It’s almost May and Pat reminded me that we have a Cinco de Mayo story. This took place in the mid-1990’s. I’m a diabetic and sometime in 1993, I got a diabetic ulcer on the bottom of my right foot. My doctors fought it for a year and a half and couldn’t get it to heal. Finally, it was decided to amputate the right leg below the knee. This was done and I got a prosthesis and life got back to normal. The following spring, I wasn’t paying attention and the prosthesis rubbed against the side of my knee and caused a sore that immediately became infected. This had happened before and it meant anti-biotics, at least 2 doctor visits, and 6 weeks in the wheel chair without my leg.

So anyhow, I’m riding my wheel chair and here it is…Cinco de Mayo. Pat and I decided we should join in the festivities by having lunch at Casa de Pico, our favorite Mexican restaurant in Old Town San Diego. We got there and the place was as colorful and beautiful as always. We sat on the patio to take advantage of the warm, sunny day and to hear the music and listen to the chatter and the laughter of the other patrons. Pat ordered a blended margarita in the big glass with the salt on the rim and, being diabetic, I ordered coffee.

As we waited to be served, we talked and admired the holiday decorations. There were some miniature Mexican flags on the tables so Pat took a couple and attached them to the handlebars of my wheel chair. We enjoyed our meal and left the restaurant and then headed for the side gate to leave the area. Getting through the wrought iron gate we needed to go about 50 yards down the side street to the parking lot. Pat was pushing me in the wheel chair and I was teasing and smart-mouthing her about drinking the margarita and maybe being too tipsy to push me. She countered by pushing faster to show that she could handle the job. I was having a heck of a good time and started yelling “faster, faster”. Pat was up to the challenge and in a few seconds was up to full speed. We were flying down the street with Mexican flags flying and Pat sprinting for dear life. We were looking good until we hit the pot-hole. Wham! Pat ran into the back of the wheel chair and I was dumped into the street. Yow, this is gonna’ hurt! Maybe next time I’ll keep my mouth shut.

Dave Thomas
April17, 2016

Our country has become quite colorful in a very disgusting way. We have the red states and the blue states and the yellow-bellied members of Congress. The yellow bellies are the Republican Representatives and Senators who are afraid to stand up to the Trump base and their contributors and whoever else owns them. I wish we could go back to the old red, white, and blue we grew up with.

Dave Thomas

3/31/22

The runny nose made me think there was a bad cold coming on. However, after a year of it and no other symptoms developing, maybe that’s not the case. It’s been annoying though.  Some days are one handkerchief days but sometimes it’s two handkerchiefs or even three handkerchiefs.

I consulted with my wife, Pat, who is the chief medical advisor in our household. She said that all old people have runny noses. If you stop any old geezer on the street,  they will tell you that they blow their nose off and on, all day. I explained that I am busy and don’t have time for this nonsense. She said I may as well suck it up   as it’s not going to change. Then, the medical advisor went on to tell me there is a theory that explains this phenomenon.  The theory states that old people can’t remember anything because their brains are shrinking, and that’s what is dripping out of their nose.

Dave Thomas

3/31/2022

I can remember when there were male Republican members of the House and Senate who were admired and respected. That’s no longer true. The confirmation hearing for Judge Jackson has shown what a bunch of sorry little partisan “piss-ants” they now are. It makes me want to puke. The judge is 10 times more qualified for any position than those guys are.

Dave Thomas

03/24/2022

If members of our Congress have accepted contributions from Russians, should they be tried as enemies of the state, or should we just refer to them as “scumbags?” 

Dave Thomas

03/17/2022

 Putin Putin,

What a mutt

Those Ukraine folks

Will kick his butt.

Dave Thomas

3/10/2022

Pat was headed for Costco. As she backed out of the garage she noticed a crow standing in the yard by the small orange tree. Normally, if she saw a crow, she would feed it. Today, she just wanted to get her chores done so she continued on her way with the bird staring after her.

Pat was returning home. As she approached our house she could see that the crow was still there but was now standing on the driveway. There was ample room so she moved past him into the garage. She got out of the car, stepped out of the garage, and was immediately confronted by the bird. He locked eyes with her and began squawking. He appeared to be quite agitated and was pacing back and forth in a very animated way. Pat deduced from the crow’s manner that things were getting mighty serious. Pat guessed that he was probably telling her that he hadn’t found any road kill that morning, and therefore had no breakfast and was starving.  She said, “Okay, I’ll feed you in just a moment.” She got her groceries out of the car and went into the house. Once  inside, she grabbed a slice of bread and then took it outside and tossed it in front of the crow. Being ravenous, he attacked the bread and made short work of it. Once finished, he squawked a couple of times and flew away.        

