My mother was mugged today.  I should say there was an attempt to mug her but she fought back.  In El friggin’ Cerrito.  She spent most of her life in New York City and was never mugged – go figure.  The Albany side of El Cerrito is a quiet area with nice houses but subject to criminals commuting in on BART.  The BART stations here are a mixed blessing, not only because they provide easy access to all comers, but because of the paths under the tracks, which provide a sheltered area for criminals to strike at individuals enjoying a walk or trying to get someplace efficiently.  Such was the case here, with my mom entering the BART path off of Fairmount, when two young men — one about 15, one about 18 — ultimately knocked her down and tried to take her bag.  She screamed bloody murder and held onto the bag.  One of the two ran off and the other continued with the struggle.  He finally ran off, as well, when he saw she was not going to give in.  She was injured by the assault, but I am very glad they did not do her grave injury.  In any event, I’m sure you know what I’d like to do to the bastards.  Imagine choosing to prey on productive people — let alone those most vulnerable! — rather than making an honorable life for yourself and getting a job.

Pix of the menfolk.  Here’s a photo of the founder of the feast (on the right).  He works hard so I can do this kind of thing much of the time.  He’s not easy to photograph because he hates having his picture taken and acts all weird.  We also have Matthew and Jon, who need to be beaten away from the front of a camera with clubs.  They promptly grab photos I take of them for upload to Facebook.  Matthew has photo albums on Facebook with titles like “me,”  “more of me,” “me in SF in June,” and other variations of “me.”  Man, I would have hated to plaster my photo around when I was 20.  It must be wonderful to feel so secure at that age.  They walk around like they are The Shit!  Steve, Matt & Jon eat quite a bit of the food I talk about on the site.  These are serious food people:  lusty appetites and the desire to try almost anything.  Matthew, who favors Chinese food, recently said it would be out of the question for him to have a serious relationship with anyone who didn’t like dim sum.  “The person doesn’t know how to handle chopsticks — I’d have to think twice about that.”

Sam Frankenstein's fish plaque

I’ve been thinking about the wooden fish today.  This is an item residing in my kitchen.  The fish, constructed of boards of wood affixed and carved in the shape of a fish, inscribed and lacquered, was made for Steven’s grandfather, Sam Frankenstein, sometime between 1920 and 1945.  Apparently fishing was a big hobby for the so-called “fishing Frankensteins,” who were written up in the newspaper back in the days when such goings-on were of general interest to other residents of the Bronx.  I’ve always loved the fish and it will continue to move with us.

This has nothing to do with food.

I’ve been thinking that it’s about time I posted a bit about my father.  I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at the funeral photographs and personal effects I shipped from Binghamton to CA right after he died, but I think I’m ready now.  Today I would like to provide a little information about my father’s apartment.  He lived at 50 Main Street in Binghamton, New York.  He was at 50 Main for a number of years, making it a habit to pay his rent well before it was due.  He was a good tenant.  What I provide here for your viewing pleasure is a photograph of a contraption he had up on his living room ceiling to deal with a leak he had for a number of years.  Repair was apparently attempted, but never worked.  When it rained, he had to cover his computer table in order to collect and direct water (via this device he built and affixed to the ceiling) to a large container on the floor.  When it rained hard, he would get up every couple of hours all night long in order to manually drain the water so the weight of it would not pull his funneling device down.  It was bad enough that he was not able to use a good chunk of his living room when it rained — and that it looked so bad — but the kicker is that a senior citizen lived like that for a number of years, being chased up at all hours of the night in order to protect his things and prevent a flood.  In February of 2006, at age 68,  he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He became increasingly debilitated, and it was a nightmare for him to deal with the leak in his ceiling.  During months of chemotherapy he became weaker and weaker but still had to stay up nights when it rained.  By the end of Summer my 6′ 5″ dad was down to 138 pounds.  There’s more.  My father told me that for years he did not get sufficient heat and had to run his gas burners in order to sit in the living room.  He said this had to do with a thermostat (or some such thing) move affecting his apartment, and that he talked with Bronson America, Realtors, about this numerous times, but the problem was never alleviated.  My dad was, among other things, a trained HVAC guy so he knew about this kind of thing.  When I was finally able to get him out of that apartment he only had 6 weeks to live.  I cannot tell you why he did not report Bronson America, Realtors, to the city agency in charge of such things at some point — even well before he became ill.  When I offered to do so he asked me not to, so I did not.  I believe he did not want to add any negativity to what little time he had left on this earth.  But I didn’t say anything about keeping it off my website.  If you read this and you have parents who are getting older, don’t let them blow you off when you ask about the state of their four walls.  Even if you live 2700 miles away you have to get on a plane and check things out.  Take it from me that you do not want to deal with substandard housing issues when someone you love is diagnosed with a debilitating illness.