The Corner Seven Eleven

   "Oh where oh where has the winter gone, oh where oh where can she be?"
"Well look up North young man, and you shall see, the rains now clip Canada before driving Eastward to the Atlantic Coast!" 
  Now the song A Foggy Day in San Diego might never be a hit song, but the deadly fog will strike the unsuspected in San Diego with colds and shortness in breath. 
  My bronchial asthma was bad. Too much weekend for me and now I needed to pay the price. The lack of air had clogged my mind and I left a book on the 992 to the airport the night before. 
  I had taken up a seat at Terminal One. A couple from Dallas waited impatiently for their driver to arrive. The grandmother and her daughter spoke about the trip in from Dallas. 
  "Why I am still cold. Yesterday was fifty but today no  more than twenty. I can't remove the icicles from my body!"
  "Don't worry Mom, Jake will arrive soon. He is finishing work at Kearney Mesa."
   Normally I try to keep my mouth shut. I told them about the buses and shuttles that could have deposited them in a closer spot to be picked up. 
   "Why don't you take the shuttle to a San Diego Hotel. It would make it easier on Jake."
   The daughter gave me a stare. An hour later, I saw their driver arrive in a compact Ford.

   The next morning, I left the downtown 'Y' at seven o'clock. Some jerk in the cell next to mine wished me a good day with an "Old Man" at the end. Thank God some blacks still show some respect for me. 
   I opened the back door and almost ran into Mr. Cartwright the manager. "Why gud monin Mr. ah ah ah." After almost three years he still forgets my name. He probably has Mr A like one of my girl friends. (Alzheimer's)
   Cartwright was the one who brought me into the Hall of Horrors or the second floor. I must have looked disabled then. Most of the residents have received vouchers to remove them from the street by HUD.  
   After crossing the dumpster and pissers corner, I saw wheelchair Dan. His two feet stuck out their toes looking for spare change. He had lost twenty pounds from a year ago. I wondered what Obama care was doing for Dan. 
   Again, the same black and whites  cling to the Seven Eleven like a gold mine. Anytime they say the word 'sir' mean they wish spare change. 
   I got a small orange juice with two bananas and a dozen eggs for six and change and returned to my cell. At smokers' corner,  Jake lit one up as well as our manager - probably a Marlboro or Camel. 
   After making hard boiled eggs from the kitchen, I placed my food inside my nap sack and out the door I went The Tijuana Blue Trolley had just arrived at the American Plaza.    A hoard of domestics and laborers exited for the Santa Fe Station for another train. 
   The corner Seven/Eleven hands out drugs to everyone, including those with a EBT cards. By drugs I mean candy, soft drinks, hot dogs, pizzas, coffee, quick picks and lotto, and all the packages of sugar and salt you can steal. 
   It seems to me there is a Seven/ Eleven on every corner. Why even across from the new San Diego library one sprung up with a prominent display in the front. It was an add for those electric cigarets. Not to be forgotten, two Starbucks are just down the steet. 
   Both stores feast on hot polluted days. People have a yen for a quick pick me up. Too bad they can't get it from life.

A Foggy Day in Ocean City

   Thursday I needed a change of pace. And besides, my car Dolly needed a brand new air filter. The dirt and grime from cars made it difficult for her to work with the oil filter. The air filter is like our lungs, bronchial tubes, the box needs to be changed every so often.    Since I would be going to Ocean Beach today,  I dropped my car off at Express Auto's garage, on Midway Drive and caught the #35 bus for Ocean Beach. The bus dropped me off on Newton, a few blocks from the pier.  
  The beach is known for its hippies, and and the way it looked in the twenties. The tourists have not found it yet, so it has a natural home flavor to me. I call it my organic city - away from the contrived touristy traps of other beaches.  
  It was cold and foggy but like the seagulls, I didn't mind. I walked up Newton and made a left towards the mile long pier.  A lone fisherman loomed ahead. My backpack felt soft on the way to the Wow Cafe. It was early so I took up a perch at the end of the pier - since the cafe opened a bit later.  
   There was little sea breeze to go with too much early fog. . A China man followed me. He led a wheeled basket that carried a bucket with two small fishing poles fixed to it.  He looked to be in his eighties and as light as a feather. He pulled the cart to the end of the longest pier in California and made a right turn. A few seagulls perched on the pier's railings waiting for his spoils.  spoils. Two walkers were doing their rounds to keep fit. 

