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

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. 

     

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. 
     
     

   
   

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)

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.
   
 
 

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.
 

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)