The Sea Cliff Health Center is located off of Florida Street between Main and Delaware inside Huntington Breach It resembles a Motel Six, and is divided into two sections. Rooms in the rear are for those who need assistance and in the front is the nursing home, where the patrons are at the mercy of the hospital staff. A large parking lot separates it from a fifteen foot looking apartment building that houses low income retirees.
The Five Points Senior Apartments, where I had lived for two years, is south on the corner of Main Street with Java and Trader Joes sitting in a street mall. A lady that I will name Jenny calls the nursing home, the House of Narcotics while I call it the Wax Museum.
On Monday morning I took Access to the nursing home. I wished to drop off two turkey legs at the kitchen for Mel's dinner. It cost me three and change for an Access Taxi to drive me there from my Magnolia apartment.
I felt quite chipper today and looked forward seeing my brother after a vacation in Los Angles. Mel's room 135 B is located in the back or station four. He is lucky to share the hospice room with one only. Outside hallway three sat a couple of wheel chairs, smart enough not to remain in the room. of people, smart not to remain inside their room. Almost everyone will remain inside station three until the end comes. Today two sit in wheel chairs and gaze at an empty Station Four.
Medical supplies sit outside room 135 B. His talkative roommate is fast asleep this Monday. Mel's roommate in bed one is fast, and I do mean fast asleep. He entered the room about three months ago and has created hell for my brother Mel. In his bed all day, his only exercise is interrupting others with his nonsensical speech.
In bed two, Mel sat on his bed and tried to locate his oat meal. Besides the oat meal was one toasted piece of bread. He asked his nurses aid to bring him a bagel, and she left. I fed him and then showed his fingers where the cup of oats was located. I told him the beet and two turkey legs would be served for his dinner. Before I was evicted from the Five Points, perhaps because I was Jewish, I supplemented his diet each evening for his late 7 o'clock dinner. Those in Station Four are the last to eat.
"Thanks George. That guy is making me go crazy. Somebody will just have to make him shut up."
I handed the bagel to him and he began to eat it while I began to leave. seemed in a bad mood and wished to sleep some more. He tales. on average, about eight drugs twice a day. I met GG who gave him his pills as I helped my blind brother with his meal. He had lost lots of fat and began to resemble a scarecrow.
I left and walked down Florida before hitching a left on Delaware. I would take the bus to the Waterfront Hilton and then the #25 for my trip to the Huntington Beach Senior Center. I looked forward to my friends at the Surf City Senior Center. After I arrived at the bus stop on Beach and Garfield, my cell phone spoke. On the other line was GG, Mel's new nurse.
"Got to return quick. A shuttle is here to take him to an appointment."
"Be there in five minutes." Pissed that my day had been jarred loose from me, I backtracked and entered the Wax Museum. Mel sat in a wheel chair, dressed and ready to go. Gill, the shuttle driver, took us to his van and a lift escorted Mel to the rear of the van.
The medical building off of Beach sits in front corner of the notorious Huntington Beach Hospital. Wheeled into the waiting room on the first floor, Gil signed us in, to make sure we had an appointment. Over a year earlier, a Dr. Rosenberg told us we did not have an appointment and I had to push his wheel chair back to the Nursing home. Another time he would not see us.
Dr. Sharp was late but it was nice to speak to two others who waited for their appointment. Mel was antsy and speaking in a loud voice. I took his cold, refrigerator cold and clammy hands, and led him to a chair. Somehow I knew it was too late for Mel and his primary doctor Nassir did not act to heal but to allow death to pay him a visit.
Mel's wheel chair did not fit so I had to haul him inside the examining room and remove the wheel chair back to the lobby. The doctor entered and after he acknowledged me as Mel's brother, examined his left ear.
"Don't think it has spread. Come here and have a look."
Inside the outer ear looked like the inside of an oyster, with a ball of guck. Mel's ear was closed tightly with this guck. I felt madder than hell that Mel has had to suffer when a little incision two years ago could have removed this ball of guck. Then it was Dr. Jennings who gave him ear drops for his itchy ear
"Mel, it is cancer but don't believe it had spread. We can use radiation, a cutting, or a pill."
"Just cut it out."
"Probably need a further surgery since it had probably gone even deeper inside the ear."
Mel's energy had been depleted and I he barely had enough energy to sit in his wheel chair. What alarmed me was that Mel did not wish to live anymore, and I hoped he would make it to the next visit.
I also could not believe that a Dr. Joseph Nassir had been sending bills to Medicare and prescribing medication even though Mel had never seen this primary doctor.
Mel, is what I wrote accurate. __________ Date ______
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Friday, February 23, 2018
The Keys to the Surf City Piano.
This story is about a Grand :Piano that sleeps all day. It stays in a room with that it shares with a T.V. Yesterday after a glorious day in Los Angeles, I was in the frame of mind to hit its keys, before the senior myopic lunch had been served. Lunch is served in the main dining area with a view of the park and its many mallards. geese, grills and a lovely pond. But in most stories there is a antagonist who tries to spoil the Centers serenity. And so it was, yesterday the twelfth of February
"Well George, I left Boing after 35 years. My check is a bit over four thousand a month. I left my wife at home asleep, she sleeps in these days."