Pat got busy in the house, but in ten or fifteen minutes heard the crow squawking out front again. She looked out and saw the one crow near our front door calling her.   The reason for all this carrying on was that five of the crow’s friends were sitting at the foot of our driveway. The crow  had gone back and rounded up his family or friends so they could eat, too. A compassionate crow! Pat took more bread out and fed the rest of them.

We think this is remarkable. This crow knows where to get a handout. He recognizes Pat when he sees  her. He knows she will respond when he calls her. He knows she will not harm him. He takes care of the family or friends that travel with him. He saw Pat leave but knew enough to wait for her return. Perhaps the use of the disparaging label “birdbrain” should be reconsidered. 

Dave Thomas

3/3/2022

Vince and I had two Mexican restaurants that we really enjoyed. The first was Casa de Pico. It was located in the Bazaar del Mundo in Old Town San Diego State Park.    Old Town, San Diego, is where the Spaniards first settled back in 1757 or 1767, I forget which. Bazaar del Mundo is a collection of Latin America flavored shops surrounding Casa de Pico,  a patio or outside dining restaurant. The whole place is decorated in bright, festive colors and it feels good just being there.  On the weekends, there was usually a mariachi band circulating from table to table in the restaurant. The area is a favorite with both locals and tourists.

Pat was with me one time when Vince showed up with his mother and daughter. Vince’s mother, Nadine Gillen, had been our Cub Scout Den Mother. I believe we joined the Scouts when we were 9 years old so that would have been 1945. Considering that this lunch date was taking place between 1995 and 2001, a lot of water had passed under the bridge. It was a real treat to see Mrs. Gillen again.

I   hate to admit that I’m too dumb to remember the daughter’s name but it’s true. We only saw her once but she was/a real cute girl, and Pat and I liked her immediately. She had married a guy from New Jersey, and I think they lived in New York. She thought a lot of her mother-in-law, but couldn’t resist imitating her New Jersey accent. She did a whole routine and cracked us all up.

Another favorite restaurant was Las Ollas. It was located across from the public beach in either Solana Beach or Cardiff By The Sea. Those beach towns all run so close together, I’m never sure what town I’m in. Anyway, Las Ollas is located a little bit north of San Diego, up Highway 101. The restaurant is on the east side of the road, and you just turn off into their parking lot. On the west side of the road is the beach and the surf.

After eating at Las Ollas, Vince and I would jump in our cars and go a couple of miles north to Swami Beach. The parking lot for Swami is on top of a cliff, 30 or 40 feet above the beach. There is a stairway going down to the sand with more steps than Vince and I could navigate. There were concrete benches up on top, and Vince and I would just sit there and stare at the Pacific. It’s peaceful and mesmerizing. Vince’s son, Mitch, joined us at Las Ollas a couple of times. Mitch lived in Park City, Utah, where he tended bar in summer, and was a ski instructor in winter.

Pat and our friend, Judy, joined us for lunch at Las Ollas one time.

I think Vince’s mother was living in Joplin. His brother, Steve, had retired there after a career as a teacher and school principal. Vince’s sister, Kathryn, had been living in Anaheim. Her husband, Jim Stell, had already passed away.

Vince and I were both diabetics, and looked out for each other, and both of us had candy or glucose tablets in our shirt pockets to share in the event of a low sugar condition. Vince never complained or talked about himself. I didn’t know he was on dialysis until he told me he was tired of going to the dialysis center and was going to start doing it at home. He later told me it was a pain in the butt to deal with the buckets of fluid and all the tubing, but it was still better to be doing it at home.

Mitch and his girlfriend had come down from Park City to visit Vince. Vince had lost a lot of weight. He never was a big guy, and it looked like he probably didn’t with more than 120 pounds. On a Tuesday, I got a call from Mitch saying that his dad had passed away. So long, Vince, it’s been good to know you.

Dave Thomas

2/24/2022

A couple of days ago, I got a call from Keith Scholfield, back in Augusta, Kansas. He said he was updating the contact list for our class of 1954 at Augusta High School.  Keith said he hadn’t talked with everyone yet, but it looked like there were only 26 of us left of a graduating class of 72. As Keith filled me in on what he had learned from those he had spoken with, I enjoyed hearing where they were living and how they were doing. After seeing these kids every school day for 12 years, they just disappeared. By the time of graduation, you know so much about them, they are almost like distant cousins.  If you weren’t pretty close, you probably lost track of them.   I thought my classmates might enjoy hearing about our friend, Vincent Gillen and some outings that he and I shared. I’ve forgotten most of the dates but that won’t hurt the stories.             

