I sit at the Waterfront Hilton, gazing at the many white tents. The Air Force is here this week as well as the Thunderbirds as an air show is scheduled Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The best place to watch is on the hills of Huntington Beach, just in back of the Regency Hyatt and in front of a few old majestic buildings.
Besides calling for my next apartment, I examine my stories that emanated out of San Diego. While I stayed at the 'Y" built in 1924, some of my stories had a Jewish twist to them. This one I wrote in 1912 and was copyrighted.
A Bucket of Ice "c" George Garrett 1912
It has been one year, yes one year since I had moved into the downtown Y.M.C.A. on Broadway's San Diego.. Down the hall on the second floor is an ice machine. I take my plastic bucket there to replenish it with ice -- to drink from during the night. To its brim I fill it and leave about one glass full of water.
The ice melts in about two hours and then I can drink ice cold water. It is another hot a humid day off the Harbor. I hurriedly gulp down the water and remembered a visiting professor from Alabama University who taught chemistry and lived in my hotel during the Convention at the Grant Hotel up the street. I had suffered with Asthmatic Bronchitis all of my life and San Diego's weather made it worse. In a matter of time, I would be in heaven, God be willing.
One late afternoon on the steps of the 'Y', I asked the small lean professor his secret of longevity as we sat on the steps of our building in the American Plaza section of San Diego. I call it Bankers Corner since three banks live there with one twenty stories tall.
"Well George, I am here for a convention and was born in India. Can't you tell?" His amicable smile relaxed me.
"May I ask your age kind sir?" He appeared younger than the wrinkles on his face.
"I am seventy five years old. You might think I am a lot younger, but there are three secrets to my youthful look. I eat only vegetables, fruit and nuts. Also I drink two quarts of water every day...It takes a little practice George but in time you will learn. We are just like car engines. When we keep them clean and use quality fuel, our hearts run better and softer."
The little Indian got up to leave, and I asked him for the third step of longevity.
"Sorry George, I got to go walk five miles. Yes, that is the third step."
About two months after our meeting, I made my usual walk again to the showers and toilets down the hall. After a shave I took a long, good look. Why I don't look a day over thirty nine. Again I left a little water inside my bucket while I filled it up with ice. But why am I always keeping some water at the bottom. OH.! It helps to melt the ice and I can drink it. It was then the idea came to me like a bolt of lightening.
The Rabbi spoke about removing our resentments during the Day of Atonement at the Hyatt Regency ballroom. Wouldn't it be great if each of us had a little water in our veins of resentment. We could remove past resentments and fulfill our lives with love...get it?
Now at my new synagogue on Warner Avenue in Huntington Beach, My Rabbi's message during a during a Pasha, that in order to get closer to HIM, we must pray each morning, put film on and also study, study and study the Talmud some more. some more the Talmud
Friday, September 29, 2017
Thursday, September 21, 2017
A murder in Huntington Beach
"All right, but you don't need to shove!...hey stop it...you,you, B..ch"
Yes I lost it on the day before the beginning of the Jewish New Year. Mildred Grey admonished me for taking a call from my cell phone. Still I had walked quietly away from the computers but she pushed me. I controlled my anger and finished the call with my daughter in the lobby of the worst beach library in California, Huntington Beach. (Mildred is a old spinster librarian.)
I can still hear Sir Wallis Flower scream at me, "Well our citizens love DVD's so that is where are money goes. To hell with the computers, we will fix them when we are ready. Our clients only wish for DVD's.
On another matter, I can still see evil eyes when I opened my door and peered once more to the vilest, most demented gal at the beach, my manager. could still hear the loud thump on my door. It was four and change in the afternoon. Now who would be banging on my door. Still half asleep, I opened it. SHIT it was Mrs. Evil Eyes, the manager of the Mom and Pop apartments on Main. Never in my life had I ever had the opportunity to live with a witch, but now my work was cut out for me. The grim reaper gave me one of her nasty looks and left me to world of slumber.
She poked a letter into my hand and told me I had sixty days to leave. I returned to my couch and tried to sleep with no avail. But why did I give the evil one so much value. Oh yes, she held the keys to my homelessness. In no way would I allow fat ass Evil Eye to provoke me like countless others in a shouting match. And then it hit me, use the crazy one in a Christmas Story: A Grinch Lives in Surf City.
But on a heavy matter. Two days ago after I had visited Mel at the Sea Cliff Health Center, I head at twilight the sound of a helicopter over head. He held that position so I knew a crime had been in progress or the deed already done.
That evening on dial 1070, the newscaster mentioned that a murder had been committed on Main and Elis...Later I discovered the old man murdered had lived not far from me...I felt lucky to be alive since I had also been attacked on Beach, not far from this scene. I thought about the kids, homeless, the bikers, skateboarders and shopping carts that roam Beach Blvd every day. Many wear tattoos, smoke electric and our chew Juicy Fruit Gum riddled with weed or coke.
