By kiki
This morning with mask and walking cane, I was out running errands at the post office, market, CVS, gas station, bank, etc. And when I got back home, I was dead on my feet, so I told Connie, "I am not up to this running around anymore" she looked at me and said, "what do you expect? After all, you will be 85 years old in December," I started doing the math on my fingers and toes when she said 85 years because 85 years just didn't sound right. I counted 84 years, and I told her she was wrong. "so how old are you going to be?" After double-checking my math, I told her I would be 84, not 85, in December. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, "bullshit!" Connie was either pulling my chain or she was in a cold-hearted mood. I sometimes wonder if she voted for trump. 🤣
Friday, August 21, 2020
Monday, August 17, 2020
Dr. Bernhart Schwart
By kiki
Dr. Bernhardt Schwartz
Dr. Bernhardt Schwartz was a legend in the boxing-wrestling world. He was also a hero to a young child and his family. In his younger days, he saved the life of a young toddler. The child had gotten a safety pin stuck deep in his throat, and Dr. Schwart got it out before the child swallowed it. It must have been a big deal back then because it got a write-up in some newspaper. He proudly had the newspaper clipping taped to a glass partition in the lobby of his office.
His office was on 111 Street, a few doors south of Broadway, in South Central L.A. He would arrive and leave early: 5: 00am-11:00am. I asked him why those hours, and he said he aimed to be in and out before the gangsters got out of bed. The good doctor had his own file system. It was a system like no other you have ever seen. His patient files were on bundles of paper bound with rubber bands. He had a mountain of files on top of a desk. The good doctor didn't need any darn cabinets!
The doctor's desk after he cleaned it
Although he had a gruff exterior, he was a soft-hearted man. Boxers and wrestlers were treated by the good doctor whether they could pay. Sometimes he wouldn't accept payment; when asked how much you owned him, he would tell you, "Nothing, next time, just bring me a cigar."
His health deteriorated with his wife's passing, but he remained the fight doctor because he was dedicated and loved boxing and wrestling. But, there were times when you could see in his eyes that his heart was in it anymore. So - I genuinely believe that he died from a broken heart.
Dr. Bernhardt Schwartz was a legend in the boxing-wrestling world. He was also a hero to a young child and his family. In his younger days, he saved the life of a young toddler. The child had gotten a safety pin stuck deep in his throat, and Dr. Schwart got it out before the child swallowed it. It must have been a big deal back then because it got a write-up in some newspaper. He proudly had the newspaper clipping taped to a glass partition in the lobby of his office.
His office was on 111 Street, a few doors south of Broadway, in South Central L.A. He would arrive and leave early: 5: 00am-11:00am. I asked him why those hours, and he said he aimed to be in and out before the gangsters got out of bed. The good doctor had his own file system. It was a system like no other you have ever seen. His patient files were on bundles of paper bound with rubber bands. He had a mountain of files on top of a desk. The good doctor didn't need any darn cabinets!
Although he had a gruff exterior, he was a soft-hearted man. Boxers and wrestlers were treated by the good doctor whether they could pay. Sometimes he wouldn't accept payment; when asked how much you owned him, he would tell you, "Nothing, next time, just bring me a cigar."
His health deteriorated with his wife's passing, but he remained the fight doctor because he was dedicated and loved boxing and wrestling. But, there were times when you could see in his eyes that his heart was in it anymore. So - I genuinely believe that he died from a broken heart.
Sunday, August 16, 2020
Early Morning Somersault
By kiki
Earlier this morning, while the house was still dark and everyone was still in their dreams, I went out to the backyard for my morning walk. As I sometimes do on my early morning walks, I had a lively conversation with my drunken imaginary friend, Beto. Just as I started to tell Beto that it was too freaking early to be drinking, I stepped on a hole, and with a twisted ankle, I did a sort of a sideways somersault. I landed on my left hip, and the first thing that flashed on my mind was my Pops face (he died after a fall and broken hip). It was, after all, a fall that rattled the rocks in my head. Beto said, as I checked myself for broken bones and found none, "por pendejo,"
Earlier this morning, while the house was still dark and everyone was still in their dreams, I went out to the backyard for my morning walk. As I sometimes do on my early morning walks, I had a lively conversation with my drunken imaginary friend, Beto. Just as I started to tell Beto that it was too freaking early to be drinking, I stepped on a hole, and with a twisted ankle, I did a sort of a sideways somersault. I landed on my left hip, and the first thing that flashed on my mind was my Pops face (he died after a fall and broken hip). It was, after all, a fall that rattled the rocks in my head. Beto said, as I checked myself for broken bones and found none, "por pendejo,"
I lay sprawled for a few minutes before I tried getting up. Just as I was going to ask Beto for help, he said "every man for himself," and with that, he was in the wind. Pinche Beto! - Unable to get back on my feet, I got on my knees and crawled to the chain-link fence that separates our backyard to a section that I call our "junkyard" because that's where all our junk lands. Finally, I was able to get up by grabbing the chain link and pulling myself up...Back in bed, and about an hour and a half later, Connie woke up. "Babe, I felled down," I mumble to her. "Are you okay?" she asked, "yes," I replied, "por pendejo" were her last words before she started sawing logs again. If Chata, our late British Bulldog, had been here, she would still be laughing at me - With this kind of friend's, who needs enemies?
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