   He took the fishing poles out of  wheeled cart  and then dropped tidbits of sardines or mackerel overboard - one piece at a time. Not-a-bite struck but he didn't care. And why not? He was fishing off he pier in Ocean Beach, the surf-city-south. Yes he didn't care on bit. The fog lifted and a smirk came over his face. 
   I sat against a board to ward off the northwest cold breeze.  boards at the end of the pier. A gal took my picture just as the fog began to lift. The Wow Cafe's doors were now open. A worker was taking the umbrellas outside. I needed to get warm to I ordered a defroster - a hot chocolate. This time I will allow it. But in the future no coffee drinking on the bus."
  After my hot chocolate, I walked back on the pier. Breakers were thundering on the rocks ahead and a two heroic surfers were having a it. The sets must have been bigger yesterday. Yet there still were a few good breakers. 
  I turned up Cable Street again and waited for my #235 Ocean Beach bus. The ride back to my car was uneventful..."What was that?" A loud mouth man sat up front. He called me "handsome" and a gal a "hot sexy dame." Richard reminded him. 
  "Don't speak or I will have to ask you to leave." He wore a flower on his cap and told everyone he was on something called 'Oxycontin' He spoke loud and clear and was harmless. I just kept my mouth shut and tried to ignore him. I thought about asking my Doctor for the same drug.
  I made one last stop at the organic market on Sunset Cliff and Voltaire. Inside a large market farmers sold their organic vegetables and fruits. I don't buy it unless it states organic. I picked up my car at the Express Auto shop and left for the Balboa Park Seniors dance. 
  
  
  The day had begun in the early morning hours at the auto shop. I ran to catch the #235 going to OB or Ocean Beach. I climbed aboard with my complimentary coffee.  "Sorry Mr. Bus Driver. Will never happen again...Are all of these domestics going to work?"  Richard, I found out his name later, nodded. 
   Not-a-one new what the term domestics meant, or almost none. A lone Mexican in the back had a laughing fit. At least fifteen female Latinos sat on the bus. Not a sole talked, their eyes marched ahead to their destination.  Some would work at a Ramada and others at cafes or homes. 
   The bus swung around to the left and entered Point Loma West Blvd. Only a few were left on the bus. We passed a marina and then a tennis camp. Old bungalows smiled at me as the bus trudged on to Ocean Beach. I told the driver I would soon be packing and driving my car to Portland Oregon. 
   "You are nuts to drive all the way to Portland, Oregon. Why for about  two hundred, you can rent a car from Advance  Car Rental. They buy their cars from Hertz so they have low millage. I have found this car company attentive to my needs."
   "Where are they located.?
   "They are on Kettner in Little Italy close to Enterprise. My Dad and I used them for our vacation to Portland. The car broke down in Merced and in a few minutes, they had it towed and fixed. They gave us two free days for our inconvenience." By then the bus Pt. Loma West turned to cable and it dropped me off on Newton. (Not edited yet.)
    

