Since I have walked inside God's shoes, I never quite know what the new day will bring. I thought that downtown San Diego would be my next stop, but that was until I landed homeless in the North County. Hell, I enjoy the Encinitas piano, their lunches, dances, and above all Moonlight Bay in September.
To nickle and dime it, I felt scared as hell to stay at the rest stop again. But I did three times so far...and lived to tell about it. It is not that bad-like yesterday. Yesterday, I took my worn out body to the Moonlight State Beach for rays of vitamin D. In fact, my torn mind ached for this popular vitamin. We know now that the lack of can contribute to the Big A. (Alzheimer's)
I took my umbrella and beach chair on a small hill overlooking the sea. With loads of sun screen and an umbrella as my roof, I felt shielded from the one o'clock sun. Yesterday was the day to be at the beach. The large parking lot that hovers over the beach was almost empty. It felt good to relax under the right temperatures. And the May and August humidity is a thing of the past.
Perhaps it had been God's will that kicked me out of Los Angeles, but I know now he had greater plans for me. He told me to forsake the motels and save my money by sleeping at the Rest Stop just outside of Oceanside. And who am I to disagree with Hashem?
I felt proud to have continued on course and now have football pictures inside my book. Hell, Schindler still lives at 97. Even my ex gal Stella awarded me with a kiss and hug. Things are all not that bad.
Just for today, I had a Tri-Tip steak, baked potato, sliced pears, cake, vegetables, milk and plenty of good company. It was a meal fit for King George. I am about to leave here and have some Lentil soup at the Tip Top restaurant in Carlsbad and from there go to the library to read the New York Times.
There is something about living in the open that reminds me of a time that Moses walked in the desert for forty years and didn't complain once. Like Moses, I wish to see my promised land. Well got to go now, it is time for me to dine and read more books before watching the sun set at the Anza Rest Stop.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Monday, September 29, 2014
Ten Dollars All Day
I needed to fill my water bucket. The ice cubes of anger pitched back and forth all night at the Alisa Rest Stop, three miles north of Oceanside. A train ride to Los Angeles would put a little water into my bucket and remove some of this anger. I set my sails on the Oceanside Transit Station and the Metro-Link commuter train to L.A.
The Saturday Metro-Link's all-day-pass is ten dollars. You can stop, re-board and return by using it on Saturday or Sunday. I parked my car at the Oceanside parking lot, I bought the ticket at the dispenser with the help of the old Escondido man. A long line formed in back of me while the Escondido volunteered his services.
The Metro #666 opened its doors at eight ten and we were off and running making all comuter stops until we hit Union Station. commuter stops. Unlike Amtrak, this train made two stops in San Clemente. The city is the water gate to many sea view homes. The sun's morning brilliance bounced off the rustic bluffs into the ocean. These famous bluffs showed off their rustic wavy curves.
Outside my window, I saw familiar face. It appeared to be our ex-president Dick Nixon. Since I could read mouths, It appeared he wanted me to visit his library on my next visit. I waved good by
Walkers and runners took advantage of the trail along the coast. It was a day that problems seemed to take a hike. It was that beautiful. Since I was the lone sole on the sunny side of the train, the Winston Churchill story also had to hide the sun to make the words visible. Winston was the grandson of his cigar smoking dad.
It was important for me to keep my mind busy. I couldn't think about my personal problems. My eyes bounced off the sea back to the bluffs and then to my book. I imagined that I was with Churchill when he gave the speech to Parliament.
The train stopped at San Juan Capistrano, Tustin, Orange and so forth. Now who in God's name would ever wish to get off in Tustin, Orange or Santa Ana? The valleys used to be carpeted with bright yellow. But with the lack of rain, deadwood grey replaced the once vibrant valley. Wach tree threw up its arms praying for a the stuff. Now the trees lay undressed. There was even an old Marine barracks at the Laguna Niguel stop that appeared a ghost town.
Capistrano was the most beautiful while I said hello to Father Serra who had a hand in building the famous church. I didn't see any Swallows which had made the church famous. But my mind had a chance to hold onto something beautiful and forget my woes.
Ugly graffiti on the box cars told me Los Angeles would be are next stop after Norwalk. Soon Union Station would be looming up ahead. The Swift name was on many of those box cars. There was also a large mound of cement and a train loaded with cars.
At the station I got off and asked information the best way to get to the Riordan Library. An officer who obviously never heard the name of library, told me to take the Gold Line Subway Train. I did and ended up all the way in East Los Angeles This train went all the way to Sierra Madre. I returned and finally got on the Red Line Subway to my stop, the Biltmore Hotel with the library a block away on Fifth Street.
Now inside the library I asked for the 1939 microfilms of the Daily News. I wished to make copies of pictures from that newspaper. Tired and anxious, I took part of a pill and did it. I got lost in the 1939's.
Hunger overtook me after three eventful hours and I treated myself to a Panda Express lunch on the first floor. It was now two o'clock and I walked down the street to find a hotel. I thought about staying the night. The Alexandria's office was closed to anyone who didn't live in one of its converted studios.
Tired now I returned to the underground and where to get the Red Line train. The four forty Metro was full and unfortunately a young gal wearing a neck brace sat next next to me and cracked each of three snack chips. Thank God she got off at the Orange Exit so I could breath and make it back to the Oceanside Transit Center.
I even forgot I was homeless for the day. Reality sunk in when I returned however. Inside the train the pure air opened up my mind to how beautiful God's work had been. Too bad people traded the their lives for the gadgets of today.
Seldom do I see any kid on the train reading a book. the gadgets of today we
Nuts and Bolts: Sponsor Eddie could not believe it. "You mean to tell me your can ride these rails all day, back and forth, for ten dollars?" He still could not believe me.
The Saturday Metro-Link's all-day-pass is ten dollars. You can stop, re-board and return by using it on Saturday or Sunday. I parked my car at the Oceanside parking lot, I bought the ticket at the dispenser with the help of the old Escondido man. A long line formed in back of me while the Escondido volunteered his services.
The Metro #666 opened its doors at eight ten and we were off and running making all comuter stops until we hit Union Station. commuter stops. Unlike Amtrak, this train made two stops in San Clemente. The city is the water gate to many sea view homes. The sun's morning brilliance bounced off the rustic bluffs into the ocean. These famous bluffs showed off their rustic wavy curves.
Outside my window, I saw familiar face. It appeared to be our ex-president Dick Nixon. Since I could read mouths, It appeared he wanted me to visit his library on my next visit. I waved good by
Walkers and runners took advantage of the trail along the coast. It was a day that problems seemed to take a hike. It was that beautiful. Since I was the lone sole on the sunny side of the train, the Winston Churchill story also had to hide the sun to make the words visible. Winston was the grandson of his cigar smoking dad.
It was important for me to keep my mind busy. I couldn't think about my personal problems. My eyes bounced off the sea back to the bluffs and then to my book. I imagined that I was with Churchill when he gave the speech to Parliament.
The train stopped at San Juan Capistrano, Tustin, Orange and so forth. Now who in God's name would ever wish to get off in Tustin, Orange or Santa Ana? The valleys used to be carpeted with bright yellow. But with the lack of rain, deadwood grey replaced the once vibrant valley. Wach tree threw up its arms praying for a the stuff. Now the trees lay undressed. There was even an old Marine barracks at the Laguna Niguel stop that appeared a ghost town.
Capistrano was the most beautiful while I said hello to Father Serra who had a hand in building the famous church. I didn't see any Swallows which had made the church famous. But my mind had a chance to hold onto something beautiful and forget my woes.
Ugly graffiti on the box cars told me Los Angeles would be are next stop after Norwalk. Soon Union Station would be looming up ahead. The Swift name was on many of those box cars. There was also a large mound of cement and a train loaded with cars.
At the station I got off and asked information the best way to get to the Riordan Library. An officer who obviously never heard the name of library, told me to take the Gold Line Subway Train. I did and ended up all the way in East Los Angeles This train went all the way to Sierra Madre. I returned and finally got on the Red Line Subway to my stop, the Biltmore Hotel with the library a block away on Fifth Street.
Now inside the library I asked for the 1939 microfilms of the Daily News. I wished to make copies of pictures from that newspaper. Tired and anxious, I took part of a pill and did it. I got lost in the 1939's.
Hunger overtook me after three eventful hours and I treated myself to a Panda Express lunch on the first floor. It was now two o'clock and I walked down the street to find a hotel. I thought about staying the night. The Alexandria's office was closed to anyone who didn't live in one of its converted studios.
Tired now I returned to the underground and where to get the Red Line train. The four forty Metro was full and unfortunately a young gal wearing a neck brace sat next next to me and cracked each of three snack chips. Thank God she got off at the Orange Exit so I could breath and make it back to the Oceanside Transit Center.
I even forgot I was homeless for the day. Reality sunk in when I returned however. Inside the train the pure air opened up my mind to how beautiful God's work had been. Too bad people traded the their lives for the gadgets of today.
Seldom do I see any kid on the train reading a book. the gadgets of today we
Nuts and Bolts: Sponsor Eddie could not believe it. "You mean to tell me your can ride these rails all day, back and forth, for ten dollars?" He still could not believe me.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
The Anza Rest Stop
I had just left the Ocean Eleven Casino in Oceanside. The Casino is nothing to speak about. It was eight o'clock and I felt hungry. In back of me a few denizens were picking horses for the seventh race at Los Alamitos. The Casino had on-track betting.
I had to wait for fifteen minutes for a waitress to get my order. The burger and fries for eight ninety five was not worth it. Black Jack was the main card game at this Casino which is located must off the the 5 and a block from Mission Blvd.
My head felt numb and my body wobbly so I decided to go to a flop-house hotel next to the Oceanside Transit Station off of Highway 101. This old flop house couldn't charge more than fifty, I said to myself. A man playing cards gave me a queer unwelcomed look.
"Do you have any vacancies?...How much are the rooms?"
"Eighty Five dollars."
The manager knew that anyone wishing a room at this late hour would succumb for any rate. Without batting an eye I left this outcast hotel and went to my car. Mad as hell, I decided to venture another evening at the rest stop just outside of Oceanside.
The rest stop had been completely remodeled. There were two large buildings that houses the toilets. I remembered my homeless days when bedlam hit my life. It saved me one nights lodging to rest the night there. My legs were so cramped in the back seat of my car I could not get them to walk for a few minutes.
My second night proved better than my first. A troubled family problem caused me to toss and turn all night. I had dropped down the passenger seat of the car and reclined. My tormented mind would not allow me any peace of mind, but yesterday was different. This time I took half of a sleeping pill and that seemed to put me into a deep slumber.