"Well Dave, y0u look good for your age. Probably enjoyed job for Douglas Aircraft, eh?"
"So much so that I remained with them even though name had changed to McDonald and Boeing later on...Worked on the electrical wiring for all the ships. From El Segundo they transferred to a larger field in Lakewood later on."
It is now eleven fifteen and our meat loaf lunch is late again. Thank God I am speaking to one who also schooled in Los Angeles and even attended Pasteur Junior High before enrolling at Venice High School.
"Did you know George that the DC Twelve interchanged parts with the DC Thirteen In fact it is still in the sky today."
"Took it on a channel flight to France from Dover England. A bit rocky, but what a sight that English channel. Wife and I stayed for most part on the coast and enjoyed the plentiful seafood and ambiance of the French. My wife and I enjoyed he crabs and lobsters as well as the escargot. "
Needed a bathroom break so went to the restroom. The Vietnamese man, as usual, was stealing all of the paper towels. On the way back, the piano smiled and asked me to play a tune. Now who could resist a Grand Piano.
I began playing the Vietnamese Waltz and a Mozart tune, while I saw a round traffic cop go buy. I call this roving jelly Magpie as she is always smiling and giving sweets to everyone but me.
It is evident that Magpie gave up music long ago for gum drops and gum balls She is in charge of the dining room bingo games, along with all festivities here. Magpie ran to the piano which made it cry. Now I never in my 78 years have ever heard a piano swear but it certainly did.
Magpie showed me a sign that read, no playing except when Pope Francis is in town. My last piece was the Jelly Bean Roll and scurried before she could get Alexander's Band after me.
"So Bruce, you went to Venice High School and then U.C.L.A?"
"Yes George, Venice had a great player named Leon Clark but a sign from a post office hit him in the head and he gave up football...Ever here of the Black Dalia Case. I was there on Grand Views and they never caught the murderer...
The myopic food was served The meat loaf was good, what there was of it. It took three bites to finish it. We both got up to leave. As I left the main hall, the piano gave me a sigh and to my delight played by herself.
"Well George, I left Boing after 35 years. My check is a bit over four thousand a month. I left my wife at home asleep, she sleeps in these days."
"Well Dave, y0u look good for your age. Probably enjoyed job for Douglas Aircraft, eh?"
"So much so that I remained with them even though name had changed to McDonald and Boeing later on...Worked on the electrical wiring for all the ships. From El Segundo they transferred to a larger field in Lakewood later on."
It is now eleven fifteen and our meat loaf lunch is late again. Thank God I am speaking to one who also schooled in Los Angeles and even attended Pasteur Junior High before enrolling at Venice High School.
"Did you know George that the DC Twelve interchanged parts with the DC Thirteen In fact it is still in the sky today."
"Took it on a channel flight to France from Dover England. A bit rocky, but what a sight that English channel. Wife and I stayed for most part on the coast and enjoyed the plentiful seafood and ambiance of the French. My wife and I enjoyed he crabs and lobsters as well as the escargot. "
Needed a bathroom break so went to the restroom. The Vietnamese man, as usual, was stealing all of the paper towels. On the way back, the piano smiled and asked me to play a tune. Now who could resist a Grand Piano.
I began playing the Vietnamese Waltz and a Mozart tune, while I saw a round traffic cop go buy. I call this roving jelly Magpie as she is always smiling and giving sweets to everyone but me.
It is evident that Magpie gave up music long ago for gum drops and gum balls She is in charge of the dining room bingo games, along with all festivities here. Magpie ran to the piano which made it cry. Now I never in my 78 years have ever heard a piano swear but it certainly did.
Magpie showed me a sign that read, no playing except when Pope Francis is in town. My last piece was the Jelly Bean Roll and scurried before she could get Alexander's Band after me.
"So Bruce, you went to Venice High School and then U.C.L.A?"
"Yes George, Venice had a great player named Leon Clark but a sign from a post office hit him in the head and he gave up football...Ever here of the Black Dalia Case. I was there on Grand Views and they never caught the murderer...
The myopic food was served The meat loaf was good, what there was of it. It took three bites to finish it. We both got up to leave. As I left the main hall, the piano gave me a sigh and to my delight played by herself.
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
What a story on the Blue Line Train!
The Alaskan Express rushed in to Orange County, without a drop of rain. No longer could I remain in my mold infested apartment. My head had filled up with mucus but still I could not remove the anguish felt for the Son of my Dad Harry.
Mad as Hell, sleep no longer beckoned. I felt startled that Mel too had not been seen by his primary physician at the Sea Cliff Health Care Center from the very time he entered the House of Drugs, by the name of Joseph Nassir. His eye lid still covered his eye and the shuttle for his ear appointment had not shown up. He has suffered with a cancerous ear for over two years.