I had a Dream - Lady Barbara

  Martin Luther King is having a birthday and his I have a dream speech will be seen and heard over television again. Yet he is not the only one who dreams.  Why Lady Barbara told me about a whopper. 
   Again I sit at table five. Lady Barbara has finished playing the piano - of course with my help. I hum the songs so she can remember the melody. The piano at the Encinitas' Senior Center has given her a new lease on life. After our lunch she remembers a dream she had when only eight years old.
  "My Uncle Jim and his wife took me on a trip to Colorado. My Dad had been born in the city of Pueblo. On the way I had a dream. In the dream I saw a two seat car with my Dad driving it. They were leaving Colorado. I had no idea what the dream meant."
  "I told  my Aunt about it. 'I know what the dream is all about. We need to drive into Denver, Colorado where you will get the answer to the dream and find out about your Dad. In Denver, my Aunt saw two gentleman sitting in front of a Dime store.
  "My Aunt Helen jumped out of the car and ran to the two men she saw. My Uncle Jim screamed for her to return to the car, but my Aunt was ornery. My  Aunt asked them about the name of  Hanson. One gentleman told my Aunt to ask the retired postman. She met with the postman. 
   "It seems to me my son had a friend by the name of Hanson. Give me your Dad's name and I will inquire if he still is friends with him."
   "About four weeks elapsed. Finally we got a telegraph from my real Grandfather but I can't remember the name. In the telegraph he wrote that he 'had three sons. One was kidnapped from a our Denver home. Your Dad, in the dream, was going to the funeral of your cousin."My Dad was glad to find out his Dad was still alive and we met his family in Santa Barbara. 
   At that point Lady Barbara began laughing. I remember in Pueblo I needed to go bad. I asked the town elders for directions to the bathroom. They laughed at this ten year old. One pointed to a shed. The smell overwhelmed me. I had no idea what a out house  was then. She then spoke about her Mom Agnes.
    My Mom taught at Nightingale Junior High School. She never allowed me to leave the kitchen table without me finishing my dinner. We had a depression going on, and my Mom knew how to make hamburgers from our vegetable garden and  she knew what ingredients to place inside. My brother and I looked forward to the ice man. We would suck the slices of ice that fell of the big chunks.

  Ron borrowed my newspaper. He is the knight in shining armor who watches over Lady Barbara. He has traveled to most of our states in a bike. He is the only one who shovels the lunch in record time.  He wished to know the temperature today. A few minutes later he shouted, "Chicago is going to be ten degrees colder than Fairbanks, Alaska. Now Lady Barbara chimed in.
  "My Dog Caleb is aware of our drought. My German Sheppard has been killing bees lately. The bees are looking for flowers but with no rain, they are dying. My dog makes sure nobody comes close to our house - including bees."
  Lady Barbara's lift was about to arrive.  I sat her down and saw a bunch of preschoolers. Like the Pide Piper, I led them into the lunch room and played a few ditties for them.
  "If you are good, I will read to you a short story I am writing about a car named Dolly." The story will illustrate how a car is very much any growing child." 

 
   "
 

Tent City San Diego

 It is Sunday. The library will open at one o'clock today. I get on the Orange Line Trolley at the American Plaza station. At Civic Center, a few homeless leave their tents to share their wows with one another. A few homeless jump on the train.
  A toothless young gal and her pimp fight over a beer. The train is their office. Another homeless get aboard and stares at me. He would like to steal my clothes. I get off on Park and  Market Street. I need to walk another block and a half to get to the library that opens Sundays at one o'clock. To the South is the Coronado Bridge and the Tijuana mountains. It is another clear day brought on by the Santa Ana winds.
  My wind pipe is clogged with all the dust and pollen. Am I in Palm Springs-West? . I use my puffer once or twice and glance to my left. Several tents are parked  once next to another. Homeless live in these makeshift homes. A few more tents and sleeping bags I see in the Petco Parking lot.
  The library is about to open. Several homeless line up to get the first crack at the bathrooms. One, carrying too many bags, is told to leave the library. A security guard escorts him away. I enter and take the escalator to the third floor.
  A Mexican mother and her three kids are on three computers. They are making too much noise but I am too tired to fight it. I work mine for about one hour and decide to take a break. I take the elevator to the night floor to its penthouse or the ninth floor.

   I find a picnic table and remove a tuna sandwich and a bag of potato chips. A  guide escorts a few tourists to show San Diego's view from the library's head. It is so clear I can touch Mexico. I can still taste the spicy Mexican food from the Lolita's restaurant a few block west. The guide is speaking.
   "That is the Coronado Bridge over there and the St. Marcos mountains to the east...Yes, I will take your pictures, but don't stand too close to the little rail...The building in back of us houses rare books and also is our genealogy area. We have data bases and more books inside there. Over there is some antique art. That room is closed today..."
   I finish my sandwich and grab a few cutie tangerines to wash the fish down. I drink from a fountain and enter the genealogy room. I only care about the digital microfilm machine. I need to use it for information and also print pictures off of it on to my thumb drive. A gentleman with a Santa Claus smile and torso to match escorts me through the machine.
  "Now click on the 'cropping menu', good. Use your mouse to draw a rectangle around what you wish to copy...Now drop down the file menu to "export"..."
  I thanked the jolly man and decided  to return to my humble abode on Broadway. Back on Park Blvd now i walked north. A black with is white bitch screamed at each other. I saw a vacant sign in front of the Park apartments. (More to come)

