Apparently you are never to old to consider yourself a surf bum. You will see an aging geezer on the sidewalk and, though they may be bent and wrinkled, wizened, supported by a cane or walker, by God, they still sport a full, razor cut, blow dried, blonde-dyed casual dude hairdo.
This guy may well have a double mortgage as well as a double by-pass, but when he paddles out to meet that final wave, old St. Pete will not mistake him for a "townie".
I have also made an observation about many the women over 50 here in Santa Cruz. They generally fall into one of two categories with only a handful of exceptions. First there is the aging surfer girl. Starting at about 15, this gal started hanging on the beach with the board crowd and, for the next 35 years, spent every waking hour catching a wave and buffing her tan. As a result, she now still has the body (more or less, depending on the skill of her surgeon...) but her skin-tone is dark mahogany and it has the texture and surface of that old boot you found when you were hiking thru that old ghost town last summer. On the other end of the spectrum is the aging flowerchild who, apparently, shunned direct sunshine like a novice vampire. Bedecked with broad-brimmed, flower strewn straw hat, eye protection and turtleneck, she trails a swirling collection of multi-colored scarves, jackets and voluminous skirts. Her skin has the color and texture of a fresh marshmallow as she glides, ghost-like, thru the Farmers' Market and Save-Mart.
"tuther day I went to a delightful little breakfast spot called Cafe Brasil after a hot tip from the always lovely Eva Rocke & Elizabeth Powell. This is a great place, with walls in every color and menu fresh from far south of the border. After perusing the menu, the copious liquifaction of my tastebuds was rapidly filling my drool cup as I awaited the arrival of my eggs, gallo pinto and fried plantains & tortillas... Oh, the anticipation.
Then, I swear to God, I hear some woman sitting behind me say to the waitress, "I will have scrambled eggs, sausage and dry wheat toast." I held myself in check, however, and she still lives and I am not in need of a Get Out Of Jail Free Card...
Who lets these people out of the house?
So, I may have mentioned to several of you that I
shuddered to discover that I had to pack 19 boxes
of books when leaving la Quince. Well, believe it or
don't, that pales when I begin unpacking at the
other end only to discover that I am facing 25 boxes
labeled "kitchen". No clue as to contents yet... but
geez, no wonder I'm overweight.
oh my oh my.....had I only known I would have taken at least 17 boxes of your books off of your hands. Glad you found the remote. After reading your last couple blogs I ask myself, I wonder why.....do I really need to renew my Funny Times subscription when I have that there Bolton in my life?
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