prayer for the dead. The meal afterwards was sumptuous and George felt happy he had made it another day, what with asthma and high blood pressure. He caught up with the bus on Warner and hightailed it back to his apartment for a nap and to get ready to make sure Mel had been taken care of.
Harry, his father, had driven George and Mel in his brand new Packard to the brick synagogue. He remembers the smell of the shoes by the door and the odor from the mouths of this congregation. Yet the sounds of the songs inside this Chabad reminded him of those days gone by. In no way did he ever think he would become a practicing Jew again.
Grandfather went through a dark period when pogroms traversed the towns in the Ukraine. He lived outside of Kiev, once the capital of Russia and came with a few rubles to Montreal. Oh yes, he came with the desire to make a living and begin a new life in Canada.
The Huntington Beach service ended at 12:30 with a Kaddish or prayer for the dead. The meal afterwards was sumptuous and George felt happy he had made it another day, what with asthma and high blood pressure. He caught up with the bus on Warner and hightailed it back to his apartment for a nap and to get ready to make sure Mel had been taken care of.
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Little Jerusalem, Los Angeles
It felt great to breath again. I wished to visit my God child inside of West Los Angeles. The levels of pollen and mold have never been so high, so I have had to wear a surgical mask inside of Huntington Beach.
As soon as the 29 Metro Link bus arrived in Anaheim, my lungs sang for the first time in days. Of course in felt good to have a wallet no loner starved for cash. The bus arrived at the Buena Park train station at about eight o'clock, and as usual mostly Asians waited for Los Angeles Union Station train to take them to their job.
The Asian ladies were doing a finishing up act on their faces, whereas others were examining smart phones or their lab tops All wore colored coordinated clothing. The Asian men, not to be ignored, also wore suits or clothes that dignified their positions at work.
The conductor did not check my $3.75 cent senior ticket as the train left Norwalk and crept into Union Station. In a hurry to get to their connecting bus or train, many stood by the door before the train entered the station.
My breathing was back to one hundred percent again. A quick walk towards the main entrance took me to the underground and the Purple Line train, of course after I tapped my Metro ticket on the turn-style and took the escalator down to my train.
The Purple Line train made about eight stops, the busiest was at the Seventh Street Station where many left for the Expo or Blue Line trains, or simply their place of work. My stop was the end of the line on Western. Here I did not ride the escalator but ran up three flights of steps to surface street
I made a quick left and saw the same man sitting with a slice of cardboard begging for money. In back of him I saw my Purple Seven bus. I crossed Western and slid fifty cents into a coin machine and took up a seat in the front.
A few others got on as it now left and approached Crenshaw where it made a left turn and went toward Pico Blvd. Most of the patrons spoke Spanish, but what I loved the most was a little baby across from me while its mother counted change to put into the buses change box.
Again, a sea of Latinos sat on the bus, and I wondered if I was still inside of Los Angeles. Many were domestics going to clean homes in West L.A, Beverly Hills or other rich areas of Los Angles. My stop was Edris, in front of the Glatt Market. That is the Pico market where I have often bought fruit at a bargain price. Ripe oranges were three pounds for a dollar but I favored the large ripe plums. At $1.99 a pound, it was a best buy for me.
I now was inside of Little Jerusalem where miles of stores serve observant Jews: shops that glittering gift shops, kosher pizza ones, burgers. Pico had become a bustling street of observant Jews from the one I remembered in the forties.
Why in the forties, my Dad drove us down Holt Avenue to Kentucky Boys restaurant about where La Cienega and Pico is today A jukebox sat on the corner of the restaurant and with little connecting machines on the counter. Dad would provide Indian head nickels to us and we hit buttons to see what record we wished to hear counter as my brother Mel and I stuck nickels inside the music makers.
While I watched the jutebox pick up a record and place it on a round disk, the french fries were placed in front of us, along with a gigantic burger with all of the trimmings. For a young kid, trying to get ketchup out of the bottle was not easy.
My Dad Harry spanked the bottle of Hunts Ketchup and tomato sauce squirted out onto my larger than life fries. Why they were ten times the size of the In-and out fries of today. I spread lots of salt on them and made a feast of them until my Dad Harry warned me not to forget the burger. Those burgers were four times the size of my little hands. When one song had ended, we placed another nickle inside the little box. Like magic, the arm inside the juke box selected the correct 45 record to place into a round table.
I first heard music on my Grandpa's Victrola. You needed to crank it up for it to play. I must have broken every Caruso record. i still remember the songs from the Juke Box. like Maria Elena, Don't Fence me in, and five minutes more.
"George, here is a napkin, wipe your mush...You've got ketchup on your brand new shirt..Good boy."
"Daddy, will you take us to play miniature golf?"
"Yes after I hit a few golf balls at the driving range."