I trip to Los Angles would be just the ticket while I waited for the #33 to arrive outside my apartment on Monday early morning. The bus arrived late but it felt good that I would leave Surf City and transfer to the City of Angles by taking four buses and two trains.
I caught the #560 bus in the nick of time and sat back to relax. A lady across from me took up more than her share of seats and looked my way. What sounded like a Baptist preacher came on board.The black lady recited words from the bible and must have known the lady across from me as they dueled using profanity. The black bus driver did nothing except to laugh and scream, "Keep ii Down".
"Uz noting but a fat ass an don't even have a place to stay...I stay with my Mom and Pop and God loves me every day." The heavy set white lady rebounded and ran the distance of the floor.
""You have been kicked out of three shelters fighting everybody."
After five minutes of volleying fowl language back and forth, I waved my hands to the white lady and told her to not react. She listened to my directions. I didn't know we would be seat mates on the ensuing downtown Long Beach 91 and again on the Blue Line train headed for Los Angeles Stacy sat on the two seats on front of me.while the opened doors allowed the heavy cold winds to make it a threesome
"No to worry...A yardman will be here soon to solve the problem."
"How long have you known the preacher lady?"
"Been to three shelters with her and each one kicked her. Was living in a Santa Ana shelter till recently."
"Where is your stop?"
"Compton. My daughter rents a room in her boyfriend's mother's house. He has a problem and I am going to persuade them to move in with me...I moved into a six bedroom Santa Ana house three months ago."
"How much is the rent?"
"Bought it for $987,000 at a probate sell. A friend of mine knew that the owner and his wife tangled in a mess divorce. My bid was the lowest and since I put down over $200,000 the court awarded it to me. I have rented out two of the bedrooms and have my own bath. My payments are a bit over $900 a month."
My head hurt but not from the head cold. How in the hell did Stacy save up to put the heavy down?
"Awarded $1,800 several years ago as a government worker. Have had three seizures. Saved a lot in T.J living in a two bedroom $150 apartment. Kicked out since I didn't legal papers so living in shelters ever since."
Stacy showed me a tattoo on her upper arm. See that? Says Vato loca. No gang messes with me now. But Stacy, how did you get the $200,00 down payment."
"Had a great Dad, and he warned me to always save for a rainy day or when I retired. Idon't spend the government check and my stay in the shelters includes free food All of my medical bills are paid.
The train's breaks are fixed and the Blue Line Train lurches forward. The three asleep riders remain in bliss as I am happy to be on my way to Los Angeles. The tracks to down Pacific to Eight and then Long Beach Blvd.
Outside the pure clean air has turned what began in a draconian beginning into a quite lovely day with Stacy awarding me with lots of tidbits. At Willow a family climbs aboard and I overheard the grandmother announce they are headed for Santa Monica Beach. They are well dressed and the two kids are well behaved
Stacy gets off at Compton Station while I enjoy the circus on the Blue Line train At Seventh, I get off and slide down a peg to the Purple Line Train. My stop is Western and a Slam Bang All American breakfast at Dennis. Outside now, the clean blue sky tells me another day of bliss is in store for me. Today, even with a heavy head, I feel as good as any of our dear presidents with a piece of L.A. as my own home.
But on this cool and windy day, first things first. I am famished and allow the crossing guard to tell me to cross Wilshire. I make it to the other side and fast walk towards Dennis. I forget it is President's Day but what the hell, a few minutes of wait never hurt George Washington when he crossed the Delaware.
Everyone speaks Spanish, but what the hell, I mine-as-well learn it just the same. The waitress comes to my table and I give her my order. She returns with my coffee and orange drink. I empty two sugar packets into my coffee cup and stir. My body jumps at the first sip, and with an orange juice chaser, I regain my sanity.
Across from me a large muscular traffic cop sits navigating a hamburger sandwich He studies his smart phone with his free hand. All Awhile I feel great to witness the changing of the guard. The Mexicans have arrived and will not give up California again. Of course they will not give up their native tongue.
The food was a little late, but who cares since I am learning more Spanish. The pancakes along with its usual of beacon, ham, hash browns and scrambled eggs. I hold the syrup bottle upside down and play target practice on the pancakes.
I chew on the cakes and his relatives at the same time. In no time I finish, pay the tip and then run out the door. My Super Seven is turning the corner so I wait for the next. No hurry since they come every few minutes
Fifty Cents I place into the coin machine and take a seat. The Purple Line train will be completed up until La Cienega Blvd in a few days, and then all the way to Rodeo Drive. I think that it ease the stress of the three sisters, Olympic, Wilshire and Pico.
Mad as Hell, sleep no longer beckoned. I felt startled that Mel too had not been seen by his primary physician at the Sea Cliff Health Care Center from the very time he entered the House of Drugs, by the name of Joseph Nassir. His eye lid still covered his eye and the shuttle for his ear appointment had not shown up. He has suffered with a cancerous ear for over two years.