 

Sunset at Little Italy

   It was another Red Flag day in San Diego Bay. My nose had run unabated for two days now. But still alive battling chronic Asthma, I got a reprieve and went to the Harbor Area of the City. After an ice cream and glad to know the winds now came out of the West, I drove and left my car at the Old Town commuter station. From there I took the Green Trolley and got off at the Italy and court building station.
Now  the now northerly winds did not clog my nose, I took the Green Line Trolley to the Italy station.
   Now I had the chance to witness the beautiful orange and red colors of Little Italy. The sun had begun to set over the Harbor while I trudged up the street to a camera store on India Street. The white table cloths told me lots of regulars and tourists would be making their tables busy yet dirty.
   I sat down at a front table of Phillipa's restaurant. To my right, I saw a Southwest blue make its final decent .It hovered over two buildings. The cooler air gave my bronchial tubes relief for the first time in awhile. It was June in January as many wore shorts today. The hot sun radiated several colors that flicked off of San Diego Bay.
   Across from me sat an old gingerbread looking house. The multicolored wooden structure asked me to take a picture of it later. I was reminded to get a camera. I entered the store and asked a lady for help to purchase the gadget. The store closed at five thirty so I had another forty minutes.
  "Go over there and three gentlemen in the camera department can assist you."
   A tall smart looking young man approached me.
   "May I help you?"
    I am looking for a film camera?
   "We don't sell film cameras!"
    What do you mean you don't sell film cameras?"
    Well after a few minutes my lens cleared.
    Forgive me, in my day we called them film cameras. What I need is a digital camera, not too expensive. Paul, he told his name later, removed a Nikon and showed me how the  $85 camera worked. I bought a few attachments like batteries and a plug for the internet.
    I paid $123 for everything and decided to try it out. The little myopic house across the street beckoned me. I asked a young lady sitting at a table to do the honors with Mr Blue Eyes, me, sitting on the structures wooden rails.
    "Get your ass off of me. Don't you know I am an icon on this street! Now go ahead and take your pictures."
    After a few shots were taken, I strode with my camera, remembering to turn it off and sat by a patio that honored the Italian World War Two dead. During World War Two, many Italian fishing boats left the harbor for the Pacific to aid our naval contingent in the Pacific. Many did not return and there is are monuments t these brave me all over the Harbor. Then I saw a familiar face.
   "Hey Ron, what are you doing here?" He was walking north and turned around.and sat next to me.
   'Need to buy a few things at the art store up the street.
   Did you here somebody died at the Y yesterday. His name was Richard Sharp. There was a poster asking for money for his burial in our kitchen.
   "You don't mean the tall good-looking black dude. My he was so young. But we have a death or two every-so-often there."
   I'll bet the foul air and cockroaches have something to do with it.
    "Hell, the real problem is the fowl drinking water there. I became ill after I had moved in so made myself by the bottled kind. Besides bad water, I worried about the asbestos inside the rooms. You can bet the owners haven't checked on these things."
    "I use a special spray for the roaches. And it reminds me that Bill looked in on me last night. He worries about me and other guests. Many are disabled or on Section Eight. Heroin is the drug of choice in our hotel.
   After Bill left, I must have sat by a restaurant for several more minutes. The light on bay wind and effervescent colors made it quite a Little India afternoon. A young couple sat next to me savoring their wine and pizza. I became jealous but could not afford the two right now.
   
   You don't need a camera to enjoy Little Italy. Your memory chip will keep it forever. I wondered why the street had been named Italy instead of Italy. (edited with pictures later.)
 
 
 
 

"You mean for the Jew Boy?"