I thought about the events that led up to my encounter homelessness again but then reminded myself that I had nickel-and-dimed it so I would make it to the first of the month. My retirement check this time would go to an apartment in Encinitas.
And it wasn't that bad. The smell of the ocean air and the tall fir trees swaying in the Santa Ana winds too my mind off of my weeks horror. Why it isn't everyday a dotting father is thrown out of his daughter's apartment, but it happened. Now it was my turn to throw out some of my own baggage and get on with a brand new life-one with my own apartment allow my significant other one to get a life or her own.
"Buenos Noches." My Mexican wasn't too good but I had a wonderful time speaking to others who park here. My car was the oldest and was dripping white paint. There's were black SUV's and each had a cell phone in hand while there wives dashed for the restroom. It felt like Xmas time here as each Mexican seemed to have a larger belly than the previous one.
I envied their vans. They could spread out and I felt like in a vice, but this time I surrendered to sleep. Earlier I had taken the Metro-Link into Los Angeles for ten dollars for the day, and return. It felt great to learn about the underground and do more work at the downtown Riordan Library. But now I wasn't watching a computer, It was the scene at this rest stop.
Cars constantly came and went. Everything seemed well organized. I found the bathrooms modern with even toilet covers and faucets than ran with a tip of your finger. Each time I entered the floors were being mopped or the commodes cleaned again.
I felt like in the middle of a Mardi Gras since everyone seemed to be celebrating. I listened in to the Spanish to pick up a few phrases. It felt good to keep my spare money in reserve in case I needed it.
The next morning I celebrated. I did it and drove from the 5 freeway to the Tip Top Restaurant. I ordered the lox and bagel minus cream cheese. It felt good to get a good meal under my belt. I bough ta Bic at the corner Seven Elven and saw my pal Chris. We meet often at the Encinitas Senior Center.
"I saw Big John and he could barely walk. He has lost lots of weight and don't think he has too much time left. He was with his wife yesterday."
Big John began the eatery many years ago and is the busiest in Carlsbad. The food used to be enough for two but times have changed.
"Got to leave and go to church in Old Town. Father Ecker always presents a captivating sermon that makes my day go smooth." The drive wasn't worth it since another had taken his pulpit I returned the north and knew a quiet night would be spent at the Motel Six next to Denny's and the 5 freeway.
Now I will go to the Tip Top for burger and baked potato before picking up some clean clothes from my storage bin.
I had to wait for fifteen minutes for a waitress to get my order. The burger and fries for eight ninety five was not worth it. Black Jack was the main card game at this Casino which is located must off the the 5 and a block from Mission Blvd.
My head felt numb and my body wobbly so I decided to go to a flop-house hotel next to the Oceanside Transit Station off of Highway 101. This old flop house couldn't charge more than fifty, I said to myself. A man playing cards gave me a queer unwelcomed look.
"Do you have any vacancies?...How much are the rooms?"
"Eighty Five dollars."
The manager knew that anyone wishing a room at this late hour would succumb for any rate. Without batting an eye I left this outcast hotel and went to my car. Mad as hell, I decided to venture another evening at the rest stop just outside of Oceanside.
The rest stop had been completely remodeled. There were two large buildings that houses the toilets. I remembered my homeless days when bedlam hit my life. It saved me one nights lodging to rest the night there. My legs were so cramped in the back seat of my car I could not get them to walk for a few minutes.
My second night proved better than my first. A troubled family problem caused me to toss and turn all night. I had dropped down the passenger seat of the car and reclined. My tormented mind would not allow me any peace of mind, but yesterday was different. This time I took half of a sleeping pill and that seemed to put me into a deep slumber.
I thought about the events that led up to my encounter homelessness again but then reminded myself that I had nickel-and-dimed it so I would make it to the first of the month. My retirement check this time would go to an apartment in Encinitas.
And it wasn't that bad. The smell of the ocean air and the tall fir trees swaying in the Santa Ana winds too my mind off of my weeks horror. Why it isn't everyday a dotting father is thrown out of his daughter's apartment, but it happened. Now it was my turn to throw out some of my own baggage and get on with a brand new life-one with my own apartment allow my significant other one to get a life or her own.
"Buenos Noches." My Mexican wasn't too good but I had a wonderful time speaking to others who park here. My car was the oldest and was dripping white paint. There's were black SUV's and each had a cell phone in hand while there wives dashed for the restroom. It felt like Xmas time here as each Mexican seemed to have a larger belly than the previous one.
I envied their vans. They could spread out and I felt like in a vice, but this time I surrendered to sleep. Earlier I had taken the Metro-Link into Los Angeles for ten dollars for the day, and return. It felt great to learn about the underground and do more work at the downtown Riordan Library. But now I wasn't watching a computer, It was the scene at this rest stop.
Cars constantly came and went. Everything seemed well organized. I found the bathrooms modern with even toilet covers and faucets than ran with a tip of your finger. Each time I entered the floors were being mopped or the commodes cleaned again.
I felt like in the middle of a Mardi Gras since everyone seemed to be celebrating. I listened in to the Spanish to pick up a few phrases. It felt good to keep my spare money in reserve in case I needed it.
The next morning I celebrated. I did it and drove from the 5 freeway to the Tip Top Restaurant. I ordered the lox and bagel minus cream cheese. It felt good to get a good meal under my belt. I bough ta Bic at the corner Seven Elven and saw my pal Chris. We meet often at the Encinitas Senior Center.
"I saw Big John and he could barely walk. He has lost lots of weight and don't think he has too much time left. He was with his wife yesterday."
Big John began the eatery many years ago and is the busiest in Carlsbad. The food used to be enough for two but times have changed.
"Got to leave and go to church in Old Town. Father Ecker always presents a captivating sermon that makes my day go smooth." The drive wasn't worth it since another had taken his pulpit I returned the north and knew a quiet night would be spent at the Motel Six next to Denny's and the 5 freeway.
Now I will go to the Tip Top for burger and baked potato before picking up some clean clothes from my storage bin.
Friday, September 26, 2014
A Jewish New Year's Story/ Bucket of Ice
The Jewish New Year is being celebrated today. I am told that Judaism is more than 5000 years old. My more than 100 short stories deal with Hashem or God. In honor of this Holy-Day, I have reproduced this story. of course they are not mine, but God sends them to my fingers and somehow they seem to turn out OK.
I have now lived at the San Diego downtown 'Y' for about one year. Every morning, I take my green plastic water bucket to the ice machine. I keep a little water in the bottom before I fill it up with ice. The ice melt away in two hours, and it is then I gulp down two glasses of cold ice water.
The water bucket story germinated in my mind about four months ago, after a visiting chemistry professor from Alabama University visited my hotel I had been suffering from asthma and high blood pressure all of my life. In a matter of time, I would be in heaven, that is God be willing.
One late afternoon, I asked the little lean professor the secret to longevity. We sat on the steps of the 500 Building in the so-called American Plaza section of San Diego. I called it Bankers' Corner since three banks peer down at us from their perches over 20 stories tall.
"Well George, I am here for a convention and as you can tell was born in India. Can't you tell?" His amicable smile calmed me.
"May I ask your age sir.?" He appeared younger than his years although wrinkles covered 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 vegetables, fruit and nuts. I also drink two quarts of water every day. It takes a little practice but in time you will learn. We are like car engines. When we keep them clean and use quality fuel, our engines run better and softer."
The Indian stood up to leave and I stopped him. "What about the third secret?"
"Sorry George, I got to go for my five mile walk. Yes, you guessed it, that is my third secret."
About two months later, I made up my usual walk to the one of the eight Unisex bathrooms down the hall of the 'Y'. After my usual shower and shave I took one good look at myself. I don't look a day over thirty nine. Then I went to the ice machine and left a little water before filling it with ice. But why did I leave a little water inside the bucket? Oh! It makes he ice melt away faster. The idea came to me like a bolt of lightening.
A few weeks ago, the rabbi spoke about removing resentments a few months before the Day of Atonement. His sermon was presented at the Hyatt Manchester Hotel in San Diego. I will paraphrase it.
"Wouldn't it be great if each of us had a little water in our veins of resentments? We could remove past our disappointments and fill our lives with joy. Get It! Just a little water would remove our ice cubes of resentments.
I have now lived at the San Diego downtown 'Y' for about one year. Every morning, I take my green plastic water bucket to the ice machine. I keep a little water in the bottom before I fill it up with ice. The ice melt away in two hours, and it is then I gulp down two glasses of cold ice water.
The water bucket story germinated in my mind about four months ago, after a visiting chemistry professor from Alabama University visited my hotel I had been suffering from asthma and high blood pressure all of my life. In a matter of time, I would be in heaven, that is God be willing.
One late afternoon, I asked the little lean professor the secret to longevity. We sat on the steps of the 500 Building in the so-called American Plaza section of San Diego. I called it Bankers' Corner since three banks peer down at us from their perches over 20 stories tall.
"Well George, I am here for a convention and as you can tell was born in India. Can't you tell?" His amicable smile calmed me.
"May I ask your age sir.?" He appeared younger than his years although wrinkles covered 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 vegetables, fruit and nuts. I also drink two quarts of water every day. It takes a little practice but in time you will learn. We are like car engines. When we keep them clean and use quality fuel, our engines run better and softer."
The Indian stood up to leave and I stopped him. "What about the third secret?"
"Sorry George, I got to go for my five mile walk. Yes, you guessed it, that is my third secret."
About two months later, I made up my usual walk to the one of the eight Unisex bathrooms down the hall of the 'Y'. After my usual shower and shave I took one good look at myself. I don't look a day over thirty nine. Then I went to the ice machine and left a little water before filling it with ice. But why did I leave a little water inside the bucket? Oh! It makes he ice melt away faster. The idea came to me like a bolt of lightening.
A few weeks ago, the rabbi spoke about removing resentments a few months before the Day of Atonement. His sermon was presented at the Hyatt Manchester Hotel in San Diego. I will paraphrase it.
"Wouldn't it be great if each of us had a little water in our veins of resentments? We could remove past our disappointments and fill our lives with joy. Get It! Just a little water would remove our ice cubes of resentments.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
The Butcher Shop
Walkers, pimps, wheel chairs, funny weird people everywhere. Sandwich shops, pizza places, more sandwich shops. I arrive at the Southern Hotel on Sixth Avenue and B Street. I had parked my car on fourth Street and walked down to the hotel. Bail Bond offices, courts, shops of every type, and the street people looking for anything.
It is almost noon time and the street people are doing their thing, jiving, singing, grabbing and just looking around. The hotel is about one hundred years old. Two ladies sit and speak about nothing and make it sound important.