I trip to Los Angles would be just the ticket while I waited for the #33 to arrive outside my apartment on Monday early morning. The bus arrived late but it felt good that I would leave Surf City and transfer to the City of Angles by taking four buses and two trains.
I caught the #560 bus in the nick of time and sat back to relax. A lady across from me took up more than her share of seats and looked my way. What sounded like a Baptist preacher came on board.The black lady recited words from the bible and must have known the lady across from me as they dueled using profanity. The black bus driver did nothing except to laugh and scream, "Keep ii Down".
"Uz noting but a fat ass an don't even have a place to stay...I stay with my Mom and Pop and God loves me every day." The heavy set white lady rebounded and ran the distance of the floor.
""You have been kicked out of three shelters fighting everybody."
After five minutes of volleying fowl language back and forth, I waved my hands to the white lady and told her to not react. She listened to my directions. I didn't know we would be seat mates on the ensuing downtown Long Beach 91 and again on the Blue Line train headed for Los Angeles Stacy sat on the two seats on front of me.while the opened doors allowed the heavy cold winds to make it a threesome
"No to worry...A yardman will be here soon to solve the problem."
"How long have you known the preacher lady?"
"Been to three shelters with her and each one kicked her. Was living in a Santa Ana shelter till recently."
"Where is your stop?"
"Compton. My daughter rents a room in her boyfriend's mother's house. He has a problem and I am going to persuade them to move in with me...I moved into a six bedroom Santa Ana house three months ago."
"How much is the rent?"
"Bought it for $987,000 at a probate sell. A friend of mine knew that the owner and his wife tangled in a mess divorce. My bid was the lowest and since I put down over $200,000 the court awarded it to me. I have rented out two of the bedrooms and have my own bath. My payments are a bit over $900 a month."
My head hurt but not from the head cold. How in the hell did Stacy save up to put the heavy down?
"Awarded $1,800 several years ago as a government worker. Have had three seizures. Saved a lot in T.J living in a two bedroom $150 apartment. Kicked out since I didn't legal papers so living in shelters ever since."
Stacy showed me a tattoo on her upper arm. See that? Says Vato loca. No gang messes with me now. But Stacy, how did you get the $200,00 down payment."
"Had a great Dad, and he warned me to always save for a rainy day or when I retired. Idon't spend the government check and my stay in the shelters includes free food All of my medical bills are paid.
The train's breaks are fixed and the Blue Line Train lurches forward. The three asleep riders remain in bliss as I am happy to be on my way to Los Angeles. The tracks to down Pacific to Eight and then Long Beach Blvd.
Outside the pure clean air has turned what began in a draconian beginning into a quite lovely day with Stacy awarding me with lots of tidbits. At Willow a family climbs aboard and I overheard the grandmother announce they are headed for Santa Monica Beach. They are well dressed and the two kids are well behaved
Stacy gets off at Compton Station while I enjoy the circus on the Blue Line train At Seventh, I get off and slide down a peg to the Purple Line Train. My stop is Western and a Slam Bang All American breakfast at Dennis. Outside now, the clean blue sky tells me another day of bliss is in store for me. Today, even with a heavy head, I feel as good as any of our dear presidents with a piece of L.A. as my own home.
But on this cool and windy day, first things first. I am famished and allow the crossing guard to tell me to cross Wilshire. I make it to the other side and fast walk towards Dennis. I forget it is President's Day but what the hell, a few minutes of wait never hurt George Washington when he crossed the Delaware.
Everyone speaks Spanish, but what the hell, I mine-as-well learn it just the same. The waitress comes to my table and I give her my order. She returns with my coffee and orange drink. I empty two sugar packets into my coffee cup and stir. My body jumps at the first sip, and with an orange juice chaser, I regain my sanity.
Across from me a large muscular traffic cop sits navigating a hamburger sandwich He studies his smart phone with his free hand. All Awhile I feel great to witness the changing of the guard. The Mexicans have arrived and will not give up California again. Of course they will not give up their native tongue.
The food was a little late, but who cares since I am learning more Spanish. The pancakes along with its usual of beacon, ham, hash browns and scrambled eggs. I hold the syrup bottle upside down and play target practice on the pancakes.
I chew on the cakes and his relatives at the same time. In no time I finish, pay the tip and then run out the door. My Super Seven is turning the corner so I wait for the next. No hurry since they come every few minutes
Fifty Cents I place into the coin machine and take a seat. The Purple Line train will be completed up until La Cienega Blvd in a few days, and then all the way to Rodeo Drive. I think that it ease the stress of the three sisters, Olympic, Wilshire and Pico.
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
The heavy knock on the door may be for you.
My allergy cold had ebbed, bit mot the anger felt for the Sea Cliff Health Center. But at least I know how to handle my brother's eye and ear problems. Yes, fraud has roomed with my brother and I will get after the perpetrators.
