TMO 11: The Banning 1

Westlake Village, California
August 15, 2021

6:40 PM

“Fine! I’m feeling fine. The air is hotter and dryer but I love it here, Marcie. Only thing would make it better if you and Mitchie sold and became my neighbors again.”

We miss you, too, Sherrie, but the thought of Mitch and me packing up and moving is horrendous.”

“Then there’s the lake also.”

“Yeah. Been here so long it’s become a way of life.”

Laughing. “Only try not to get caught.” Sharon said.

Many embarrassing, and terribly bad instances in Marsha Lipensky’s old life, getting caught that night— by this time, though, thought as funny— was definitely one of the most embarrassing in Marsha’s newer life.

“Been there, done that…” Marsha said “...and it ain’t going to happen again.”

“So look; it’s only ab out four hundred miles from Thousand Oaks to ‘Sun City’ and between you and Mitch driving you should be able make it in one day.”

“Nah…” glancing at her husband who’s still at the table nursing this evenings last cup of coffee. “... Mitch's eye sight is getting so bad he gave up driving last March.”

“You never said.”

Standing, coming from the table.. “Let me say hello.”

“Sharon, Mitch want’s to say hello and I’ve got to get going anyway.”

“Got a date?”

“Well, kind of. Found a group of women at the Senior Center that still play Canasta.”

“ ‘Canasta? Got to be some old Jewish broads, huh?”

“Yeah. Two of them even from Chicago… Gott’a get going. Bye, Sherrie.” holding the phone towards her husband. “Here’s Mitchie.”

“Bye, Marcie... Hi, Sherrie!”

“Hi’ya, Mitch! How you been?”

Thinking, The old obligatory greeting. “Fine, Sherrie.” Giving the old obligatory response. “And you?”

“Fine, Mitchie. And like I asked your wife, when you two coming my way?”

“You know. One of these days.”

“Well, at your age buster, better make it soon.”

“We will, Sharon. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that!”

“Anyway, looks like a nice evening so thought I’d just unplug the boat and take a whirl around the lake.”

“ ‘A whirl’, huh.”

“ Got to take it slow, you know.”

“Slows the only way for a guy without a drivers license.”

“Felt like I was giving a big part of myself away when I gave it up.”

“Smart thing you did, Mitch. Hell! Fifty percent of the drivers in Arizona ought to give up driving also.”

The line silent a moment.

“You taking the coffee pot?”

The line silent a moment, remembering.

“Yeah.” Mitchell said. “Think I’ll do that.”

“At your age now, better not make them too strong.”

“Nah. Three shots of gin and a shake or two of vermouth and a handful of ice; so by the time I get to my first martini, it’s kind of watered down.”

Well, take it easy, Mitchie, and think about visiting me.”

“I will… On both things, Sherrie… Bye.”

6:58 PM

Leaning over the coping, putting the old battered aluminum coffee pot along with the thick mug onto the starboard bench seat.

Throwing off both half hitched lines from their deck cleats, the gentle shove moving the boat inches from the dock, then carefully stepping aboard, he seated himself behind the wheel, turned the ignition switch ,and — all six batteries pumping out as many volts or watts or whatever six golf cart batteries could pump out, he pushed the throttle and, with a hardly felt jerk crawled from his dock into Westlake Lake.

7:04 PM

A Lovely, although a bit on the hot side of this mid-August night, deciding to putt the short way around Westlake Island Mitchell — and the ghost of his dear friend Milt slowly passed ‘The Landing’ with it’s three high class restaurants, where in the years before Marsha and he remarried, the two: Milt and Mitchell would pick up old ladies… Truth be told, however, often they were older than the old ladies they’d pick up. Although, after all, the Two were still good looking mature gentlemen that had the boat, after all... along with a coffee pot of very dry martini's.

A warm breeze at his back adding to the ‘warp speed’ of the old electric boat, the ghost of Milt and Mitchell passed the huge multi-dock lined shore-side where a multitude of rented docks secured the hundreds of electric boats owned by Westlake Village and Thousand Oaks residents that did not have waterfront property.

Moving easterly to the far eastern side of the horseshoe shaped lake ending at a wide and deep, steel cable, boat protected, huge concrete runoff dam catch-basin for those rare, Southern California times when rain storms would overflow Lake Sherwood, above Westlake Lake allowing millions of gallons of rain water to swiftly currant downward then flow further allowing the currant to continue on to Malibu Lake then north-westerly, ‘wastefully’ dumping untold gallons of much needed fresh water into the Pacific Ocean.

7:38 PM

Rounding the Westlake Lake horseshoe, passing the runoff dam; now heading northerly, the lowering sun to port side, the warm breeze no longer at his back but more-so softly coming head-on, as, deciding, the small boat crawled about a quarter-mile or so to a sharply angled cove beyond of which is there is a grassy embankment that flattens to become an easterly/westerly sidewalk and beyond the sidewalk a fairly well traveled, for this area, semi-major street.

Subconsciously steering into that deeply angled cove where all those years ago...