The lobby's office is set behind black metal bars. An old time key rack holds letters. A sign says he'll return after eleven thirty. I feel shitty ever since my own daughter, threw me out of "her apartment" a couple days ago. Why I could have strangled her! She wished to be alone. .
That is why I went to the Southern. A friend from the 'Y' told me it was quite good and didn't allow bed bugs or cockroaches like the other one. A caned lady took me inside her room. "Not bad! No not bad!" I asked the dark haired one if she came with the room. Her room had a large T.V. and ample places to store clothes. It had a sink. It was three times the size of the "Y".
I went to the corner sub to grab a sandwich. The manager would return at eleven thirty. A toothless man smiled at me through the window of the Sub restaurant. A lady poked a stick inside the trash can while a Blue Trolley went by...It was time for me to meet the manager.
He took me to the one remaining room. I loved it. The window had a view of San Diego north. A large clothes closet was to my left and the bed looked three times larger than my other so-called-hotel.
"Let me show you where the toilets and showers are located." He led me down the hall and unlocked one. He unlocked three shower rooms and also a two toilet rooms. I imagined a few gunslingers like Wyatt --- stayed in the flashy hotel in its prime.
We took the old elevator that only carried two down to the lobby. The manager gave me an application that I would return the next morning But my Balboa Park Thursday dance now beckoned. I looked at another hotel and found my car. Still seething mad, I just knew music and a few dances would get me off my melancholy mood....It did!
NUTS AND BOLTS: Sometimes tough love is needed when dealing with a daughter. Just maybe she'll finally get a job.
It is almost noon time and the street people are doing their thing, jiving, singing, grabbing and just looking around. The hotel is about one hundred years old. Two ladies sit and speak about nothing and make it sound important.
The lobby's office is set behind black metal bars. An old time key rack holds letters. A sign says he'll return after eleven thirty. I feel shitty ever since my own daughter, threw me out of "her apartment" a couple days ago. Why I could have strangled her! She wished to be alone. .
That is why I went to the Southern. A friend from the 'Y' told me it was quite good and didn't allow bed bugs or cockroaches like the other one. A caned lady took me inside her room. "Not bad! No not bad!" I asked the dark haired one if she came with the room. Her room had a large T.V. and ample places to store clothes. It had a sink. It was three times the size of the "Y".
I went to the corner sub to grab a sandwich. The manager would return at eleven thirty. A toothless man smiled at me through the window of the Sub restaurant. A lady poked a stick inside the trash can while a Blue Trolley went by...It was time for me to meet the manager.
He took me to the one remaining room. I loved it. The window had a view of San Diego north. A large clothes closet was to my left and the bed looked three times larger than my other so-called-hotel.
"Let me show you where the toilets and showers are located." He led me down the hall and unlocked one. He unlocked three shower rooms and also a two toilet rooms. I imagined a few gunslingers like Wyatt --- stayed in the flashy hotel in its prime.
We took the old elevator that only carried two down to the lobby. The manager gave me an application that I would return the next morning But my Balboa Park Thursday dance now beckoned. I looked at another hotel and found my car. Still seething mad, I just knew music and a few dances would get me off my melancholy mood....It did!
NUTS AND BOLTS: Sometimes tough love is needed when dealing with a daughter. Just maybe she'll finally get a job.
Friday, September 19, 2014
What a Beautiful Day in Santa Monica
The fisherman pulled up a Bonita and cut into small parts. He would would be bait to catch a bigger one.. Another fisherman walked up the stairs at the Santa Monica Piers end and screamed, "My boss gave me three free hours."
"Hope he's going to pay you?'
"Well got to return to my paint job."
I had shared a number 7 loaded bus with students going to Santa Monica City College. Many got off at Bundy Avenue but most left at my old City College in Santa Monica. I needed to be close to the ocean. I walked up the old pier and said hello to the wooden horses, still asleep. I trudged down bleacher steps to watch two volleyball players.
A volleyball player was taking lessons. A tall screen was made ready for a concert that evening. tonight. The opera Toscanini would be televised on a big screen from the Los Angeles Philharmonic. it would begin at seven thirty.
I walked up to the Gordon Arcade and several shops. At one time, there were two piers and one of them had the largest ballroom this side of the Pacific. The Spade Cooley Orchestra had played there in the forties and fifties. There was also a giant roller coaster and all types of shops.
Yet it was hot, too not to walk. The sun enveloped everyone with its blast furnace. The end of the pier afforded some shade. On my way back, I stopped in at Mac Donald's for their breakfast. It is still good for less than four dollars. I turned the corner and decided to take the Rapid 10 all-the-way downtown.
I helped out two people who did not know if the 10 was the right one. The gal was from West Africa and the boy from Brazil. There is something about travel that I love. The Big Blue stopped at the Bundy Drive bus stop to allow about fifty Santa Monica City College students climb on board. The bus driver told the rest of the crowd to wait for the next bus. A boy entered anyway and pushed his way through.
"I told you no more! The boy disappeared through the crowded aisle.
"I know who you are and you'll never get on my bus again."
So now the #10 that had lumbered down Broadway and now across Bundy Drive crossed Pico Blvd. Many of the Latino students got off at Olive Street downtown and others at other stops. It was too bad they had to come across town to get educated when the high schools should have done the job.
I go off at the Santa Fe Station and showed my two friends where to pick up their Amtrak tickets. The Brazilian would be meeting his brother at Santa Ana and the South African would be going all the way to the San Diego Santa Fe Station. They thanked me. I had another question for the polite window teller.
"How much is it for Portland?"
"Right now it is $152. We run one train at ten each day."
"I might leave Thursday or Friday...Let me think about it."
Now it just may have been going to the Santa Monica Pier and the view of the merry-go-round or just walking and talking. The high temperatures were due to quit the scene later in the day. I decided to visit the L.A. Library.
The B Dash bus deposited me there for twenty five cents. I was able to use their updated computers to and make fine copies to my flash drive. I huddled below on the lower fourth floor for several hours until hunger over took me. The Panda Express on the first floor satisfied my stomach but my head was full of the 30's and the football story.
The Rapid 720 took me back to West Los Angeles with the #14 the rest of the way. What a marvelous day...And I felt a nice cool breeze on my march back.
"Hope he's going to pay you?'
"Well got to return to my paint job."
I had shared a number 7 loaded bus with students going to Santa Monica City College. Many got off at Bundy Avenue but most left at my old City College in Santa Monica. I needed to be close to the ocean. I walked up the old pier and said hello to the wooden horses, still asleep. I trudged down bleacher steps to watch two volleyball players.
A volleyball player was taking lessons. A tall screen was made ready for a concert that evening. tonight. The opera Toscanini would be televised on a big screen from the Los Angeles Philharmonic. it would begin at seven thirty.
I walked up to the Gordon Arcade and several shops. At one time, there were two piers and one of them had the largest ballroom this side of the Pacific. The Spade Cooley Orchestra had played there in the forties and fifties. There was also a giant roller coaster and all types of shops.
Yet it was hot, too not to walk. The sun enveloped everyone with its blast furnace. The end of the pier afforded some shade. On my way back, I stopped in at Mac Donald's for their breakfast. It is still good for less than four dollars. I turned the corner and decided to take the Rapid 10 all-the-way downtown.
I helped out two people who did not know if the 10 was the right one. The gal was from West Africa and the boy from Brazil. There is something about travel that I love. The Big Blue stopped at the Bundy Drive bus stop to allow about fifty Santa Monica City College students climb on board. The bus driver told the rest of the crowd to wait for the next bus. A boy entered anyway and pushed his way through.
"I told you no more! The boy disappeared through the crowded aisle.
"I know who you are and you'll never get on my bus again."
So now the #10 that had lumbered down Broadway and now across Bundy Drive crossed Pico Blvd. Many of the Latino students got off at Olive Street downtown and others at other stops. It was too bad they had to come across town to get educated when the high schools should have done the job.
I go off at the Santa Fe Station and showed my two friends where to pick up their Amtrak tickets. The Brazilian would be meeting his brother at Santa Ana and the South African would be going all the way to the San Diego Santa Fe Station. They thanked me. I had another question for the polite window teller.
"How much is it for Portland?"
"Right now it is $152. We run one train at ten each day."
"I might leave Thursday or Friday...Let me think about it."
Now it just may have been going to the Santa Monica Pier and the view of the merry-go-round or just walking and talking. The high temperatures were due to quit the scene later in the day. I decided to visit the L.A. Library.
The B Dash bus deposited me there for twenty five cents. I was able to use their updated computers to and make fine copies to my flash drive. I huddled below on the lower fourth floor for several hours until hunger over took me. The Panda Express on the first floor satisfied my stomach but my head was full of the 30's and the football story.
The Rapid 720 took me back to West Los Angeles with the #14 the rest of the way. What a marvelous day...And I felt a nice cool breeze on my march back.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
U.C.L.A.vs U.S. C. 1937
Hold the Press. Was I on Schindler's List?
I just returned to the Beverly Hills Library. In my finished book, Schindler, A Trojan Legend, I wrote that Amby did not suit up for the 1937 game in South Bend against the Irish. He had a cartledge tear.
He was not on the traveling squad due to a knee injury suffered in the Oregon Game. He had told me that he needed to leave U.S.C.'s last game of the season due to his knee joint.
I had taken the #16 bus from Fifth and Grand in downtown L.A. I had needed to take flash drive pictures of the Trojans from 1936-1939, It was inside the Los Angeles' Downtown library that I jumped out of my shoes and saw an article about the outcome of the Trojan and Bruin game.
"George, I needed to get to the tunnel before the final gun sounded. We were way-up on those Bruins but then I heard the roar of the Coliseum crowd. I turned around and saw that dam 'gunslinger Washington had tied the game with a flick of his wrist and the tying touchdown. Well, I picked up my crutches and returned to the bench. of the Bruins. But then I heard the roar of the crow, I picked up my crutches and returned to our bench."
News accounts from 1937 Daily News, my favorite as a kid, made Schindler a-look-a-like-to Clark Kent's twin Superman. I will paraphrase the Daily News written version of this tale.
Like he told me, his knee had been severely compromised during an earlier game verses the Oregon Ducks. He had scored three touchdowns in that game and was helped off the field. Coach Jones threw him back. That was the end of his cartridge.
Braven Dyer, in the Los Angeles Times, wrote that "As U.S.C. goes the Trojans go! Dyer's job was to shadow the Trojans every day, whether on the train or Bovard Field. The Trojans were his beat and like Lee Bastajian there was something about Schindler that made for good copy-it may just have been his piss and vinegar. Now with the game tied, Clark Kent threw away his crutches and entered the fray with a few minutes remaining. On one good leg, he slammed and bullied his way through those Bruins. He scored the deciding touchdown. Schindler was voted the player of the U.C.L.A. game the year before in 1936.