What got me out of bed was what I heard over 1070 A.M. on my dial. ICE agents began to knock on the door of Mexican alleged criminals and these agents arrested those ancillary to their objectives. Yes, the same hysteria that gripped the Jews in the thirties and early forties caused a panic inside downtown Los Angeles
In the days of Horst Cahn the agents were named the gestapo. Horst told me his story s few years earlier before his death last year as he turned 89. And his story can be read in many of my earlier blogs. I can still hear his voice.
"They removed my parents and I from our Essen home and herded us on a crowded train. We could barely move and had a bucket for our waist. When the train stopped and opened its doors for my Jews in Transit, I picked up the bucket and spilled the excrement on the Nazis...When the train arrived at the concentration camp, my parents went one way. I was happy that they did not have to suffer too long."
On the #33 Magnolia bus now headed for PCH, I noticed some kids on their way to Edison High School off of Hamilton. I wondered what would happen to them when the returned home to find their parents missing, perhaps taken to a holding tank on their way back to Mexico.
Who would feed them, pay the rent, and most of all, how in God's name could they study the American Way of Life. I am not sure the makeup of these agents, but know they make on an average of $75,000 a year in salary.
I arrived on PCH at about nine o'clock and waited for my number one bus. I felt happy to be a citizen and could state so on my new driver's license application. I felt appalled that Trump was hiring more agents and probably would soon do the high stepping tricks of Hitler. I also know that to stand back and wait we all could be next.
I climbed back on my bus and descended in front of the Paseo Hotel. I caught the #25 bus which took me to the Valentine lunch at the Senior Center. I crossed Golden West and wrote my blog which you see here.
What got me out of bed was what I heard over 1070 A.M. on my dial. ICE agents began to knock on the door of Mexican alleged criminals and these agents arrested those ancillary to their objectives. Yes, the same hysteria that gripped the Jews in the thirties and early forties caused a panic inside downtown Los Angeles
In the days of Horst Cahn the agents were named the gestapo. Horst told me his story s few years earlier before his death last year as he turned 89. And his story can be read in many of my earlier blogs. I can still hear his voice.
"They removed my parents and I from our Essen home and herded us on a crowded train. We could barely move and had a bucket for our waist. When the train stopped and opened its doors for my Jews in Transit, I picked up the bucket and spilled the excrement on the Nazis...When the train arrived at the concentration camp, my parents went one way. I was happy that they did not have to suffer too long."
On the #33 Magnolia bus now headed for PCH, I noticed some kids on their way to Edison High School off of Hamilton. I wondered what would happen to them when the returned home to find their parents missing, perhaps taken to a holding tank on their way back to Mexico.
Who would feed them, pay the rent, and most of all, how in God's name could they study the American Way of Life. I am not sure the makeup of these agents, but know they make on an average of $75,000 a year in salary.
I arrived on PCH at about nine o'clock and waited for my number one bus. I felt happy to be a citizen and could state so on my new driver's license application. I felt appalled that Trump was hiring more agents and probably would soon do the high stepping tricks of Hitler. I also know that to stand back and wait we all could be next.
I climbed back on my bus and descended in front of the Paseo Hotel. I caught the #25 bus which took me to the Valentine lunch at the Senior Center. I crossed Golden West and wrote my blog which you see here.
Friday, February 9, 2018
Interview with a Veteran
Station four and bed 135 B lies my brother Mel. Next to him in bed A lies Bill, wearing diapers " George, nobody picked me up on Monday...I am in terrible pain, and Bill will not stop talking. Can you help me?"
"Brought you two turkey legs and ice berg lettuce for dinner. I will see what I can do for you."
Mel still has not had his brain infection cured. It all began at the Pacific Spartan Senior Center with a Dr. Jennings giving him ear drops for the ear problem. A Dr. Nassir took over at the Sea Cliff Health Center and has done nothing. A Dr. Craig had called me over one and a half years ago to have his ear problem taken care of.
When I asked Nurse Ruby why Mel did not go to his appointment she replied, the shuttle did not arrive. Just maybe the doctor did not wish to deal with Medical, as they seldom pay the going rate.
"Well Ruby, you don't need to worry about the shuttle. I now have Access and can take Mel anywhere in Orange County. In fact, I can take Mel to Santa Ana and he too can own an Access card. Start to make appointments this minute for his eye doctor and also ear one."
Ruby has a puzzled look on her face and is now writing down the names of some doctors, while I go back to Mel's room and tell him what has expired. He has already eaten the peach and orange I brought him.
"Mel, will get you either a New Yorker from Vons or turkey legs."
"Thanks George, can you help me eat. I am blind."
My best friend at the Surf City Senior Center told me that their job was to fill beds and not to cure patients. I am sure now that the Sea Cliff is a death camp. I interrupted a meeting of nurses and told them of what I thought, but know we need to change the way these people are miss treated by providing no treatment at all.
It took all of four buses but I made it to the Surf City Senior Center. I needed to deflect my anger at the Sea Cliff for something better and found it at the back table. Jake is a 92 year old veteran whose wife Delores passed away a few months ago.
