
My very, very dear niece Amber came out for a visit with her husband Spanky. Amber has, more than once, told me Spanky’s real name, but I am unable to overcome the charm of the nickname and so I have no way to remember whatever moniker he might have been stuck with at birth.
Amber reigns over a sizable ranch in far North Texas, pretty much actually Oklahoma, but there was a time as a tween when she lived here in San Francisco for a while. She has not been back since that magical spell and so had a number of places she remembered that she wanted to revisit, chief among them the beautiful cliffs and beaches of Lands End.

Coincidentally, Lands End is very special to me as well. When we first moved out here and were poor as poor rats, R Man and I would go for hikes out there pretty much every weekend. Even if I hadn’t been an escapee from the swamps of the Gulf Coast, it’s impossible not to be swept up by the gorgeous vistas Lands End serves up.

And so I was able to show off as an informed tour guide. The main path is at the top of a steep bluff; the trail down to the beach includes eleventy bazillion steps and somehow twice as many coming back up. Don’t ask me how, it’s the fucking Twilight Zone out there.

It was a beautiful visit and I’m glad we did it, but oh my god, it was tough. All that time R Man and I had spent scrambling up and down those cliffs was 20 years ago or more. One of the problems with being a creaky old man is that I keep forgetting that I am a creaky old man until I do something like reliving a hike I had enjoyed as a much younger and more limber homo and wind up blowing out my back.

We got (finally) to the last six or seven steps and I thought, “You know what? I am never going to make that, I’ll just die here, it’s okay.” By the time we made it back home my back and legs were so sore I had to bow out of the trip they made down to Big Sur the next day.
I know I complain about my bad back a lot here, but the couple of days right after our hike was an extra special kind of ouchy. I would apologize to my back the few times I dragged myself out of bed, but it didn’t help, oddly enough. Eventually things got better and I was even able to join Amber and Spanky when they got back for an evening of prowling around Chinatown. It was very amusing.
I’m glad I got to spend time with her, she’s very sweet and charming, and I’m also very glad I didn’t die on those FUCKING steps. I swear it was a close call.
anyway, naked men:

Where was he when I needed motivation up those last goddam steps?

You know what I needed? Somebody, perhaps this young man, to carry me up the stairs.

Snow White’s missing dwarf, Doofus.

Oh, this guy again.

It’s impressive to see someone who can stand at one urinal and piss in the one next to him.

Smooth.

Such a sweet, sweet face, full of boyish charm and then, holy hot damn, that bazooka.

Sort of the opposite of boyish charm, but very appealing.
I keep forever repeating the mantra: “Old age is no place for sissies””, but Bette was so right – each morning I wake with a different bit of me aching from that which was aching yesterday, and sometimes more than one bit.
But hey! I’d still manage #1, #5 and #6, if you’re offering. Jx
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Been there. Every morning I wonder how I managed to hurt myself just sleeping.
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And you photographed Big Footsie on the beach in picture number two.
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I wasn’t looking at feet, sorry.
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Shit darling, put any of those slabs of meat in front of you, and you’d been up them steps in five minutes!!!!! And yes…. that bazooka.
I’m retrieving my knees pads as we speak.
Do take good care. Shall I give you a nice massage?
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Send me one by psychic network, please
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And I always thought of Lands End as a clothing catalog!
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There is only one appendage on my body that isn’t regularly stiff in the morning.
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Those stairs!
I needed my inhaler just reading this.
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That first image, “Live each day as if it is your last – in bed and on painkillers” could be our new motto.
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My husband (25 years my junior) is currently in The City attending a conference. When he was planning the trip he asked if I wanted to go with him and I politely declined, telling him I preferred to remember SF as I knew it in the 80s and 90s, not as it is now. I mean, I wander downtown through Google Street view and have NO idea where I am even though I walked (WALKED – not WORKED, you pigs!) those streets every damn day to and from work. Nothing is as I remember it. And speaking of walking, when I think of the walking my 28 year old self did there that I couldn’t imagine doing now, not to mention the number of times I went up and down those cliffs over North Baker/No Name Beach.😈 It truly is a city for the young.
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