The circle of Life

By kiki

We're born, we live and we die...Somewhere in between we make memories, touch people’s lives and hope that in the end we are remembered in a good way.

Window Shopping in The Rain

By kiki

Woke up this morning to the beautiful sound of raindrops. We in Southern California don't get to see much rain, not in the recent past. The last 5 years have been arid, so we celebrate when it rains. 

We listen to beautiful music, and the women will make some albondigas or cocido with homemade tortillas. And while grandma is making tortillas, grandpa will be sitting by the fireplace sipping on a brandy while telling lies to the grandkids about how he rode with Poncho Villa.

Young lovers with raindrops falling on them will go window shopping on Whittier Blvd or maybe go downtown to peek into the store's windows on Broadway Street. Afterward's, perhaps they'll stop at Clifton's Cafeteria at 7th and Broadway for a late dinner.

The rains bring joy, and it makes a house a home again!!

Boxing: The Way It Was And The Way It Is

By kiki

The last few times I went to a boxing show, I felt like something was missing. Why didn’t it feel the like the old days? What was missing? I looked around, and I didn’t see anybody smoking cigars. Instead, some were smoking weed. The fighters and fans in attendants were not dressed to the nines in suit and ties. Most of the women were not dressed in short dresses and high heels, and the ones dressed to the nines were not waltzing up and down the aisles to wolf whistles.

 The gamblers section was missing. And the fighter that fought those nights? Some could fight, but most couldn't, but putting that aside. Most came in the ring looking more like wrestlers than boxers. Some with masks on, some wearing what looked like tennis shoes.. And like that great Righteous Brothers song: “You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'” I’ve lost the love I had for the boxing game, okay, maybe not all the love, as I still watch a few fights on TV, but enough that it keeps me from attending boxing shows anymore. I yearn for those smoke-filled arenas.

Little Lake Hotel/Bar

By kiki

In the 1960s, 70s, and '80s, on our multiple yearly treks up Highway 395, we had a "must-stop" place. It was the bar at the Little Lake Hotel. It was where we would stop to down a few cold ones and sometimes meet with others, making the trek with us on the famed highway to God's Country, "The High Sierra."

One time, we stopped at the Little Lake Hotel/Bar to meet other guys on the camping trip with us, shoot some pool, and drink a few cold ones. Little Lake Hotel/Bar, in the middle of the Mojave Desert, was where you could meet all kinds of desert rats living out their dreams of one more gold strike. But unfortunately, the hotel has since burned down. So the bar, usually a busy one, was empty that warm 1960s summer night, and as we walked in, Ernie, one of the guys with us, noticed an old piano in a corner and asked the barmaid if he could play a few bars.

"Go ahead; it hasn't been played in years," the barmaid replied

Now, Ernie can play a mean Boogie Woogie, and after clearing off a few cobwebs, he played a few bars of "Buick 59" those few bars soon had people coming out of the woodwork, all desert rats of both genders. 

After Ernie had played some tunes and downed some cold ones, we decided to get back on the road, but the desert rats had other ideas; they wanted Ernie to continue hitting the ivories. 

Ernie was happy to oblige as long as they kept piling up the beers on top of the piano, which we would grab as soon as they were set up.

Before we knew it, the 2:00AM closing time was upon us, but with locked doors, we'd continued to party into the wee hours of the morning. We finally returned to the campers just as the sun was rising over the horizon. Needless to say, we slept till early afternoon before we got back on the highway…That camping trip was unforgettable and memorable in our travels up that famed highway, "395."

Are You a Worrier?

By kiki

I once got some free advice from an old friend and co-worker. As a very young man, I used to worry about everything going on in my life. One day during our lunch hour, my old (he was about 20 years older than me) friend said to me, "I see you are worrying again" I told him that "yes, I'd have a problem" Without asking what the problem was he said, "can the problem be fixed?" I answered that it could be taken care of, "Okay, so stop worrying about it"….He then said, "look, there are; two sides to a problem, whether it's about love, money, legal, or whatever, one, the problem can be fixed, and two, there is nothing you can do about it. Now, if the situation can be improved, why worry about it? Just fix it. And if it can't be fixed, why worry about it? Because worrying about it will not fix it; it will make you older before your time…

I took my old friend's advice to heart, and now I don't worry about a freaking thing, and it drives my wife Connie off the wall "you don't care about anything!" she yelled at me the other day. I tried telling her that I did care but that worrying would not solve anything and that it would only make her older "older!? how much older can we get!?" she asked. I told her that I was looking to get much older. She looked at me as if I was some kind of nut, and as she turned

to walk away, I thought I heard her mutter, "men!"

Outhouses

By kiki

The shacks in the Simons Brickyard didn't have any indoor plumbing. Thus they all had outhouses. The people did have big backyards, and the outhouses sat on the furthest corner of the yard; they had to keep the smell away from the houses, lol!! The outhouses were simply constructed, with no double walls, just single wood panels. Outside, 2x4 were nailed horizontally to use as handles to pick up the outhouse whenever it had to be moved to a new hole.

What got me to write about outhouses was that I watched a movie where people had outhouses. It brought back memories of what we kid's used to do when an older person, like somebody's grandma or grandpa, would walk into the outhouses with yesterday's newspaper, no rolls of toilet paper back then. With so much time on our hands during the out-of-school summer months, 

we kids were always looking for something to amuse ourselves with, so sometimes we would hang out at somebody's house, and we would wait for that moment when an elderly person would limp into the outhouses. We would give them enough time to settle in comfortably; after a few minutes, we would sneak up to the outhouses and grab the handles, and rock the outhouse back and forth; sometimes, if there were enough of us kids, we would pick the outhouse off of the ground a few inches. When the grandma or grandpa would start yelling "cabrones," we would run like hell; by the time the old folks had their chonies back up, we were long gone…Notice that we just picked on old people? The reason for that was that they would never catch us if they were to chase us, whereas a younger person would catch us and beat the crap out of us!... The summer months were full of fun in that brickyard!!