No Sharing

He liked his pineapples, melons, oranges, all kinds of healthy fruits and vegetables too, but when I arrived that afternoon with a two layer nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice, infused, old fashioned layer cake with cream cheese frosting, whipped up fluffy and light.    He was especially possesive.  I knew he liked Spice cakes but I had no idea I’d never get to taste it.  He wouldn’t share with a soul.  My soul loved it.  It was worth not giving to the friend it was originally supposed to go to.  I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t specifically make it for him, but I didn’t specifically make it for the friend either.  It was a toss up and I don’t regret for one minute that I gave it to the stingy man called my dad.

Another day in the life of Bustersdaughter.

For the love of Johnny

For some strange reason I keep rewinding the song from Johnny Cash’s collection…I fell into a burning ring of fire, I went down down down and the flames got higher and it burns burns burns, that ring of fire…that ring of fire..

.now why on earth, would I remember that..probably and only because I’m Bus’s daughter….I grew up hearing all the Grand Ole’ Opry greats.   Johnny, Merle, Marty, and alot of the country western twangers. 

I hid my head closest to the floor in the backseat of the Chevy stationwagon.  I hated being seen by even strangers in passing cars.   It was agony.  No one listened to that stuff as far as I was concerned. It was the 60’s for crying out loud.  My dad and his cowboy hat, his cowboy boots, his arm on the side of the rolled down window with a Pall Mall in his hand and singing to the likes of them.   I was trying with all my might to be the cool one on a normal basis I didn’t need a country hick to weigh down the personality.  Just proves that you don’t have to be from the south to be a hick. 

Can you imagine the life of Bustersdaughter?