Sunday, April 4, 2010


On a crisp gray Sunday morning I Jeep down the freeway, averting Easter bunnies hopping lanes and clogging sight-lines, OK--there weren't many, but this cruise-savvy Jeep guy was looking to make Huntington Beach for a walk in the sand, but no.  Freeways bore me now.  Usually I'm a cruise-savvy Jeep guy winging along the 57 to the 60, the numbers blurring into a spaghetti-tangle of asphalt, but the drive no longer intrigues me now.  It takes too long to get anywhere. 
U-turn, big guy, around the loop and back into town, stopping at Wolfe's Market; CLOSED.  Down around the corner from the already-buzzing farmer's market where growers gather with anyone with enough coin to hoist a tent-tarp, my old favorite hangout, Some Crust Bakery; CLOSED.  
There's Vince, backing out of the space in front of the Crust and I cell-phone him, alert him I'm following, stalking, lurking, and he agrees to pull over in front of The Good Earth where we shake hands in the middle of the street and hustle across to the comfort of the alternative bakery. I order a scrambled egg and fruit plate. We sit.  It was the extent of my human socialization for this Easter morning.  Vince going up to visit his mother, I checked in with mine last night while doing some man-maintenance on my ear wax-clogged left ear lying on the floor watching the Final Four play another cloying bore.  
Mom called me back. 
'Fine', she says, but 'Why are you doing talking so loud?' I switch ears to my good one and check in with Mama San and find out she's busier than I am, fully loaded with retirement benefits and 100% health care coverage and plenty of church projects and art class. 
'Good for you, Mom.  I still have to work.  Out all night slogging the San Gabriel River wash down from the bike trail looking for struggling souls to count, that was the low-light of my week', I let on. 
Vince heads off and I go home for a while to re-tool, trying to decide what to do on this Easter Sunday; go to the shooting range, take a hike, ride the bike, read, write, watch religious television evangelists explain how a man can rise from the dead and change the world. 

Baseball season starts tonight and then I realize--that's how long my job lasts, until about the post-season, or close, I hope, before I go back to being a writer-bum and leaking 401K funds just enough to supplement any end-of-the-year income.

Juan Pollo over on Alosta and Barranca may be the bargain meal of the month; half a chicken, an overflowing cup of rice mixed with slivers of chicken and green onion, corn tortillas, potato salad, a huge cold lemonade--and I get over three dollars back on a ten dollar bill.  Tasty spicy chicken, cool chicks cruising in ordering en Espanol, what more is there? 

Trader Joe's is upbeat; I find fresh vegetables, nice frozen Mahi Mahi fillets and a mix of shrimp-scallops-calamari that looks good.  A frozen vegetable mix, Tamari roasted almonds, and the Trader Joe's woman explains all I have to do is open the can of coffee beans and throw them into the grinder and load the can back up.  I'm now the coffee guy again.  Tired of MJB and Yuban and the expensive blends at Peets and Starbucks, now I seek bargains and tell about them.  Beautiful cans of nicely labeled coffee beans from exotic locales; Bolivia, Sumatra-Colombian, highly-contagious Kona and Maui beans, some New Mexican Pinon coffee that the woman said is a favorite of one of the staff members but I'll sample first, thank you.  Can't wait for the morning to try my Trader Joe's House blend.
I get a couple of hours now to do what I do best.  Read.  Read. Read.
Baseball Tonight. Only two hours away. 

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