  A young receptionist greeted me at the old remodeled Horton Hotel on Island and Fourth Street. It was Saturday, another Sabbath day for me. But this day was different, it was the day before Father's Day. The old hotel had pictures on the wall of the previous owners, or the ones who profited from it. At one time, the hotel showered their guests with good food and a place to rest, while outside, their horses were stabled and fed.
   Two hours earlier, I had showered, shaved, and bolted out the door of the downtown YMCA. I didn't wish to miss bible study at the little store front Jewish House of Worship.  The plans made, I showered, shaved and bolted out of the YMCA at about eight thirty. I did not wish to miss Shlomo's Bible study class.    A week filled with Ballroom dance gave my legs and an extra bounce. The morning was overcast, but there were signs of another sunny day in San Diego. My legs crossed over a few streets until I arrived at Island and Third. A  message on the store front synagogue directed me to the next street and the Horton Hotel. Jeffery's Bar Mitzvah was today, and not next week.
   Can you direct me to the where Jeffery's Bar Mitzvah would be held.?
    "You mean for the Jew Boy? It is through that door." The clerk's badge had Emma written on it.
    Thank you Emma for these directions.
  My god has told me not to react to one so dumb or prejudice. Many people think her way, but are coy enough to hide it. Many tell me "their best friend is Jewish". Hashem or my God's program is to maximize my joy each day. In no way would I allow Emma's 'idol' words toss my my salad to floor me. I would simply table her remarks for awhile. Hell, this was my first Bar Mitzva in over fifty years.
 Sabbath is here in San Diego. My daughter, and her husband are traveling from Long Beach to San Diego to celebrate Fathers' Day with me. It is the seventeenth, the day before Fathers' Day - but what the hell - who will know the difference. Olivia is my first Grandchild. 
   This weekend is special. I need to pray and thank Him for the direction he has given me. Now I walk in His shoes. We are to meet at twelve and I will forgo the noon lunch to join them. It has always felt good to pray and allow the old time Jewish rhythms entertain my soul and bring me closer to Him.
   A large reception room graced the ceremony inside the Regent room. In the front stood an Ark with the Torah inside From a back table I removed a Yarmulke and prayer shawl. Some small trees separated the men from the women - that is the tradition of the Orthodox Jews.
   My heart filled with the trumpets of joy when I saw Cantor Shlomo belt out songs from the prayer book. This occasion brought out the best in this Libyan  hero the Israel wars against the Arabs. He reminded me of Enrico Caruso or Frank Sinatra. Smiles filled the faces of Jeffery's proud family. Jeffery's Dad kissed everyone in kissing distance.
  But why wasn't my Bar Mitzvah like this one? Why...Why...Why? My mind travels to another time. Over sixty years ago it was my turn on the pulpit. My Rabbi pointed to the words and I marshaled them out. Yet I could not breath or smile then. I gasped for air and my legs shook. Thirteen year old Jeffery turns into me. In front of me I see the silhouettes of my  Dad Harry and my Mom Edith. My Grandma Rachel has brought her sister all the way from Montreal to see this event.
   I see thirteen year old George, scared to death. My mind returns to the present. Jeffery is confident and happy. A chill envelopes me. My drip tears. Embarrassed, I hide under my prayer shawl. My nose runs unabated removing the poisons of the past. But the Hebrew chants of long ago rivet inside my soul. Yesterday's tragedy is replaced by today's serenity. Something hits me. Can it be my Mom's broom?
   My Mom swiped at me again. I turned around to see some idiot with a stroller I scream "s..t" to this intruder. I apologize and continue to sway, back and forth. The dam stroller hits me again with no "I'm sorry's".
  I would be a proud Jew the entire day. My concentration tested, I retreat to the rear and return the religious garments. Now I wish to stay for the reception. My stomach years for good food. Employees are setting up tables of the best Jewish food God's worshipers can buy. My tongue can taste the food. I wish to telephone my daughter to come later.

  In the lobby Emma is still there. I am in a tranquil mood and have forgotten the bad beginning.
   Emma, can I use your phone?
   "Is it Local?"
    It is an emergency!
   Emma still does not budge, but this proud Jew does not badger her. I decide to make it a day and leave the food for another day. My food today would be Olivia and her parents. We would go to Balboa Park
They picked me up and it was Olivia who had quite a day with Balboa Park's Lily Pond. She tried to enter the pool and grab the yellow wish but her Dad would have nothing of it.