Lee Bastajian also wrote that "Limping slightly, Amby took over the helm with four minutes remaining. Packing the ball on nearly every play,he carried the Troy team 56 yards in 10 plays to the score...."
"The great Troy quarterback trotted off the the field and into the player's tunnel amid one of the greatest ovations ever accorded a Trojan player."
His buddy from San Diego High had taken over the reins while Jones told Schindler to take a hike. When he finally left the game, he got a standing ovation from the crowd for his colossal effort. Could it be he now wore his crutches. The Schindler Story might not be as good as the one about his good friend, Luis Zamperini, but it just may come pretty close. Schindler, like his buddy Luis, was Unbroken.
So bad his knee, he had it operated on and stayed out of the 1938 season. ( Visited his Torrance home yesterday, the 20th. He still is alive at 97.)
I will be previewing the book along with a few minutes with DVD footage of the 1936 miracle game against the Irish. You can reach me at chicagoallstar@gmail.com. To my knowledge, we are both alive. I will be checking in on him this weekend.
I just returned to the Beverly Hills Library. In my finished book, Schindler, A Trojan Legend, I wrote that Amby did not suit up for the 1937 game in South Bend against the Irish. He had a cartledge tear.
He was not on the traveling squad due to a knee injury suffered in the Oregon Game. He had told me that he needed to leave U.S.C.'s last game of the season due to his knee joint.
I had taken the #16 bus from Fifth and Grand in downtown L.A. I had needed to take flash drive pictures of the Trojans from 1936-1939, It was inside the Los Angeles' Downtown library that I jumped out of my shoes and saw an article about the outcome of the Trojan and Bruin game.
"George, I needed to get to the tunnel before the final gun sounded. We were way-up on those Bruins but then I heard the roar of the Coliseum crowd. I turned around and saw that dam 'gunslinger Washington had tied the game with a flick of his wrist and the tying touchdown. Well, I picked up my crutches and returned to the bench. of the Bruins. But then I heard the roar of the crow, I picked up my crutches and returned to our bench."
News accounts from 1937 Daily News, my favorite as a kid, made Schindler a-look-a-like-to Clark Kent's twin Superman. I will paraphrase the Daily News written version of this tale.
Like he told me, his knee had been severely compromised during an earlier game verses the Oregon Ducks. He had scored three touchdowns in that game and was helped off the field. Coach Jones threw him back. That was the end of his cartridge.
Braven Dyer, in the Los Angeles Times, wrote that "As U.S.C. goes the Trojans go! Dyer's job was to shadow the Trojans every day, whether on the train or Bovard Field. The Trojans were his beat and like Lee Bastajian there was something about Schindler that made for good copy-it may just have been his piss and vinegar. Now with the game tied, Clark Kent threw away his crutches and entered the fray with a few minutes remaining. On one good leg, he slammed and bullied his way through those Bruins. He scored the deciding touchdown. Schindler was voted the player of the U.C.L.A. game the year before in 1936.
Lee Bastajian also wrote that "Limping slightly, Amby took over the helm with four minutes remaining. Packing the ball on nearly every play,he carried the Troy team 56 yards in 10 plays to the score...."
"The great Troy quarterback trotted off the the field and into the player's tunnel amid one of the greatest ovations ever accorded a Trojan player."
His buddy from San Diego High had taken over the reins while Jones told Schindler to take a hike. When he finally left the game, he got a standing ovation from the crowd for his colossal effort. Could it be he now wore his crutches. The Schindler Story might not be as good as the one about his good friend, Luis Zamperini, but it just may come pretty close. Schindler, like his buddy Luis, was Unbroken.
So bad his knee, he had it operated on and stayed out of the 1938 season. ( Visited his Torrance home yesterday, the 20th. He still is alive at 97.)
I will be previewing the book along with a few minutes with DVD footage of the 1936 miracle game against the Irish. You can reach me at chicagoallstar@gmail.com. To my knowledge, we are both alive. I will be checking in on him this weekend.
Monday, September 15, 2014
Century City, "The Odd Couple"
In front of me sat a couple. They sat directly across from each other. They sat inside a sea of restaurants two floors above Gelson's Market. The food cafeteria offers food of various nationalities.
The two across from me were Persians- but not the wealthy ones. I had gone there to fight the latest Los Angeles heat wave. Earlier I had divested some of my pocket change earlier for a Persian melon, barbecued chicken and also prune plums.
I cut up the grade A melon and watched the couple next to me. Unlike the rich Persians who wear jewels everywhere, The lady wore none but her husband wore a large gold watch. He was dressed in a neat white dress shirt along with trousers and trim-all leather shoes.
She wore a simple colorless blouse, skirt and sandals. Neither smiled throughout this adventure. I latched on to her sandals. Her feet spoke unlike her closed mouth. The left kept poking the right one until her feet had kicked them off. Blue nail polish covered bigger than normal toes.
Each ate their rice and other vegetables from small bowls. She finished earlier than her husband. He ate with a flourish enjoying each succulent bite. He rubbed his fingers to remove fallen particles and placed them on a napkin.
Finished, the lady tried to unlock the cap from the water bottle. No luck, even after several tries. She the pushed the stubborn bottle towards her husband. Without fanfare, his fingers flipped the plastic top up, and without any emotion pushed it back towards his partner. Now with her thirst satisfied, she put the lid over the water bottle and removed a small round mirror from her bag.
Her mirror focused upon her bottom teeth. Something was wrong with them. With her fingers she prodded her teeth to get to the problem. She did this twice, removing the mirror to remove a particle from her teeth. Her husband took a few tidbits from the large bowl and placed them inside his.
Now finished, he took the water bottle and unscrewed the lid. He placed a straw inside and sipped a few mouthfuls before returning it to its rightful spot. She again played with her prop, the looking mirror, and the left for something. The remains of the meal her husband placed inside a carton, not much, but just enough. I spoke to my daughter about this experience when I returned to her apartment
On our upstairs balcony, I spoke about what you have just read. Our second floor was too hot to eat in so we ate outside with a large rubber tree shading us. It was going on nine o'clock.
My daughter laughed when I spoke about this couple. "Dad, they probably have a poor marriage" But later she corrected herself. "Just maybe the marriage is so good they no longer have to speak. Wait a moment daughter.
When they got up to leave. They did not walk hand in hand but one followed the other like on a leach. "Well Dad, just maybe my first observation was correct. Their marriage was one not chosen by them, it was fixed.
Gelson's Market is quite cool. Like the Beverly Hills library, it is easy to forget L.A is in the hundreds again today.
The two across from me were Persians- but not the wealthy ones. I had gone there to fight the latest Los Angeles heat wave. Earlier I had divested some of my pocket change earlier for a Persian melon, barbecued chicken and also prune plums.
I cut up the grade A melon and watched the couple next to me. Unlike the rich Persians who wear jewels everywhere, The lady wore none but her husband wore a large gold watch. He was dressed in a neat white dress shirt along with trousers and trim-all leather shoes.
She wore a simple colorless blouse, skirt and sandals. Neither smiled throughout this adventure. I latched on to her sandals. Her feet spoke unlike her closed mouth. The left kept poking the right one until her feet had kicked them off. Blue nail polish covered bigger than normal toes.
Each ate their rice and other vegetables from small bowls. She finished earlier than her husband. He ate with a flourish enjoying each succulent bite. He rubbed his fingers to remove fallen particles and placed them on a napkin.
Finished, the lady tried to unlock the cap from the water bottle. No luck, even after several tries. She the pushed the stubborn bottle towards her husband. Without fanfare, his fingers flipped the plastic top up, and without any emotion pushed it back towards his partner. Now with her thirst satisfied, she put the lid over the water bottle and removed a small round mirror from her bag.
Her mirror focused upon her bottom teeth. Something was wrong with them. With her fingers she prodded her teeth to get to the problem. She did this twice, removing the mirror to remove a particle from her teeth. Her husband took a few tidbits from the large bowl and placed them inside his.
Now finished, he took the water bottle and unscrewed the lid. He placed a straw inside and sipped a few mouthfuls before returning it to its rightful spot. She again played with her prop, the looking mirror, and the left for something. The remains of the meal her husband placed inside a carton, not much, but just enough. I spoke to my daughter about this experience when I returned to her apartment
On our upstairs balcony, I spoke about what you have just read. Our second floor was too hot to eat in so we ate outside with a large rubber tree shading us. It was going on nine o'clock.
My daughter laughed when I spoke about this couple. "Dad, they probably have a poor marriage" But later she corrected herself. "Just maybe the marriage is so good they no longer have to speak. Wait a moment daughter.
When they got up to leave. They did not walk hand in hand but one followed the other like on a leach. "Well Dad, just maybe my first observation was correct. Their marriage was one not chosen by them, it was fixed.
Gelson's Market is quite cool. Like the Beverly Hills library, it is easy to forget L.A is in the hundreds again today.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
A Day at Santa Monica Beach
"Would you hit with me?"
"Sure, give me a minute to dry off?"
Steve had just finished his forty dollar volleyball lesson on Santa Monica Beach's court one. It is where Butch May taught Misty to play, and where Bobby Barber and Butch taught others professionals the tools of the game.
The Number Seven bus had driven me to Ocean Avenue and dropped me off across from the pier. I was the only white to get on board. It is fifty cents for seniors. I sat with my nap-sack and looked around for another white man. Except for a few blacks, the bus was packed with Mexicans, and most half asleep. This one was an accordion bus with a round swivel gadget in the middle. It gave the bus agility and room for many more passengers.
The L.A. Times mentioned record heat days. I said hello to a large water park finished a year ago, and crossed the street. Cars were elbowing the way for parking. I smiled. No fool am I, not today or tomorrow. I walk, ride or fly but never drive to this busy playground. I arrived at the Santa Monica Pier at nine o'clock.
I had played volleyball on this beach with 'Bud' Grit, 'Spider,' 'Big Dan' and even the legendary basket ball player, Wilt Chamberlain. I got to be good and beat some good players but that was when I was only in my fifties and sixties.
The busy pier was to my right with a Ferris wheel and merry-go-round to the south. It was my merry-go-round in the forties when street cars took us everywhere. Snow cones, cotton candy, syrupy apples were the sensation of the day. Today I wished to return to yesteryear, when I could play more than just one two-man-game of beach volleyball. The supple sand and cool breeze was just what my primary ordered, a good workout.
"Stand further back George." We bumped and gave each other sets for fifteen minutes. My legs hurt a bit but it didn't matter: I was back, yes George was back.
"Steve, does 'Big' Dan still come?"