"I signed up in the Navy and my first ship was a sub chaser. We used sonar to track the Japanese subs and were never hit by any of them. I served in the Pacific theater of the war and also served on a landing craft."
"We shipped sailors to different islands and later removed the Japanese trucks from their ships after the war. At Tokyo Bay, we drove the trucks to shore and I will always remember what greeted us. s..There were Japanese soldiers wearing swords and they gave us such a look. My home base was Manila, and I'll never forget how its heated humidity."
Our lunches came and to my delight there were two drum sticks, sliced carrots, a succulent mashed potatoes and jello. The food eased the pain felt for my brother.
"I stayed in Manila until 1947 and returned to my home in San Antonio to see my parents I took Delores, my new wife along with me. She had a sister living in California and I was able to hook up with Douglas Aircraft in Santa Monica. I worked there and in their plants in El Segundo and Long Beach. They built jets and bombers during and after the war."
A smile came over the little man's frame as good food and talk milk the pain away, or make it more digestible. Jake told me that he had three kids and the last one, a girl, takes care of him. She lives in the Magic Mountain area of California.
"I still see my wife everywhere. We married for 62 years and see her everyday I cared for her for eight years during her bout with Alzheimer's. She died only a few months ago...Will bring you pictures of her next time I see you."
Lunch now over at eleven thirty, I ambled to the piano to play a few songs and left soon after to write this.
Nuts and Bolts: Call 714 847 3515 to register a complaint at the Sea Cliff Health Center
"Brought you two turkey legs and ice berg lettuce for dinner. I will see what I can do for you."
Mel still has not had his brain infection cured. It all began at the Pacific Spartan Senior Center with a Dr. Jennings giving him ear drops for the ear problem. A Dr. Nassir took over at the Sea Cliff Health Center and has done nothing. A Dr. Craig had called me over one and a half years ago to have his ear problem taken care of.
When I asked Nurse Ruby why Mel did not go to his appointment she replied, the shuttle did not arrive. Just maybe the doctor did not wish to deal with Medical, as they seldom pay the going rate.
"Well Ruby, you don't need to worry about the shuttle. I now have Access and can take Mel anywhere in Orange County. In fact, I can take Mel to Santa Ana and he too can own an Access card. Start to make appointments this minute for his eye doctor and also ear one."
Ruby has a puzzled look on her face and is now writing down the names of some doctors, while I go back to Mel's room and tell him what has expired. He has already eaten the peach and orange I brought him.
"Mel, will get you either a New Yorker from Vons or turkey legs."
"Thanks George, can you help me eat. I am blind."
My best friend at the Surf City Senior Center told me that their job was to fill beds and not to cure patients. I am sure now that the Sea Cliff is a death camp. I interrupted a meeting of nurses and told them of what I thought, but know we need to change the way these people are miss treated by providing no treatment at all.
It took all of four buses but I made it to the Surf City Senior Center. I needed to deflect my anger at the Sea Cliff for something better and found it at the back table. Jake is a 92 year old veteran whose wife Delores passed away a few months ago.
"I signed up in the Navy and my first ship was a sub chaser. We used sonar to track the Japanese subs and were never hit by any of them. I served in the Pacific theater of the war and also served on a landing craft."
"We shipped sailors to different islands and later removed the Japanese trucks from their ships after the war. At Tokyo Bay, we drove the trucks to shore and I will always remember what greeted us. s..There were Japanese soldiers wearing swords and they gave us such a look. My home base was Manila, and I'll never forget how its heated humidity."
Our lunches came and to my delight there were two drum sticks, sliced carrots, a succulent mashed potatoes and jello. The food eased the pain felt for my brother.
"I stayed in Manila until 1947 and returned to my home in San Antonio to see my parents I took Delores, my new wife along with me. She had a sister living in California and I was able to hook up with Douglas Aircraft in Santa Monica. I worked there and in their plants in El Segundo and Long Beach. They built jets and bombers during and after the war."
A smile came over the little man's frame as good food and talk milk the pain away, or make it more digestible. Jake told me that he had three kids and the last one, a girl, takes care of him. She lives in the Magic Mountain area of California.
"I still see my wife everywhere. We married for 62 years and see her everyday I cared for her for eight years during her bout with Alzheimer's. She died only a few months ago...Will bring you pictures of her next time I see you."
Lunch now over at eleven thirty, I ambled to the piano to play a few songs and left soon after to write this.
Nuts and Bolts: Call 714 847 3515 to register a complaint at the Sea Cliff Health Center
Thursday, February 8, 2018
Los Angeles, the City of Angels.
Exhausted and famished. I headed to Dennis Restaurant across Wilshire and Western My lungs sang for the first time in days. The fog had lifted and changed to a clear sunny day. Yes, Los Angeles greeted me with her delightful westerly winds
But as they say, first things first. Placing my back pack on a seat, I ambled to the rear closet toilet. Yellow tape cris-crossed the urinal I opened the door for the toilet. A man screamed, "Don't you see I am busy. Hastily, I closed the door and apologized. I steered men away from the closet and finally the toilet man came out. It felt good to relieve my bladder and as always, I thanked God to allow me this privilege. I sat and looked at the menu. David, came over to take my order.