Our 40^th class reunion was held in 1994 and I went back to Kansas for it. While talking with Keith, he mentioned that Vincent Gillen was living in Oceanside, California.    That was good to hear as I lived in El Cajon, California which put me only 35 or 40 miles from Vince.  When I got back home, I called the information operator and asked if she had a number for Vince. She did, so that problem was solved easily enough. I called him and we had a nice visit and made plans to meet for lunch

During our phone conversation, Vince told me that he had lived in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma and worked in Tulsa for Shell Oil Company as a manager in the credit card department. Due to a re-organization at Shell, Vince was offered early retirement. He jumped on it and being divorced and free as a bird, he headed for a warmer climate and ended up in Oceanside, California, a place his family had  vacationed at when he was a boy. Vince wanted to buy a home if he could find one near the beach and the price was right.  He said he looked at 130 homes before he bought one. I asked if his realtor wanted to strangle him. He said he was safe because the guy was new to real estate and was desperate to make a sale.

Vince and I met at Kono’s in Pacific Beach. Pacific Beach is one of San Diego’s seaside communities and is the location of Mission Beach and the boardwalk. It’s a fun place to be for both locals and tourists. Kono’s is located at the north end of the boardwalk at Mission Beach. It was originally started up as a place for the surfers to get breakfast. They start showing up at dawn and after a couple of hours swimming in a cold ocean they are starving. Kono’s has a deck overlooking the beach and the waves so you can sit there and eat while you watch the surfers. There is a full breakfast menu, but Pat and Vince and I liked the Breakfast Sandwich best. Two scrambled eggs, two strips of bacon, a slice of tomato, cheese, and some kind of sauce, on an English muffin. Mighty good.

Vince and I were on the phone one day, setting up our next lunch, and he told me he had gotten rid of the old Buick Riviera he had been driving and purchased a 1985 Chevrolet. I congratulated him on the buy but was having some serious doubts. Why would a smart guy like him get rid of an old heap and replace it with another that is already ten  years old?  Vince said he would show me the Chevy when we were at lunch. The next day, at Kono’s, we ate, and then went out to see the car. It turned out that Vince  was just being a smart ass. It was a Chevy, all right, a 1985 Corvette convertible.  The car was in perfect condition, and looked like it had just come off the showroom floor. Vince said the car had belonged to a doctor who had only driven it on weekends. The car was black and had no scratches or marks of any kind. Vince was a real convertible-type guy. I never once saw that Corvette with the top up.

Sometimes, Pat went with me to lunch with Vince. After eating, Vince and I would retire to a bench on the boardwalk to watch the surfers, waves, and sunbathers. Pat would go back to the car, put on her roller blades, and take off south, on the boardwalk (it’s actually a concrete walk).  The boardwalk extends for two or three miles down the beach, past the roller coaster, to the jetty that marks the inlet where the Pacific Ocean comes into Mission Bay. Pat would next go a block east to a sidewalk known as Bay Walk and head back north. Altogether, her course covered seven miles. Pretty good for a woman in her sixties.

Jo Lynn (Watson) Dennett, of Augusta, came for a visit. I called Vince and we scheduled a lunch at Kono’s. Pat and I wanted Jo Lynn to really experience San Diego by spending some time in one of the beach towns. Two of the words that describe Pacific Beach are “fun”and “energy.” On summer weekends, the ocean is warm, and there are plenty of surfers and swimmers. Every square inch of beach sand is covered by sunbathers and kids. The boardwalk is crowded with people walking, roller blading, and riding bicycles. A half block east of the boardwalk is Mission Bay Drive, a street that is populated with shops and small restaurants. Vince wanted Jo Lynn to experience all of it, so he gave Jo Lynn a ride in his Corvette convertible all the way down Mission Bay Drive, past the roller coaster, to the jetty and back. She got a charge out of it.

All of us got to see the Pacific Beach Flash. He’s a fun guy who dresses in costumes and roller blades up and down the boardwalk on weekends.

Pat had Jo Lynn put on her roller blades and try them out. That didn’t go so well, so we scratched that activity.  

This story is getting too long, so next week it will continue. Vince and I had some favorite Mexican restaurants, and we had some lunch guests such as his mother, his daughter, his son, and our friends.

Dave Thomas

2/17/2022

I was thinking of our Congress and how they are getting nothing done. They seem to be so conflicted by promises and contributors that they have lost all pretense of having any common sense. Who do they owe?

I’m reminded of a little story I wrote some time ago. As a kid, I saw a dog coming down the street one day. He was wearing a collar, so I caught up with him to see if he had a tag. Sure enough, he did. The tag read, “I am Ed Lietzke’s dog. Whose dog are you?”

Dave Thomas 2/10/22