"No, he had ear cancer. They lobbed off a chunk from his ear and took a graft of skin from his chest. So far he has been lucky, but when he tries to play, the area of the graft unhinges."
"Did 'Big' Dan get married?"
"No, like me, he is still waiting for God to send one for him.
By that time I had said "hello" to several of my old buddies. There was Ken, Mel, and a host of others. A key board played a few standards next to the Hot Dog on a Stick concession. Bobby Barber told me how it became big overnight.
"Can't remember his name, but think he had come from Kansas with Mom's special ingredients. In the fifties he made a batter and dipped them in a hot pail We shared these dogs while he played the game with us He wasn't great but we allowed him to play. We loved those hot-doggies on a stick. ( As told to me. )
I watched a few games and as they say, with fun, time runs away and hides. At about one, hunger took over and a good antipasti salad was what I craved for. Up the street sat good-old Bruno's, known for the best Italian food a block from the board walk. . I ordered a large salad with water.
The larger-than-life plate included cold cuts, peppers, tomatoes, cumbers, and several other vegetables Slices of a hot French bread was just what I needed to coat my stomach.
Nuts and Bolts: I have five books with the Sheb Conway's collection of Muscle Beach. His photos go back to the thirties. Steve Reeves, Mr. American, Jack La Lane and many others will be seen soon. Venice Beach has supplanted this one.
"Sure, give me a minute to dry off?"
Steve had just finished his forty dollar volleyball lesson on Santa Monica Beach's court one. It is where Butch May taught Misty to play, and where Bobby Barber and Butch taught others professionals the tools of the game.
The Number Seven bus had driven me to Ocean Avenue and dropped me off across from the pier. I was the only white to get on board. It is fifty cents for seniors. I sat with my nap-sack and looked around for another white man. Except for a few blacks, the bus was packed with Mexicans, and most half asleep. This one was an accordion bus with a round swivel gadget in the middle. It gave the bus agility and room for many more passengers.
The L.A. Times mentioned record heat days. I said hello to a large water park finished a year ago, and crossed the street. Cars were elbowing the way for parking. I smiled. No fool am I, not today or tomorrow. I walk, ride or fly but never drive to this busy playground. I arrived at the Santa Monica Pier at nine o'clock.
I had played volleyball on this beach with 'Bud' Grit, 'Spider,' 'Big Dan' and even the legendary basket ball player, Wilt Chamberlain. I got to be good and beat some good players but that was when I was only in my fifties and sixties.
The busy pier was to my right with a Ferris wheel and merry-go-round to the south. It was my merry-go-round in the forties when street cars took us everywhere. Snow cones, cotton candy, syrupy apples were the sensation of the day. Today I wished to return to yesteryear, when I could play more than just one two-man-game of beach volleyball. The supple sand and cool breeze was just what my primary ordered, a good workout.
"Stand further back George." We bumped and gave each other sets for fifteen minutes. My legs hurt a bit but it didn't matter: I was back, yes George was back.
"Steve, does 'Big' Dan still come?"
"No, he had ear cancer. They lobbed off a chunk from his ear and took a graft of skin from his chest. So far he has been lucky, but when he tries to play, the area of the graft unhinges."
"Did 'Big' Dan get married?"
"No, like me, he is still waiting for God to send one for him.
By that time I had said "hello" to several of my old buddies. There was Ken, Mel, and a host of others. A key board played a few standards next to the Hot Dog on a Stick concession. Bobby Barber told me how it became big overnight.
"Can't remember his name, but think he had come from Kansas with Mom's special ingredients. In the fifties he made a batter and dipped them in a hot pail We shared these dogs while he played the game with us He wasn't great but we allowed him to play. We loved those hot-doggies on a stick. ( As told to me. )
I watched a few games and as they say, with fun, time runs away and hides. At about one, hunger took over and a good antipasti salad was what I craved for. Up the street sat good-old Bruno's, known for the best Italian food a block from the board walk. . I ordered a large salad with water.
The larger-than-life plate included cold cuts, peppers, tomatoes, cumbers, and several other vegetables Slices of a hot French bread was just what I needed to coat my stomach.
Nuts and Bolts: I have five books with the Sheb Conway's collection of Muscle Beach. His photos go back to the thirties. Steve Reeves, Mr. American, Jack La Lane and many others will be seen soon. Venice Beach has supplanted this one.
Friday, September 12, 2014
The Santa Ana's have arrived, and how!
Santa Ana is now sending his revenge for having Sam Houston make Northern Mexico, Texas. The vigilante winds are blowing across Southern California and me with no A/C in L.A.
Last night I found a old Penicillin pill and threw it inside my mouth. It did the job of removing bacteria from my air filter. Bacteria swarm inside me when the ozone shoots up or dust gets inside. They live off of fowl air and we harbor too much of it.
Last night, my daughter greeted me with a happy surprise. I had just returned from Century City's Gelson's Market and the upstairs cafeteria. I enjoy watching these dames grabbing a number and picking out the choicest meats. It has got to be the biggest part of their day. For me, the good news is that I get my ticket stamped for three free hours of parking. But back to my daughter.
"Dad,just got finished reading some of your short stories. I enjoyed the ending of "The Beggar", It was probably you who had stolen the Rabbi's wife."
"You got it daughter. I need to supplant Stella with one who can fondly hold my hand. Did you enjoy the fruit drinks from Costco? My daughter has trouble eating and sleeping do to a incompetent medical error."
But getting back to Costco. Culver City was just vacant land and a few homes when I came into this world in the forties. Now this large store takes up several blocks on the north side of Washington Blvd. I bought a large lot of paper towels along with a pair of pants. I even treated myself to a large pizza and Pepsi.
There was only one glitch, trying to leave the parking lot. Remember the days of bump-cars at the neighboring amusement park? Some guy in a sports car shouted at me.
"You, f... old man. Can you move our f... old beat up car?"
"I am going to get out and knock the living..." At that point my higher power took over. I told him he can't spoil my day when the fault is the 'f....women up ahead of me."
The Beverly Hills library is just what I need. It gives two free hours of parking and charges one dollar for each thirty minutes over. The computers are first rate and I don't mind paying a dollar/an hour for more time. Even the print machines I am learning to navigate. In the next year or so, I will compete with other short story writers like Wilma Cather and Bret Hart.
Got to go to Kaiser Cadillac now. My daughter needs me to make an appointment for glasses....Well I'm back and made the appointment for her next Tuesday.
Kaiser has changed to a stock yard of cattle, no longer the local facility of forty years ago. I needed to reorder asthmatic medication. Wheel chairs, walkers and canes puddled the front entrance.
Latina caregivers pushed the chairs along to a waiting car or van. Inside the first floor pharmacy, hordes were in line to pick up or order a prescription. Luckily, my San Diego doctor did not need to be called to fill my order. I decided to go to the basement's cafeteria.
I was not alone. The hospital workers jammed my elevator and pushed and squeezd to be the first out. Yes, your wright, it was chow time. Most ran to the cafeteria for food, glorious food.
Since I eat to live, I felt no need to hurry. Blond tints are in. Just about all of the workers had blond in their hair. I still find it funny to hear a blond Latina speak in Spanish.
I met one of my ex high school friends, now in a wheel chair. Joe made the mistake of not having his colon checked and now has to suffer for it.
S
Last night I found a old Penicillin pill and threw it inside my mouth. It did the job of removing bacteria from my air filter. Bacteria swarm inside me when the ozone shoots up or dust gets inside. They live off of fowl air and we harbor too much of it.
Last night, my daughter greeted me with a happy surprise. I had just returned from Century City's Gelson's Market and the upstairs cafeteria. I enjoy watching these dames grabbing a number and picking out the choicest meats. It has got to be the biggest part of their day. For me, the good news is that I get my ticket stamped for three free hours of parking. But back to my daughter.
"Dad,just got finished reading some of your short stories. I enjoyed the ending of "The Beggar", It was probably you who had stolen the Rabbi's wife."
"You got it daughter. I need to supplant Stella with one who can fondly hold my hand. Did you enjoy the fruit drinks from Costco? My daughter has trouble eating and sleeping do to a incompetent medical error."
But getting back to Costco. Culver City was just vacant land and a few homes when I came into this world in the forties. Now this large store takes up several blocks on the north side of Washington Blvd. I bought a large lot of paper towels along with a pair of pants. I even treated myself to a large pizza and Pepsi.
There was only one glitch, trying to leave the parking lot. Remember the days of bump-cars at the neighboring amusement park? Some guy in a sports car shouted at me.
"You, f... old man. Can you move our f... old beat up car?"
"I am going to get out and knock the living..." At that point my higher power took over. I told him he can't spoil my day when the fault is the 'f....women up ahead of me."
The Beverly Hills library is just what I need. It gives two free hours of parking and charges one dollar for each thirty minutes over. The computers are first rate and I don't mind paying a dollar/an hour for more time. Even the print machines I am learning to navigate. In the next year or so, I will compete with other short story writers like Wilma Cather and Bret Hart.
Got to go to Kaiser Cadillac now. My daughter needs me to make an appointment for glasses....Well I'm back and made the appointment for her next Tuesday.
Kaiser has changed to a stock yard of cattle, no longer the local facility of forty years ago. I needed to reorder asthmatic medication. Wheel chairs, walkers and canes puddled the front entrance.
Latina caregivers pushed the chairs along to a waiting car or van. Inside the first floor pharmacy, hordes were in line to pick up or order a prescription. Luckily, my San Diego doctor did not need to be called to fill my order. I decided to go to the basement's cafeteria.
I was not alone. The hospital workers jammed my elevator and pushed and squeezd to be the first out. Yes, your wright, it was chow time. Most ran to the cafeteria for food, glorious food.
Since I eat to live, I felt no need to hurry. Blond tints are in. Just about all of the workers had blond in their hair. I still find it funny to hear a blond Latina speak in Spanish.
I met one of my ex high school friends, now in a wheel chair. Joe made the mistake of not having his colon checked and now has to suffer for it.
S
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
A Day in West Los Angeles
This is my second week back in West Los Angeles. Again it is great to sleep in my own bedroom. A westerly ocean breeze enters two louver windows early in the evening. Unlike San Diego, the temperatures come down and there is little humidity late at night.
It is another scorcher in Los Angeles. Thank God we live in West L.A. and not the downtown area. Lindsay sits on the outside balcony eating her Thomas Raisin and Cinnamon muffins. Oscar, her Yorkshire Terrier's front paws beg for another beef jerky. The Nova Salmon strips are my breakfast along with a couple of plum prunes. My daughter comes inside. It is still cool, but soon the temperatures will rise.
"Is there anything I can get for you at Ralph's?"
"Yes Dad. I am out of Thomas muffins. Can you get some for me at Ralph's?"