Sorry for the interruption I was to meet Connie Glickman at the Label Table across the street from the Glatt Market. I walked across Beverly Blvd and turned left. A man older than time apparently drove the wrong way and hit a parked car while he tried to park. He could barely get out of his car. Another street down was the Label Table.
"George, take a seat in the back and watch my grandchild. I need to get something from my car."
"Esther was now one year old. And I was the one at her birth She was named after the Queen of Persha that saved the Jews from oblivion."
"Connie returned, picking up her large round hat to give me a kiss. Her husband Lew made it big in plastics and he had died several years ago. Connie is only ninety five years of age."
"I performed at the Comedy Club last night and received a standing ovation."
As soon as the 29 Metro Link bus arrived in Anaheim, my lungs sang for the first time in days. Of course in felt good to have a wallet no loner starved for cash. The bus arrived at the Buena Park train station at about eight o'clock, and as usual mostly Asians waited for Los Angeles Union Station train to take them to their job.
The Asian ladies were doing a finishing up act on their faces, whereas others were examining smart phones or their lab tops All wore colored coordinated clothing. The Asian men, not to be ignored, also wore suits or clothes that dignified their positions at work.
The conductor did not check my $3.75 cent senior ticket as the train left Norwalk and crept into Union Station. In a hurry to get to their connecting bus or train, many stood by the door before the train entered the station.
My breathing was back to one hundred percent again. A quick walk towards the main entrance took me to the underground and the Purple Line train, of course after I tapped my Metro ticket on the turn-style and took the escalator down to my train.
The Purple Line train made about eight stops, the busiest was at the Seventh Street Station where many left for the Expo or Blue Line trains, or simply their place of work. My stop was the end of the line on Western. Here I did not ride the escalator but ran up three flights of steps to surface street
I made a quick left and saw the same man sitting with a slice of cardboard begging for money. In back of him I saw my Purple Seven bus. I crossed Western and slid fifty cents into a coin machine and took up a seat in the front.
A few others got on as it now left and approached Crenshaw where it made a left turn and went toward Pico Blvd. Most of the patrons spoke Spanish, but what I loved the most was a little baby across from me while its mother counted change to put into the buses change box.
Again, a sea of Latinos sat on the bus, and I wondered if I was still inside of Los Angeles. Many were domestics going to clean homes in West L.A, Beverly Hills or other rich areas of Los Angles. My stop was Edris, in front of the Glatt Market. That is the Pico market where I have often bought fruit at a bargain price. Ripe oranges were three pounds for a dollar but I favored the large ripe plums. At $1.99 a pound, it was a best buy for me.
I now was inside of Little Jerusalem where miles of stores serve observant Jews: shops that glittering gift shops, kosher pizza ones, burgers. Pico had become a bustling street of observant Jews from the one I remembered in the forties.
Why in the forties, my Dad drove us down Holt Avenue to Kentucky Boys restaurant about where La Cienega and Pico is today A jukebox sat on the corner of the restaurant and with little connecting machines on the counter. Dad would provide Indian head nickels to us and we hit buttons to see what record we wished to hear counter as my brother Mel and I stuck nickels inside the music makers.
While I watched the jutebox pick up a record and place it on a round disk, the french fries were placed in front of us, along with a gigantic burger with all of the trimmings. For a young kid, trying to get ketchup out of the bottle was not easy.
My Dad Harry spanked the bottle of Hunts Ketchup and tomato sauce squirted out onto my larger than life fries. Why they were ten times the size of the In-and out fries of today. I spread lots of salt on them and made a feast of them until my Dad Harry warned me not to forget the burger. Those burgers were four times the size of my little hands. When one song had ended, we placed another nickle inside the little box. Like magic, the arm inside the juke box selected the correct 45 record to place into a round table.
I first heard music on my Grandpa's Victrola. You needed to crank it up for it to play. I must have broken every Caruso record. i still remember the songs from the Juke Box. like Maria Elena, Don't Fence me in, and five minutes more.
"George, here is a napkin, wipe your mush...You've got ketchup on your brand new shirt..Good boy."
"Daddy, will you take us to play miniature golf?"
"Yes after I hit a few golf balls at the driving range."
Sorry for the interruption I was to meet Connie Glickman at the Label Table across the street from the Glatt Market. I walked across Beverly Blvd and turned left. A man older than time apparently drove the wrong way and hit a parked car while he tried to park. He could barely get out of his car. Another street down was the Label Table.
"George, take a seat in the back and watch my grandchild. I need to get something from my car."
"Esther was now one year old. And I was the one at her birth She was named after the Queen of Persha that saved the Jews from oblivion."
"Connie returned, picking up her large round hat to give me a kiss. Her husband Lew made it big in plastics and he had died several years ago. Connie is only ninety five years of age."
"I performed at the Comedy Club last night and received a standing ovation."
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