A policeman you'll never see since they are usually huddled inside Yorktown reading the box scores of baseball games.
Yes I lost it on the day before the beginning of the Jewish New Year. Mildred Grey admonished me for taking a call from my cell phone. Still I had walked quietly away from the computers but she pushed me. I controlled my anger and finished the call with my daughter in the lobby of the worst beach library in California, Huntington Beach. (Mildred is a old spinster librarian.)
I can still hear Sir Wallis Flower scream at me, "Well our citizens love DVD's so that is where are money goes. To hell with the computers, we will fix them when we are ready. Our clients only wish for DVD's.
On another matter, I can still see evil eyes when I opened my door and peered once more to the vilest, most demented gal at the beach, my manager. could still hear the loud thump on my door. It was four and change in the afternoon. Now who would be banging on my door. Still half asleep, I opened it. SHIT it was Mrs. Evil Eyes, the manager of the Mom and Pop apartments on Main. Never in my life had I ever had the opportunity to live with a witch, but now my work was cut out for me. The grim reaper gave me one of her nasty looks and left me to world of slumber.
She poked a letter into my hand and told me I had sixty days to leave. I returned to my couch and tried to sleep with no avail. But why did I give the evil one so much value. Oh yes, she held the keys to my homelessness. In no way would I allow fat ass Evil Eye to provoke me like countless others in a shouting match. And then it hit me, use the crazy one in a Christmas Story: A Grinch Lives in Surf City.
But on a heavy matter. Two days ago after I had visited Mel at the Sea Cliff Health Center, I head at twilight the sound of a helicopter over head. He held that position so I knew a crime had been in progress or the deed already done.
That evening on dial 1070, the newscaster mentioned that a murder had been committed on Main and Elis...Later I discovered the old man murdered had lived not far from me...I felt lucky to be alive since I had also been attacked on Beach, not far from this scene. I thought about the kids, homeless, the bikers, skateboarders and shopping carts that roam Beach Blvd every day. Many wear tattoos, smoke electric and our chew Juicy Fruit Gum riddled with weed or coke.
A policeman you'll never see since they are usually huddled inside Yorktown reading the box scores of baseball games.
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
A Day at U.S.C.
My day began, as usual, at the Waterfront Hilton in Surf City, but a murder at downtown Los Angeles derailed my plans. I milked my Starbucks coffee while the number one bus drove me to the V.A. and the 91 bus. I tapped my card and inserted a dollar into the machine that worked. The train came my way and I boarded at about nine thirty. A somber note hit me over the train's speaker system.
"You will need to board another train. It will arrive in five minutes...There is a shuttle at Firestone that will take you to another train on you way to L.A."
Now on Pacific in Long Beach, I decided that no event would derail my serenity today. With the Prime Minister of England Disraeli in one hand and my brew in the other, I intoxicated myself with the view. I feast on good books and would rather read than make love with the prettiest girl in town. An I felt fine since I was also milking my coffee and eating to hard boiled with a banana. No nothing could bother my Day at U.S.C.
The train ambled past the Watt's Towers, Compton, and when it reached the Washington, the train stopped, and over the speaker it told us to board a bus. I had an enjoyable conversation with Sam on the train and told him to follow me.
Three buses lined up outside. Sam and I chose a bus and luckily he found a seat for his larger-than-life frame but I needed to beg for one in the back. A lady who looked like a man sat in the back hogging two spaces. I bowed and begged.
"Man, could you bare to give a seat to an old, old tired old man?
She didn't move or even look up from her magazine. Again I begged and wiped my brow. She looked up and in a brisk way moved two inches to the right. The guy by the window slept and in no way did I wish to bother this behemoth. I snuggled my thin frame body between these goal posts, one thin, and the other huge. Sam, on a side seat, had a kind face with a large body and continued our conversation.
"Too bad they removed those Red Cars for this. Why they never would have needed to tear up Wilshire if we had kept those trains....Call this progress?"
The shuttle bus now full, inched along until it made a right turn. I felt a trickle of water on my pants and surmised that the gal to my left had an accident. I said nothing, no doubt, for fear of being shot in the head...and I too needed a head but today had good control. After over one hour, we made it back to the rails and another train waited for us. We had moved about half a mile and no doubt could have walked on foot faster. I said my good-by to Sam and made a connection on the Expo line .
The U.S.C. station was my stop. I exited and at now twelve o'clock, felt tired but more hungry than tired. Before I went to the Student Union for grub, I sauntered to the library to lock up my nap sack and speak to Claude, my sponsor. I got a locker for my stuff and now it was time to stuff my stomach with some U.S.C. food.