"No problem. How did the depositories work, and can you get me some water?"
Like many women, my daughter Sarah suffers from T.M.J. or Bruxism Disease. When a young teenager, a doctor gave her Paxil for her headaches. At the time, she had severe headaches and her doctor had no idea that teeth grinding would be the outcome of this now dangerous drug.
Today L.A. was supposed to reach 90 degrees and reach 100 this weekend. I walk down Pico and walk across Beverly Glen with the light. I buy a L.A. Times and the muffins she wants. I buy a small coffee at the inside Starbucks from Tysha and take my seat at a counter next to the window.
The front pages show dark heavy smog in China. No wonder why so many are coming here and have their own newspapers downstairs. A graph shows the smog levels fifty times higher than the ones on our South West Coast.
Ralph's had great air conditioning. I leave and return to the Pico apartments. One of the muffins I toast and place jam on it. Before leaving, I ask about something she told me yesterday.
"Dear, I didn't quite understand you yesterday. What did you mean about razors and grass?"
"Many gardeners cut grass late at night from front yards. They use razors to cut chunks of healthy grass and then sell it to unsuspecting homeowners. But a bigger business is stealing copper pipe. Anything that can produce quick money like car parts are a way to make quick money."
We speak about upgrading our air-conditioner and doing our laundry later in the early evening. It is already hot, but at least I will spend my time in the Beverly Hills Library. The gang from Baldwin Hills will be coming later in the day.
It is another scorcher in Los Angeles. Thank God we live in West L.A. and not the downtown area. Lindsay sits on the outside balcony eating her Thomas Raisin and Cinnamon muffins. Oscar, her Yorkshire Terrier's front paws beg for another beef jerky. The Nova Salmon strips are my breakfast along with a couple of plum prunes. My daughter comes inside. It is still cool, but soon the temperatures will rise.
"Is there anything I can get for you at Ralph's?"
"Yes Dad. I am out of Thomas muffins. Can you get some for me at Ralph's?"
"No problem. How did the depositories work, and can you get me some water?"
Like many women, my daughter Sarah suffers from T.M.J. or Bruxism Disease. When a young teenager, a doctor gave her Paxil for her headaches. At the time, she had severe headaches and her doctor had no idea that teeth grinding would be the outcome of this now dangerous drug.
Today L.A. was supposed to reach 90 degrees and reach 100 this weekend. I walk down Pico and walk across Beverly Glen with the light. I buy a L.A. Times and the muffins she wants. I buy a small coffee at the inside Starbucks from Tysha and take my seat at a counter next to the window.
The front pages show dark heavy smog in China. No wonder why so many are coming here and have their own newspapers downstairs. A graph shows the smog levels fifty times higher than the ones on our South West Coast.
Ralph's had great air conditioning. I leave and return to the Pico apartments. One of the muffins I toast and place jam on it. Before leaving, I ask about something she told me yesterday.
"Dear, I didn't quite understand you yesterday. What did you mean about razors and grass?"
"Many gardeners cut grass late at night from front yards. They use razors to cut chunks of healthy grass and then sell it to unsuspecting homeowners. But a bigger business is stealing copper pipe. Anything that can produce quick money like car parts are a way to make quick money."
We speak about upgrading our air-conditioner and doing our laundry later in the early evening. It is already hot, but at least I will spend my time in the Beverly Hills Library. The gang from Baldwin Hills will be coming later in the day.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
A Trip to Gelson's Market
My Mom Edith shopped at Ralph's, and on special ocassions Gelson's in Century City. The market is notorious for having the finest deli, bakery, produce and meats in West Los Angeles. It caters to the rich and famous. I am not a celebrity yet, but I wish my stomach to ready itself.
The Mexican Monsoons made its home in Los Angeles yesterday. With no wind to remove the dirt and pollen, I knew just where to go at night. Besides, my daughter needed time to be with her boy friend, so what the hell.
Yet I felt good to leave the heavy air of San Diego. I felt alive for the first time in awhile. I took Olympic Boulevard to Century City and turned off on Avenue of the Stars. My disabled plate found several available places-right next to Mom's market Since my plate read disabled, I did my jerky sideways walk into the refrigerated store.
Now I was in my element. I felt like a movie star what with my saddle shoes and new plated teeth. Why even a few denizens asked for my autograph, but were unwilling to pay the ten dollar fee I charged.
I read a book about Texas for a few minutes and altered it with some of my short stories. I wished to give my daughter time in our one bedroom. Most of the shoppers looked over one hundred years old and were held up by their caregivers and walkers. I just knew that some of these relics wished to dine and die the same way others did before them-over fine wine and food.
Hell, their fancy wigs and falsies did not fool me one bit-no not one bit. Their caretakers pushed their shopping carts along. Most of them lived in a lavish homes overlooking a golf courses. In fact some acted as if golf balls had hit them in the noggin.
The Deli counter smacked of a traffic jam. Everyone ran to get the next ticket to be served next. All types of vegetables and meats were available. One gal who must have weighed five hundred pounds came inside and sampled one spoonful after another. Her bright red hair was covered by dread locks and as she sambaed from one station to the next.
Another young couple, obviously in love ambled in. They covered their wagon with all types of treasures, She wore black pants, shirt and ten inch heals to boot. They looked love-locked for life.
I decided to go to the salad bar to see if something there interested me. Some fool shouted "Hi handsom! She screamed this aloud twice. Did she mean me? asked myself.
I turned around not knowing that Halloween had arrive earlier than October. It was my sister Dina and her cute daughter Cleo. Cleo had never looked so charming. I gave her a kiss and kissed both good-by.
I hurried back to my safe perch in front of the deli counter. I needed a fix after the too-soon trick or treat. I bought a large half barbecued chicken for five ninety five. The clerk validated my parking ticket. It was good for three hours of trick or treat fun.
That night, I had the best sleep in years. My disconnect with the past worked to perfection.
The Mexican Monsoons made its home in Los Angeles yesterday. With no wind to remove the dirt and pollen, I knew just where to go at night. Besides, my daughter needed time to be with her boy friend, so what the hell.
Yet I felt good to leave the heavy air of San Diego. I felt alive for the first time in awhile. I took Olympic Boulevard to Century City and turned off on Avenue of the Stars. My disabled plate found several available places-right next to Mom's market Since my plate read disabled, I did my jerky sideways walk into the refrigerated store.
Now I was in my element. I felt like a movie star what with my saddle shoes and new plated teeth. Why even a few denizens asked for my autograph, but were unwilling to pay the ten dollar fee I charged.
I read a book about Texas for a few minutes and altered it with some of my short stories. I wished to give my daughter time in our one bedroom. Most of the shoppers looked over one hundred years old and were held up by their caregivers and walkers. I just knew that some of these relics wished to dine and die the same way others did before them-over fine wine and food.
Hell, their fancy wigs and falsies did not fool me one bit-no not one bit. Their caretakers pushed their shopping carts along. Most of them lived in a lavish homes overlooking a golf courses. In fact some acted as if golf balls had hit them in the noggin.
The Deli counter smacked of a traffic jam. Everyone ran to get the next ticket to be served next. All types of vegetables and meats were available. One gal who must have weighed five hundred pounds came inside and sampled one spoonful after another. Her bright red hair was covered by dread locks and as she sambaed from one station to the next.
Another young couple, obviously in love ambled in. They covered their wagon with all types of treasures, She wore black pants, shirt and ten inch heals to boot. They looked love-locked for life.
I decided to go to the salad bar to see if something there interested me. Some fool shouted "Hi handsom! She screamed this aloud twice. Did she mean me? asked myself.
I turned around not knowing that Halloween had arrive earlier than October. It was my sister Dina and her cute daughter Cleo. Cleo had never looked so charming. I gave her a kiss and kissed both good-by.
I hurried back to my safe perch in front of the deli counter. I needed a fix after the too-soon trick or treat. I bought a large half barbecued chicken for five ninety five. The clerk validated my parking ticket. It was good for three hours of trick or treat fun.
That night, I had the best sleep in years. My disconnect with the past worked to perfection.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Trip to Beverly Hills Library
I woke up refreshed in a West L.A. Daughter again had a severe migraine last night-not easy to stop her monologue. Yet I slept around the clock and dealt with her T.M.J. in a dream. Took a shower, shaved and kissed my daughter good-by. Up the street sat Ralph's. It felt great to wake up with my daughter lighting one up outside. Her dog Oscar did not bark. He barks less, bows and surrenders to me.
I walked up the street to Ralph's expecting to see my Mom Edith with her warm smile. The deli made a pastrami sandwich for me. I purchased grapes and two rolls. Bought another coffee at the inside Starbucks. "Hey Trisha, will put you in my blog." Her radiant Starbucks smile radiates mine.
The counter gives me time to eat and mediate over a L.A. Time , and flashbacks of my Mom Edith shopping here. I speak to her even today. Her smile is mine. She was forever buying barbecued chicken and Farmer John Bacon. Just can't get over how my Mom always smiled, no matter what -- even in the five cancer years. Now hers graces mine-thanks Ma.
The #14 waited for me on the corner of Pico and Beverly Drive. Mom often washed her car on the corner. Fifteen minutes later it picked me up. No longer did the bus have a cord to pull. Instead there was a large button to press when you wished the bus to stop.
The Pussy and Pooch pet store sat on the corner begging for a treat. Why it took up most of Li'l Santa Monica Blvd. The desk told me the lavish pet store had been here more than one year. I continued my walk through Beverly Hills City Hall.
It is great to see no homeless, as San Diego is littered with them. Also the air is drier and freer to roam. No tall buildings can keep the air from flowing. It is great to have visions of Edith and Harry. 10,000 homeless saturate the streets of San Diego.
The computers at the Beverly Hills Library are quiet. Guess that only one hour limits the number of homeless. that enter. I love it when it is so quiet, quite unlike the San Diego Libraries. I am in my element when I can do quiet computer work before exiting for life on the other side.
I then walked down Little Santa Monica and made a right turn on Beverly Dive. Coffee Bean sat across the street next to the Paley Center. On my side were Starbucks and of course, Nate and Al's. Now outside dinning graced Beverly Hills Iconic restaurant. Last time I ate their King gave my gal Gloria his autograph.
An elevator and the Crate and Barrel store butt up against these stores. A few misplaced homeless sat and counted their pennies.
I cost me about eleven dollars for a small container of chopped liver, and a sliced seeded rye. It was worth it. At a round outside tale at Starbucks I enjoyed the spread. A Star-Line tour bus waved its hood to me while tourists took my picture. Coffee Bean across the street becomes more crowded when the sun sits at three o'clock.