Subconsciously steering to the same estimated area…

Where, after all, how could this old man truly remember exactly where the banning happened back in 2010…

Eleven years is a long time for an eighty-seven year old man to remember most anything, especially while on a small boat in Westlake Lake.

7:50PM

Thinking it time— before his one... ‘Okay’ before his one on the rather large side martini became too watered down...

Also, feeling ultra comfortable buffeted by this warm, gentle breeze; pushing the throttle into the reverse position to halt the boats forward motion; as it came to a near still position, standing, stumbling on his way forward, Mitchell removed the anchor that was stored in the compartment beneath one of the forward cushions.

Tying the running end of the line to a forward stanchion then dropping the anchor overboarfd, he then stumbled his way aft.

Seated once again, the old battered aluminum coffee pot and thick cup placed onto the small shelf above the boat’s control cabinet, the old man poured until all left was the clinking sound of ice.

Sliding across the long cushion, nestling his back on the upward starboard side cushion, then — with a bit of effort, lifting both legs onto the cushion, the old man stretched them forward.

The effort causing the light boat to slightly shift positions, along with the view.

Stretching forward, able to reach the small shelf above the control cabinet, hooking his finger through the finger-hold and bringing the cup to his mouth…

Hesitating before taking the first sip, Mitchell thought that in this position, in this place, he might approximately be facing the same row of bushes that the cop might had been urinating behind.

Taking his first drink of water downed martini; closing his eyes as the cold liquor travailed its way downward, then opening his eyes while taking a much heavier drink.

Sensing the effect of the alcohol immediately.

8:03 PM

The slight rocking movement of the cork like boat. The gently palpating warm breeze, the alcohol — that in addition to the fact that Mitchell Lipensky was eighty-seven years old…

Thoughts of Elizabeth, Lita and Barbara, the three women in his life that Mitchell had loved, having now been analyzed, rationalized and exorcised, no longer even a passing thought.

As for the two girls in his life?

A day would not pass when the memory of year 1952 and— the never growing older— fifteen year old Susan Friedman would not touch upon the mind of Mitchell Lipensky.

‘Marsh Goldman’…

The girl he had met in year 1949 when she not yet thirteen and he not yet fifteen.

The young woman he had married in 1955, and the older woman he had divorced in 1986…

...To become the beautiful old lady he had remarried in March of year 2010 who would — to his dying day— always remain on Mitchell’s mind and ‘Thank God’ in what was left of his life.

Taking one last drink of watery martini, placing the cup alongside onto the deck.

Unaware, his half closed eyes on the cops ‘pee bush’

Remembering

The day had started— and in retrospect— ended humorously.

The gentle movement of the boat. The gentle warm breeze. The martin.

The old man’s eyes closing…

The day had started— and in retrospect— ended humorously.

The Banning
August 12, 2011

Remarried for near a year and a half.

No mater their well advanced years, considering themselves ‘newlyweds’

Considering themselves as newlyweds,

Aware that at their ages ‘bad stuff’ could come along at any time.

But so far?

Other than a few manageable health problems… Including Mitchell’s failing eye sight.

So far, all is good.

Between the two— well advanced in years— newlyweds, not a day goes by without the words, “I love you!” spoken one to the other, both morning and night and often in-between.

Not a day goes by without a ‘touch’ or a caress to remind each that though old, both are still sexually attracted to each other.

Not a day goes by without humor.

August 12, 2011:

4:56 PM

A lovely Southern California, mid August day, needing a few groceries, the newlyweds decided to walk the half mile to the closest super mart.

Walking together, the old man fell a few paces behind.

“Why are you walking so slowly?”

“Because...” the old man answered “...I like looking at your behind.”

Tilting her head to the side and behind. “Why?” The old woman questioned.

“Because it’s prettier than my behind.”

“So you look at your own behind much?” Marsha asked.

“No.” Glancing over his shoulder. “I can’t hardly see my behind at all.”

“You’re so round…” she said jokingly “... I’m surprised you can see your behind at all.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said...” he said “...I can’t see my behind at all.”

“Then why do you look at your behind?”

“I don’t look at my behind.” He answered.

“Why don’t you look at your behind?”

“ ‘cause I can’t see it too well.”

“Well, yeah.” She laughed. “That makes sense.

Coming alongside, holding hands, the two walked on.

 At Thousand Oaks boulevard, waiting for the light to change from red to green.

The thought coming to mind out of clear air.

 “Know what I’d like to do?”.

 Or maybe the thought came to mind because of the clear air.

“What ‘would you like to do’?” Mitchell asked.

“Haven’t been on the boat lately, so let’s go home and take the boat out.”

Without even a second thought. “Great Idea, Sweetie…Tell you what.”

 “Yeah ‘what’?”
 

“So long as we're out, let's get a couple of 'foot longs'.”

 “Good idea, baby!”

 6:08 PM

 An unopened bottle of ‘Peniot Grigio ’ and six ‘Coronas’ along with two ‘Subway’ ‘Cold Cut Foot Longs’ in the ‘igloo’.

  Tossing the line at 6:10 PM

Author’s Notation, Again

In order transpose the following properly, I, the author, will have to change the present literate presentation to a more literate (I hope) narrative presentation.

Next TMO: The Banning