"David remember me?"
"Buenos amigo. Como esta?"
"What do you recommend for breakfast?"
"The All American...with pancakes, eggs, beacon and hash browns. How do you want the egg.?
"Scrambled please. Does the All American still come with coffee and a drink?"
"Yes.. you wish orange juice?"
David brought my coffee and orange juice. I downed the orange juice in one long swallow and savored my trip on the Blue Line Train out of Long Beach. The seventy five cent trip was worth every penny.Te well dressed German couple sat in front of me. I wondered what they were doing on this train.
A young man slumbered his frame over two seats and fell asleep. Another played rap music and danced while a lady gave her two urchins some chips. I had forgotten my reading glasses so had to watch the proceedings. I removed my cell phone to give Gloria a message.
"I'll arrive at the Westside Pavilion at about twelve ..It took me three hours to get from Huntington to downtown Los Angeles."
My meal arrived and since I did not wish to favor any one delight, I soaked all in syrup and ate the meal in five minutes. Finished at twelve, I just missed the Rapid Blue across the street next to a CVS. Dennis gave me reading glasses as I told them my were left there four months ago.
Whereas Huntington Beach had been dreary and heavy with its southerly breezes, Los Angles gave me a respite from the archaic
medical care my brother Melvyn ahd been getting.
But as they say, first things first. Placing my back pack on a seat, I ambled to the rear closet toilet. Yellow tape cris-crossed the urinal I opened the door for the toilet. A man screamed, "Don't you see I am busy. Hastily, I closed the door and apologized. I steered men away from the closet and finally the toilet man came out. It felt good to relieve my bladder and as always, I thanked God to allow me this privilege. I sat and looked at the menu. David, came over to take my order.
"David remember me?"
"Buenos amigo. Como esta?"
"What do you recommend for breakfast?"
"The All American...with pancakes, eggs, beacon and hash browns. How do you want the egg.?
"Scrambled please. Does the All American still come with coffee and a drink?"
"Yes.. you wish orange juice?"
David brought my coffee and orange juice. I downed the orange juice in one long swallow and savored my trip on the Blue Line Train out of Long Beach. The seventy five cent trip was worth every penny.Te well dressed German couple sat in front of me. I wondered what they were doing on this train.
A young man slumbered his frame over two seats and fell asleep. Another played rap music and danced while a lady gave her two urchins some chips. I had forgotten my reading glasses so had to watch the proceedings. I removed my cell phone to give Gloria a message.
"I'll arrive at the Westside Pavilion at about twelve ..It took me three hours to get from Huntington to downtown Los Angeles."
My meal arrived and since I did not wish to favor any one delight, I soaked all in syrup and ate the meal in five minutes. Finished at twelve, I just missed the Rapid Blue across the street next to a CVS. Dennis gave me reading glasses as I told them my were left there four months ago.
Whereas Huntington Beach had been dreary and heavy with its southerly breezes, Los Angles gave me a respite from the archaic
medical care my brother Melvyn ahd been getting.
Tuesday, February 6, 2018
A Foggy Day in Surf City
I stood on P.C.H. and ___ and hoped the number one bus would be there at eight. Off of Magnolia across the street, the flags blew in a northerly direction -- rather than the usual southerly direction. At least the winds flew on shore, good for my allergies.
All of a sudden, a fog rolled in and covered the coast -- and guess that the winds had something to do with it. In luck, the bus came and I took a seat. The same cast of riders sat, some fast asleep covered with blankets -- at least the heat is free and they do not have to succumb to cold weather.
It felt good to leave my matchbox at on Magnolia. I was meant to ride buses and not those expensive SUV's that need a car wash and oil and lubes every month. At the Magnolia new water works was being installed with huge cranes and long haul trucks. I pulled the cord and waited for my stop next to the new Waterfront Beach Resort Hotel, a division of Hilton.
I waited on Huntington for the #25 bus. Sure felt real cold...too cold to wait for a bus... body did not like the waves of fog that rolled in. But where or where was the bus? I called the bus company and was told that the bus broke down.
"Sir the next bus is scheduled to arrive at nine twenty. Sorry for the inconvenience."
Even though I have cut back on coffee, I ordered a Starbucks drink to warm my toes and picked up a paper. I still was mad that Access did not pick us up for a Norm's breakfast, but at least Mel today would have his right ear diagnosed. I knew he had cancer and had had it for over one and a half years.I also found out that his doctor Nasser had a Dr. Jennings fill in for him. Jennings was the one who gave him ear drops for his itchy ear over two years ago at the Pacific Spartan Assistant Living Center.