A green light cross-walk took me to Gary's. A security guard looked me over. Rolex watches were featured in a window box outside. Gary's, unlike the sixties, focused on jewelry and not supper wear. A display of dazzling jewels made me place my shades on.
I bought my self an Urbana Bagel from next store. It began, so my gal Gloria told me, in Montreal Canada. She bought out the store moons ago.
A money exchange store had newly opened, and also on the west side of the street were the headquarters of M.G.M. On the wall was a picture of Ambrose Schindler, inside a tin suit. He doubled for Alex Haley in the Wizard of Oz. (Not finished or edited)
I walked up the street to Ralph's expecting to see my Mom Edith with her warm smile. The deli made a pastrami sandwich for me. I purchased grapes and two rolls. Bought another coffee at the inside Starbucks. "Hey Trisha, will put you in my blog." Her radiant Starbucks smile radiates mine.
The counter gives me time to eat and mediate over a L.A. Time , and flashbacks of my Mom Edith shopping here. I speak to her even today. Her smile is mine. She was forever buying barbecued chicken and Farmer John Bacon. Just can't get over how my Mom always smiled, no matter what -- even in the five cancer years. Now hers graces mine-thanks Ma.
The #14 waited for me on the corner of Pico and Beverly Drive. Mom often washed her car on the corner. Fifteen minutes later it picked me up. No longer did the bus have a cord to pull. Instead there was a large button to press when you wished the bus to stop.
The Pussy and Pooch pet store sat on the corner begging for a treat. Why it took up most of Li'l Santa Monica Blvd. The desk told me the lavish pet store had been here more than one year. I continued my walk through Beverly Hills City Hall.
It is great to see no homeless, as San Diego is littered with them. Also the air is drier and freer to roam. No tall buildings can keep the air from flowing. It is great to have visions of Edith and Harry. 10,000 homeless saturate the streets of San Diego.
The computers at the Beverly Hills Library are quiet. Guess that only one hour limits the number of homeless. that enter. I love it when it is so quiet, quite unlike the San Diego Libraries. I am in my element when I can do quiet computer work before exiting for life on the other side.
I then walked down Little Santa Monica and made a right turn on Beverly Dive. Coffee Bean sat across the street next to the Paley Center. On my side were Starbucks and of course, Nate and Al's. Now outside dinning graced Beverly Hills Iconic restaurant. Last time I ate their King gave my gal Gloria his autograph.
An elevator and the Crate and Barrel store butt up against these stores. A few misplaced homeless sat and counted their pennies.
I cost me about eleven dollars for a small container of chopped liver, and a sliced seeded rye. It was worth it. At a round outside tale at Starbucks I enjoyed the spread. A Star-Line tour bus waved its hood to me while tourists took my picture. Coffee Bean across the street becomes more crowded when the sun sits at three o'clock.
A green light cross-walk took me to Gary's. A security guard looked me over. Rolex watches were featured in a window box outside. Gary's, unlike the sixties, focused on jewelry and not supper wear. A display of dazzling jewels made me place my shades on.
I bought my self an Urbana Bagel from next store. It began, so my gal Gloria told me, in Montreal Canada. She bought out the store moons ago.
A money exchange store had newly opened, and also on the west side of the street were the headquarters of M.G.M. On the wall was a picture of Ambrose Schindler, inside a tin suit. He doubled for Alex Haley in the Wizard of Oz. (Not finished or edited)
Thursday, September 4, 2014
A Tidbit from Beverly Hills.
I got up once last night. That in itself is a miracle. It is great living again with my number two daughter -- and her dog Oscar. It was my best sleep in years. Unlike San Diego, the temps go down at night, and how!
"Down Oscar,down!" My daughter's Terrier had been abused and thinks all men are evil. He tore at my pants. Guess he must have had a flash back to his original owner.
I ready myself for a brand new life. The air for asthmatics is so much better here than the heavy air in San Diego. It is no accident that Hollywood fled here in the twenties and suburbs like Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, and Century City shot up like pop corn. The Pacific Ocean is our air conditioner.
Before busing to the Beverly Hills Library, I walked down Pico to Beverwil Drive and crossed the street to Ralph's...at least it said Ralph's. Inside I saw rows and rows of cakes, just cakes. To the right was a salad bar. Today it is $7.95 for a selected salad, two dollars more than four years ago. Fruit and vegetable racks stood behind the cashiers.
I picked up a L.A. Times and two bagels with packages of raisins and a banana . A Starbucks coffee clutch was next to the northeast door. I bought a cup and sat in a stool by the north window. It felt great to be with my people, Persian Jews-well at least the Jew part. I felt glad that Obama would fight for the Estonians, Latvia and Lithuania. Hell most kids never heard of these countries. .
Of course I had changed,by golly a lot. No longer did I walk in God's shoes. He walked inside mine. I wished to show Hashem things he needed to change before our New Year, the 24th. At nine o'clock cars stood still on Pico Blvd. I walked towards he apartment to unpack and ready myself for the number 14 bus. It would take me through Beverly Hills towards the library. I just love buses although it is too bad that L.A.does not have San Diego's transit system.
I took my black nap sack and strode down the street. The orange #14 had not arrived. I walked towards the Glat Market and entered the Shoe Store a store down. I needed new laces. I received a pair and then walked to the bus stop on Beverly Glen.
On the Metro bus bench, I laced up the new after throwing away the old. An A Italian couple practiced their English. Beside me a demented lady screamed obscenities to passing cars. The number 14 arrived. His machine didn't work so we climbed aboard free.
I got off at his last stop on Canon Drive. It was fun to walk and watch the cars speed by. The Beverly Hills library had changed. It gave you one free hour but for more you needed to pay a dollar for each additional hour. It seemed a lot quieter than before. Some executives now used several up-to-date large screen computers.
My keyboard work began at about ten thirty. It was cemetery quiet. At about twelve I walked outside to have my lunch of raisins, a bagel, and four apricots. A red haired Latina fondled her patient and laughed while on her cell. A lady sat beside me and removed one cookie from her bag. The Latina laughed since there was little room on the wired bench.
I expected the #14 bus to come anytime. From one until two I waited for the bus that never came. I walked down Canon Drive, and named it the street of while table cloths. At each west restaurant each patron spoke different dialects. Wine and cheese was served everywhere. Several #14 buses swept passed me going the wrong direction. Mine finally arrived-and in the nick of time.
I knew why the tourists took buses to see this heirloom called Beverly Hills .In the forties, it could have been a cow pasture. There were no high rises but merely a conventional city. . Even in the sixties, I sold clocks to Bed and Bath, Gary's and also Pioneer Hardware. In fact it was at one of those luggage stores that Schindler's list evolved from.
The Sterling building was a movie house in my day, and rabbits still ran across the highway.
"Down Oscar,down!" My daughter's Terrier had been abused and thinks all men are evil. He tore at my pants. Guess he must have had a flash back to his original owner.
I ready myself for a brand new life. The air for asthmatics is so much better here than the heavy air in San Diego. It is no accident that Hollywood fled here in the twenties and suburbs like Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, and Century City shot up like pop corn. The Pacific Ocean is our air conditioner.
Before busing to the Beverly Hills Library, I walked down Pico to Beverwil Drive and crossed the street to Ralph's...at least it said Ralph's. Inside I saw rows and rows of cakes, just cakes. To the right was a salad bar. Today it is $7.95 for a selected salad, two dollars more than four years ago. Fruit and vegetable racks stood behind the cashiers.
I picked up a L.A. Times and two bagels with packages of raisins and a banana . A Starbucks coffee clutch was next to the northeast door. I bought a cup and sat in a stool by the north window. It felt great to be with my people, Persian Jews-well at least the Jew part. I felt glad that Obama would fight for the Estonians, Latvia and Lithuania. Hell most kids never heard of these countries. .
Of course I had changed,by golly a lot. No longer did I walk in God's shoes. He walked inside mine. I wished to show Hashem things he needed to change before our New Year, the 24th. At nine o'clock cars stood still on Pico Blvd. I walked towards he apartment to unpack and ready myself for the number 14 bus. It would take me through Beverly Hills towards the library. I just love buses although it is too bad that L.A.does not have San Diego's transit system.
I took my black nap sack and strode down the street. The orange #14 had not arrived. I walked towards the Glat Market and entered the Shoe Store a store down. I needed new laces. I received a pair and then walked to the bus stop on Beverly Glen.
On the Metro bus bench, I laced up the new after throwing away the old. An A Italian couple practiced their English. Beside me a demented lady screamed obscenities to passing cars. The number 14 arrived. His machine didn't work so we climbed aboard free.
I got off at his last stop on Canon Drive. It was fun to walk and watch the cars speed by. The Beverly Hills library had changed. It gave you one free hour but for more you needed to pay a dollar for each additional hour. It seemed a lot quieter than before. Some executives now used several up-to-date large screen computers.
My keyboard work began at about ten thirty. It was cemetery quiet. At about twelve I walked outside to have my lunch of raisins, a bagel, and four apricots. A red haired Latina fondled her patient and laughed while on her cell. A lady sat beside me and removed one cookie from her bag. The Latina laughed since there was little room on the wired bench.
I expected the #14 bus to come anytime. From one until two I waited for the bus that never came. I walked down Canon Drive, and named it the street of while table cloths. At each west restaurant each patron spoke different dialects. Wine and cheese was served everywhere. Several #14 buses swept passed me going the wrong direction. Mine finally arrived-and in the nick of time.
I knew why the tourists took buses to see this heirloom called Beverly Hills .In the forties, it could have been a cow pasture. There were no high rises but merely a conventional city. . Even in the sixties, I sold clocks to Bed and Bath, Gary's and also Pioneer Hardware. In fact it was at one of those luggage stores that Schindler's list evolved from.
The Sterling building was a movie house in my day, and rabbits still ran across the highway.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Moving Back to Los Angeles
Friday morning I left early for the once City of Angels. Today it is the City of Parked Cars. It was time to re-engage with my daughter. By now our broken bones had healed, in fact, a new and stronger bond had begun. We had detached for over four year. Yet both us needed to play our games away for awhile before returning home.
The San Diego downtown 'Y' had provided me $1,800 for the move back to my origins. It was another hot one in San Diego by the Bay. I picked up my car in Old Town at eight o'clock Friday to beat the heat and early Labor Day traffic. Chap stick was needed when we passed Huntington Drive. I rubbed some over my dried lips. It felt good to rid myself of the damp heavy-damp air in San Diego. My lungs sang for the first time in quite awhile. .
The roads were clear. Many had stayed home to ready themselves for the Labor Day festivities. The 5 ran into the Santa Monica Freeway. I got off on the Overland exit on my way to Pico Blvd. Mistake. Only one lane was available as workers laid cement beside the curb. I arrived at about eleven o'clock to the West L. A. address. Again I applied more chap stick and no longer did I need to sneeze.