It still was a bit hot, but I needed something to relax me. Inside I felt the cold A.C. and looked to my left. Deposited in a round food table were all types of salads and sandwiches. But up I saw a line waiting for a real hot lunch. At the counter one could order a roast or fried chicken. I felt like the roast that came with two sides.
"Take that roasted chicken and for my sides I will have the mashed and sting beans."
At nine and change the meal was in my price range. But the one hour on a bus made me thirsty. And who am I to deny myself for water. The bill came to twelve and change and leisurely I walked outside and found a shady spot on a couch.
Most everyone had paired off. Many ate or typed on their apple computer. They all seemed happy and most alert. I wished to get my twelve dollars worth so I just took my time and ate one string bean at a time along with spoonful's of mashed potatoes. I even used a plastic knife and fork to remove every bit of meat from the succulent chicken.
At about one o'clock I decided to buy a few U.S.C. shirts. The book and student store stood adjacent to the Student Store. I found three U.S.C sweat shirts, with one to go to my grand daughter Allison. I felt alive and now needed to get to where the Daily Trojan is published. The students didn't know but a young worker showed me the way.
A library lifted me to the fourth floor, but unfortunately, all the rooms were locked. An advertising man told me to return at four o'clock since they begin at four and work into the night. It figured since they probably had classes during the day. I wished to promote my Schindler story and give them pictures for a future publication.
I returned to the library and discovered how to get into the digitized past newspapers. Now going on two I took the Expo west to see my daughter.
"You will need to board another train. It will arrive in five minutes...There is a shuttle at Firestone that will take you to another train on you way to L.A."
Now on Pacific in Long Beach, I decided that no event would derail my serenity today. With the Prime Minister of England Disraeli in one hand and my brew in the other, I intoxicated myself with the view. I feast on good books and would rather read than make love with the prettiest girl in town. An I felt fine since I was also milking my coffee and eating to hard boiled with a banana. No nothing could bother my Day at U.S.C.
The train ambled past the Watt's Towers, Compton, and when it reached the Washington, the train stopped, and over the speaker it told us to board a bus. I had an enjoyable conversation with Sam on the train and told him to follow me.
Three buses lined up outside. Sam and I chose a bus and luckily he found a seat for his larger-than-life frame but I needed to beg for one in the back. A lady who looked like a man sat in the back hogging two spaces. I bowed and begged.
"Man, could you bare to give a seat to an old, old tired old man?
She didn't move or even look up from her magazine. Again I begged and wiped my brow. She looked up and in a brisk way moved two inches to the right. The guy by the window slept and in no way did I wish to bother this behemoth. I snuggled my thin frame body between these goal posts, one thin, and the other huge. Sam, on a side seat, had a kind face with a large body and continued our conversation.
"Too bad they removed those Red Cars for this. Why they never would have needed to tear up Wilshire if we had kept those trains....Call this progress?"
The shuttle bus now full, inched along until it made a right turn. I felt a trickle of water on my pants and surmised that the gal to my left had an accident. I said nothing, no doubt, for fear of being shot in the head...and I too needed a head but today had good control. After over one hour, we made it back to the rails and another train waited for us. We had moved about half a mile and no doubt could have walked on foot faster. I said my good-by to Sam and made a connection on the Expo line .
The U.S.C. station was my stop. I exited and at now twelve o'clock, felt tired but more hungry than tired. Before I went to the Student Union for grub, I sauntered to the library to lock up my nap sack and speak to Claude, my sponsor. I got a locker for my stuff and now it was time to stuff my stomach with some U.S.C. food.
It still was a bit hot, but I needed something to relax me. Inside I felt the cold A.C. and looked to my left. Deposited in a round food table were all types of salads and sandwiches. But up I saw a line waiting for a real hot lunch. At the counter one could order a roast or fried chicken. I felt like the roast that came with two sides.
"Take that roasted chicken and for my sides I will have the mashed and sting beans."
At nine and change the meal was in my price range. But the one hour on a bus made me thirsty. And who am I to deny myself for water. The bill came to twelve and change and leisurely I walked outside and found a shady spot on a couch.
Most everyone had paired off. Many ate or typed on their apple computer. They all seemed happy and most alert. I wished to get my twelve dollars worth so I just took my time and ate one string bean at a time along with spoonful's of mashed potatoes. I even used a plastic knife and fork to remove every bit of meat from the succulent chicken.
At about one o'clock I decided to buy a few U.S.C. shirts. The book and student store stood adjacent to the Student Store. I found three U.S.C sweat shirts, with one to go to my grand daughter Allison. I felt alive and now needed to get to where the Daily Trojan is published. The students didn't know but a young worker showed me the way.