 It was,  an remains,  the greatest Father's Day any father could ever have.

 
   I must inform the reader these stories don't come out of the air. After a Huevos Ranchero breakfast at  Perry's in Old Town, I had driven to the Harbor Sheraton Hotel. The old story popped of a clip board discarded a over a year ago.  A story written two Fathers' Day ago lit up my eyes  at the Sheraton Harbor hotel on Saturday. I had already eaten  after. 

 

A Wow of a Fish trip

 I ran out of stories about San Diego so went to my archives inside my  Carlsbad storage bin. I thought some of my followers might like a fish story. It came from a story I wrote in 2011, about one month after I moved into the El Loco Hotel on Broadway. (The Old YMCA, built in 1924)
 "I caught over thirty fish in one and a half weeks.  You should have seen the Maui Maui, at least seven feet long, and the Blue and Yellow Fin Tuna!" 
  I turned around to find out where that booming voice came from, only after I put down my McDonald's coffee-if you could call the water coffee. I waited for this heavy set man to finish his cell phone call.The second floor of the terminal then offered inexpensive eateries in a lunch court. Then, I had an unobstructed view to the San Diego sky line-but no more.
   "Where did you catch the fish?"  He turned around eager to tell me his adventure.
   "I spent $1,700  on the Polaris which sailed out of the Point Loma Landing, down the Baja Coast, and on to Cedros Island. For every Yellow Tail, or Yellow Fin, another escaped my hook. After we brought the fish up, an employee would spike his head disabling his thinking and cut off its gills to remove its blood."
    The gentleman from Colorado mentioned he was a forensic lawyer in heavy demand. "The judges knew when I needed a vacation so made sure my testimony would not conflict with future dates in court."
    "After the catch, the fish were salted and some given to the ship hands. They did a great job making the best sushi I had ever eaten. When we returned the fish were taken to a plant and then sent to my home in Denver. It meant fish for most of the year."
    His eyes widened and in no way could I get Captain Ahab  to shut up. I let Mike do the talking since he had me on his hook and could not release the bait.
   'We gave the cooks some of the Tuna. With it they prepared Yellow Tail Jerky. They soaked the fish in Olive Oil and then lemon. It tasted great! Our fish was stored below deck with an separate compartment for each of us. The fish were first dipped in salt water to keep them fresh. He called it the way of preparing fish "chachuma" or the way they prepared the sushi."
   My mouth watered and my stomach growled for fish. He mentioned the name of Aleos Rock where he went fishing one one of three trips each year.
   "They guy next to me pulled up the biggest catch. He landed a twelve foot Thresher shark. Several trucks waited for us at the Point Loma Landing. The trucks picked up the fish and took our catch to a plant in San Diego. There the meat was cut and packed for shipment back to Colorado Springs.
   In the course of our conversation, Mike told me as a forensic psychologist he was highly respected by lawyers and judges. "They make sure my three fishing trips a year don't conflict with their court cases or my hunting trips. I have been at it for over thirty years."
   "My wife of thirty years would rather stay home and watch soaps on T.V. The one trip we took to Africa she remained in the five star hotel and wined and dined. Also, I hunt for deer and bear. I use a 20 gauge shot gun and my daughters enjoy the real meat without the hormones."
   Just before leaving on his Delta flight, I asked him why he enjoyed hunting so much
  "I enjoy leaving my high stress job for a natural one. The wild beckon me.  My best friend Jake takes a mule and climbs ten miles to his cabin. He sits and writes a book every summer"
   After we parted, I left for a nap, then a train ride to Carlsbad where I wrote the fish story. I caught me a whopper of a fish story without throwing in my line-and it didn't cost me a dime. 

   Now it is 1914,  and I spend one day a week at Ocean Beach. I'd rather be there than anywhere. The fisherman are all happy-no matter how many lines they have in the water. Even though my asthma keeps me from fishing, I dream about it. Besides, I have made friends with the Pelicans, Storks and enjoy a cup of hot chocolate at the Wow cafe. 

    "I