My daughter had misplaced her keys so I needed to make three. I remembered a shoe store that doubled as a key maker. She sat at her favorite drinking hole, Coffee Bean. I took the key and made a set of three for us, and for only three fifty. She had gotten rid of her room mate and it had caused too much stress. We began to look for two bedroom apartments in West Los Angeles.
The second day we accomplished a lot more. No longer did I react to everything she said. I just went with the flow. Her dog Oscar had not been clipped in years. We dropped him off at Pet's are Us and drove to Costco for an Aerobed. We bought the bed and returned for the dog. to find her dog just about completed with its hair cut. My daughter plugged it in the air mattress and presto, I had the replica of a real queen size bed.
I took a one hours nap and took my daughter's advise. I had not been to a car wash in over twenty years and my little Cavalier must have given off some strange odors. I drove to the Beverly Glen car wash. across the street was where my Dad Harry had played tennis for most of his life. It was the first real car wash ever. My car rumbled through the wash while I sat and reconnoitered with my Dad Harry.
My flashback of my Dad made me smile. Harry was in his element when he carried a racket and wore that old floppy hat and scuffed Wilson shoes. He had been a fixture at Rancho Park, just above Pico Blvd. His booming serve had beaten the club pro. In fact my Dad Harry never needed a backhand. His plumbers for-hand was enough
The fourteen dollars was well spent. My car could not compete in looks with the brand new black BMW's or Audi's but its experience gave it lots of pride. Yes it's paint had chipped and the color was gone, but the engine ran swell, just like mine. It had over 180,000 miles and with my 75 years we made quite a duo. After the car wash, I left for home and found my daughter asleep.
I took a nap and readied myself for an evening of dance that night, and Alpine Village did not disappoint. The Blue Birds played, like many years before. That was where I met the love of my life and also my Argentina bomb shell. I hoped to fall in love again, and maybe tonight would be the night.
I ate a prime rib and danced for over one hour. Of course I had no trouble sleeping. There is nothing like a good sleep knowing that in the other room was my second daughter fast asleep with her trusty dog Oscar.
The San Diego downtown 'Y' had provided me $1,800 for the move back to my origins. It was another hot one in San Diego by the Bay. I picked up my car in Old Town at eight o'clock Friday to beat the heat and early Labor Day traffic. Chap stick was needed when we passed Huntington Drive. I rubbed some over my dried lips. It felt good to rid myself of the damp heavy-damp air in San Diego. My lungs sang for the first time in quite awhile. .
The roads were clear. Many had stayed home to ready themselves for the Labor Day festivities. The 5 ran into the Santa Monica Freeway. I got off on the Overland exit on my way to Pico Blvd. Mistake. Only one lane was available as workers laid cement beside the curb. I arrived at about eleven o'clock to the West L. A. address. Again I applied more chap stick and no longer did I need to sneeze.
My daughter had misplaced her keys so I needed to make three. I remembered a shoe store that doubled as a key maker. She sat at her favorite drinking hole, Coffee Bean. I took the key and made a set of three for us, and for only three fifty. She had gotten rid of her room mate and it had caused too much stress. We began to look for two bedroom apartments in West Los Angeles.
The second day we accomplished a lot more. No longer did I react to everything she said. I just went with the flow. Her dog Oscar had not been clipped in years. We dropped him off at Pet's are Us and drove to Costco for an Aerobed. We bought the bed and returned for the dog. to find her dog just about completed with its hair cut. My daughter plugged it in the air mattress and presto, I had the replica of a real queen size bed.
I took a one hours nap and took my daughter's advise. I had not been to a car wash in over twenty years and my little Cavalier must have given off some strange odors. I drove to the Beverly Glen car wash. across the street was where my Dad Harry had played tennis for most of his life. It was the first real car wash ever. My car rumbled through the wash while I sat and reconnoitered with my Dad Harry.
My flashback of my Dad made me smile. Harry was in his element when he carried a racket and wore that old floppy hat and scuffed Wilson shoes. He had been a fixture at Rancho Park, just above Pico Blvd. His booming serve had beaten the club pro. In fact my Dad Harry never needed a backhand. His plumbers for-hand was enough
The fourteen dollars was well spent. My car could not compete in looks with the brand new black BMW's or Audi's but its experience gave it lots of pride. Yes it's paint had chipped and the color was gone, but the engine ran swell, just like mine. It had over 180,000 miles and with my 75 years we made quite a duo. After the car wash, I left for home and found my daughter asleep.
I took a nap and readied myself for an evening of dance that night, and Alpine Village did not disappoint. The Blue Birds played, like many years before. That was where I met the love of my life and also my Argentina bomb shell. I hoped to fall in love again, and maybe tonight would be the night.
I ate a prime rib and danced for over one hour. Of course I had no trouble sleeping. There is nothing like a good sleep knowing that in the other room was my second daughter fast asleep with her trusty dog Oscar.
A Day at the Races
I was moving back to my beginnings, West Los Angeles, and in the nick of time. The heavy humidity did not agree with me as it did with the bed bugs and clock- roaches at the San Diego 'Y'. Back in Los Angeles, I decided to move back with my daughter. I bought an air bed, gave her Terrier a clipping at a pet store and bought a water bed at Costco. I drove over 300 miles Labor Day weekend. Now I needed some rest and relaxation. I will spend the second half of the day at the Del Mar races.
The Monday #567 Amtrak is not there. Only a sole car is on track number two. I wait until the main train lumbers and connects with the other. It appears that there is another electrical problem with the doors. Confusion reigns as a hoard of people climb aboard. One gal wishes to know which way the train is going. I tell her "North".
A middle aged lady climbs aboard car number four. She is full of piss and vinegar with an engaging smile. She comes my way and sits across from me. She wears dark hair, heavy lipstick, and an ample body. Her laughter is contagious.
Conductor Rick, always officious, asks the smiling one for her ticket. She complies and he asks her if she is is 62 years of age. You need to be either disabled or 62 and over to sit in these seats.
"Well sir, I just turned 62 and will take advantage of it. I deserve leg room and a great view." The porter leaves and goes to others for their tickets. I turn to the smiling one.
"Wow, you speak good English. Were you born here in America?"
"Not really. I was born in Costa Rico but have lived in Santa Cruz most of my life. My name is Amelia. What is yours?"
I tell her my name and tell her how great it is that now we are the privileged ones. She has five grand kids verses my two.
"Amelia, the great thing about old age is we can appreciate our grand kids." She smiles and I get off at Old Town.
My first stop was the Scripps Mercy Hospital on Monday's Labor Day. The cafeteria worker knows me well. I slip her a few dollars and she gives me extra scoops of spinach, lots of scrambled eggs, and extra lean pieces of bacon. Their coffee is only one dollar and twenty cents for a small cup of the strongest.
From there I travel to the Harbor area and park my car in a disabled spot by the Sheraton front door. Like Popeye the sailor, I feel my oats. The coffee bar has a side room where a sports channel is showing highlights. . I read my New York Times and look over the good looking damsels in distress
I return to my hotel at the 'Y' and wait for the 3 o'clock Coaster train It will take me to the track.
I pack a few sandwiches with grapes and get aboard the train. I get off at Solano Beach and take the elevator to the top. Across the bridge the double-decker Red British bus waits for me. I sit in the rear of this ancient bus.
On another seat I notice a wallet. I pick it up to see if there is money inside. There is over two hundred dollars. Instead of giving it to the bus driver, I take it to the lost and found. While she is taking down my information, the young owner enters.
It felt like hitting the exacta. He was so happy. I left to take the elevator to the fifth floor. There are too many grandstand seats. I pick one and take it all in. What a sight! I peak at the ocean to my right and all of the flowers inside the infield. But what I enjoy most is watching the people mull over the racing form.
They pick a number as if there life depends upon it. Maybe reality does not bring them rewards. but a winning ticket is all that separates them from a great labor day. I don't cash any tickets, but the thought of the wallet makes my day. (Not edited)
The Monday #567 Amtrak is not there. Only a sole car is on track number two. I wait until the main train lumbers and connects with the other. It appears that there is another electrical problem with the doors. Confusion reigns as a hoard of people climb aboard. One gal wishes to know which way the train is going. I tell her "North".
A middle aged lady climbs aboard car number four. She is full of piss and vinegar with an engaging smile. She comes my way and sits across from me. She wears dark hair, heavy lipstick, and an ample body. Her laughter is contagious.
Conductor Rick, always officious, asks the smiling one for her ticket. She complies and he asks her if she is is 62 years of age. You need to be either disabled or 62 and over to sit in these seats.
"Well sir, I just turned 62 and will take advantage of it. I deserve leg room and a great view." The porter leaves and goes to others for their tickets. I turn to the smiling one.
"Wow, you speak good English. Were you born here in America?"
"Not really. I was born in Costa Rico but have lived in Santa Cruz most of my life. My name is Amelia. What is yours?"
I tell her my name and tell her how great it is that now we are the privileged ones. She has five grand kids verses my two.
"Amelia, the great thing about old age is we can appreciate our grand kids." She smiles and I get off at Old Town.
My first stop was the Scripps Mercy Hospital on Monday's Labor Day. The cafeteria worker knows me well. I slip her a few dollars and she gives me extra scoops of spinach, lots of scrambled eggs, and extra lean pieces of bacon. Their coffee is only one dollar and twenty cents for a small cup of the strongest.
From there I travel to the Harbor area and park my car in a disabled spot by the Sheraton front door. Like Popeye the sailor, I feel my oats. The coffee bar has a side room where a sports channel is showing highlights. . I read my New York Times and look over the good looking damsels in distress
I return to my hotel at the 'Y' and wait for the 3 o'clock Coaster train It will take me to the track.
I pack a few sandwiches with grapes and get aboard the train. I get off at Solano Beach and take the elevator to the top. Across the bridge the double-decker Red British bus waits for me. I sit in the rear of this ancient bus.
On another seat I notice a wallet. I pick it up to see if there is money inside. There is over two hundred dollars. Instead of giving it to the bus driver, I take it to the lost and found. While she is taking down my information, the young owner enters.
It felt like hitting the exacta. He was so happy. I left to take the elevator to the fifth floor. There are too many grandstand seats. I pick one and take it all in. What a sight! I peak at the ocean to my right and all of the flowers inside the infield. But what I enjoy most is watching the people mull over the racing form.
They pick a number as if there life depends upon it. Maybe reality does not bring them rewards. but a winning ticket is all that separates them from a great labor day. I don't cash any tickets, but the thought of the wallet makes my day. (Not edited)
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