A library lifted me to the fourth floor, but unfortunately, all the rooms were locked. An advertising man told me to return at four o'clock since they begin at four and work into the night. It figured since they probably had classes during the day. I wished to promote my Schindler story and give them pictures for a future publication.
I returned to the library and discovered how to get into the digitized past newspapers. Now going on two I took the Expo west to see my daughter.
Tuesday, September 5, 2017
A Labor Day Lift
Enjoyed watching T.V. with Brother Mel during the Labor Day weekend . Too bad his left eye lid still covered his eye -- as I had mentioned he needed a procedure to lift it. Then he could watch T.V. and perhaps the Dodgers in a Word Series Game. I had cooked two cobs of corn for him along with delicious Trader Joe's tangerines, and a couple of bananas. Mel looked to be in an exuberant mood -- even though he thinks he is blind.
For those new to my blog, Mel is two years younger and has lived at the Sea Cliff Heath Center on Florida Street nearing one year. After an episode of brain cancer, and other ailments, he is still depressed and relies on me to supplement his diet. Patients in the second, third or fourth areas seldom see the sun or stars anymore. and eating any fruit is rare.
Many, like an Indian who is 105, have outlives their next of kin. It is six thirty when I enter room 125 B. In bed one is a Korean Veteran. Mel has just finished his two hot doggies and is sipping his Milk. He is overjoyed today, for some reason on this Labor Day.
"What ya bring taday?"
"Got ya corn, bananas and tangerines...Let me peel the tangerines for you."
"Some game yesaday! You told me the Bruins would come back."
"Why you look so feisty today?
"Only took about six pills today."
I yanked a folding chair out of the closet and put on the T.V. The screamer down the hall was at it again. All she does is scream and this evening, she can be heard all over Surf City. I then tell Mel the news.
"Daughter bought a piano and looks like I will have a chance to make two little Mozart's out of Olivia and Allison...Dodgers lost again...and I told you that Bruins would come back." Stella entered to remove the dinner tray. She adds some flavor for this evening. A special on the comedian Jerry Lewis is on the Movie Channel. I listen in to the interview on channel 25.
"The biggest lift I received from the audience was when something unrehearsed came out of my mouth. When they laughed and even stood up, I felt as if I had a free ticket to remove money from a bank."
Now going on Seven, I left my lift and said good-by. I still hope that the Nursing home can provide a list of his medicines and what they are for. So far, I have never seen a computer that listed his doctors or the medicine he was prescribed.
Back home now at the Five Points Senior Center, I desired to take a shower but found out here was no hot water I wondered if somebody had monkeyed with the roof's boiler as I found the lift for the roof open. I lay down on my couch and just when I fell asleep, my cell rang. I removed the cell from its sock and took the message. It was my daughter.
"Dad, make sure you are at the house at nine o'clock with the piano lifters come with the new piano"
For those new to my blog, Mel is two years younger and has lived at the Sea Cliff Heath Center on Florida Street nearing one year. After an episode of brain cancer, and other ailments, he is still depressed and relies on me to supplement his diet. Patients in the second, third or fourth areas seldom see the sun or stars anymore. and eating any fruit is rare.
Many, like an Indian who is 105, have outlives their next of kin. It is six thirty when I enter room 125 B. In bed one is a Korean Veteran. Mel has just finished his two hot doggies and is sipping his Milk. He is overjoyed today, for some reason on this Labor Day.
"What ya bring taday?"
"Got ya corn, bananas and tangerines...Let me peel the tangerines for you."
"Some game yesaday! You told me the Bruins would come back."
"Why you look so feisty today?
"Only took about six pills today."
I yanked a folding chair out of the closet and put on the T.V. The screamer down the hall was at it again. All she does is scream and this evening, she can be heard all over Surf City. I then tell Mel the news.
"Daughter bought a piano and looks like I will have a chance to make two little Mozart's out of Olivia and Allison...Dodgers lost again...and I told you that Bruins would come back." Stella entered to remove the dinner tray. She adds some flavor for this evening. A special on the comedian Jerry Lewis is on the Movie Channel. I listen in to the interview on channel 25.
"The biggest lift I received from the audience was when something unrehearsed came out of my mouth. When they laughed and even stood up, I felt as if I had a free ticket to remove money from a bank."
Now going on Seven, I left my lift and said good-by. I still hope that the Nursing home can provide a list of his medicines and what they are for. So far, I have never seen a computer that listed his doctors or the medicine he was prescribed.
Back home now at the Five Points Senior Center, I desired to take a shower but found out here was no hot water I wondered if somebody had monkeyed with the roof's boiler as I found the lift for the roof open. I lay down on my couch and just when I fell asleep, my cell rang. I removed the cell from its sock and took the message. It was my daughter.
"Dad, make sure you are at the house at nine o'clock with the piano lifters come with the new piano"
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