A bit rejuvenated now, I waited for my number 25 bus. It was a bit late as the driver needed to pick up the strays that the earlier bus should have picked up. At the Senior Center off of Talbert, I entered the center and after signing in for a lunch, lumbered over to the grand piano.
The folks in the piano area enjoyed my music. Now I might not be a Mozart but I do make a great George on the piano. In the middle of a piece of music, I heard a noise
"Today is Bingo Day. There is no piano playing today!"
"Hey Peggy, the sign states no piano playing during, yes I said during bingo only." Peggy, another who can't stand Jewish musicians never returned. It had probably been Magpie who asked her to stop my piano playing.
Of course to see my brother inside the Wax Museum has made me mad, yes madder than hell that his left eye and ear had not been treated. The Sea Cliff Health Center looks good from afar but for the last year and a half, I now know it is a graveyard of living dead. But lets have a peek inside, to better acquaint you of this sham.
The facility resembles two motels linked together. You walk into a lobby and the candy man comes out and introduces you to this twilight zone motel. He is in charge of admittance. The tall thin man has you sign papers and every once in a while checks his cell phone. He has a more than plutonic relationship with Dolly, the dyslexic social worker.
To the left is Melody, always happy and directs you to the room of your love one. Mel is given a room closest to the front door. It appears that nobody knows what Mel is there for. Mel screams with excruciating pain in his back and neck. In bed two is a Vietnamese. His kids are mad since his headache was not diagnosed as the beginning of a stroke. His kids are feeding him.
Mel still as back and neck pain. A Dr. Craig calls me to advise me that the ear infection must, and be attacked or else. Mel begins to walk and does some rehab in the basement. The social worker wishes to return him to Assistant Living.
I check on Mel's nursing home, a block down from my apartment. It is ten o'clock and Mel is screaming with pain. I ask the nurse in charge to get an ambulance. (More to come.)
All of a sudden, a fog rolled in and covered the coast -- and guess that the winds had something to do with it. In luck, the bus came and I took a seat. The same cast of riders sat, some fast asleep covered with blankets -- at least the heat is free and they do not have to succumb to cold weather.
It felt good to leave my matchbox at on Magnolia. I was meant to ride buses and not those expensive SUV's that need a car wash and oil and lubes every month. At the Magnolia new water works was being installed with huge cranes and long haul trucks. I pulled the cord and waited for my stop next to the new Waterfront Beach Resort Hotel, a division of Hilton.
I waited on Huntington for the #25 bus. Sure felt real cold...too cold to wait for a bus... body did not like the waves of fog that rolled in. But where or where was the bus? I called the bus company and was told that the bus broke down.
"Sir the next bus is scheduled to arrive at nine twenty. Sorry for the inconvenience."
Even though I have cut back on coffee, I ordered a Starbucks drink to warm my toes and picked up a paper. I still was mad that Access did not pick us up for a Norm's breakfast, but at least Mel today would have his right ear diagnosed. I knew he had cancer and had had it for over one and a half years.I also found out that his doctor Nasser had a Dr. Jennings fill in for him. Jennings was the one who gave him ear drops for his itchy ear over two years ago at the Pacific Spartan Assistant Living Center.
A bit rejuvenated now, I waited for my number 25 bus. It was a bit late as the driver needed to pick up the strays that the earlier bus should have picked up. At the Senior Center off of Talbert, I entered the center and after signing in for a lunch, lumbered over to the grand piano.
The folks in the piano area enjoyed my music. Now I might not be a Mozart but I do make a great George on the piano. In the middle of a piece of music, I heard a noise
"Today is Bingo Day. There is no piano playing today!"
"Hey Peggy, the sign states no piano playing during, yes I said during bingo only." Peggy, another who can't stand Jewish musicians never returned. It had probably been Magpie who asked her to stop my piano playing.
Of course to see my brother inside the Wax Museum has made me mad, yes madder than hell that his left eye and ear had not been treated. The Sea Cliff Health Center looks good from afar but for the last year and a half, I now know it is a graveyard of living dead. But lets have a peek inside, to better acquaint you of this sham.
The facility resembles two motels linked together. You walk into a lobby and the candy man comes out and introduces you to this twilight zone motel. He is in charge of admittance. The tall thin man has you sign papers and every once in a while checks his cell phone. He has a more than plutonic relationship with Dolly, the dyslexic social worker.
To the left is Melody, always happy and directs you to the room of your love one. Mel is given a room closest to the front door. It appears that nobody knows what Mel is there for. Mel screams with excruciating pain in his back and neck. In bed two is a Vietnamese. His kids are mad since his headache was not diagnosed as the beginning of a stroke. His kids are feeding him.
Mel still as back and neck pain. A Dr. Craig calls me to advise me that the ear infection must, and be attacked or else. Mel begins to walk and does some rehab in the basement. The social worker wishes to return him to Assistant Living.
I check on Mel's nursing home, a block down from my apartment. It is ten o'clock and Mel is screaming with pain. I ask the nurse in charge to get an ambulance. (More to come.)
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