One Day at Col. Sanders’ Place

IMG_1122My wife celebrated her birthday last Friday, the 26th— with daughters two and a grandson.  Theirs was a fantastic celebration, with fantastic spaghetti, a cake and other goodies. I wasn’t there. Just told them that all I wanted was the icing and could they please send it by the fastest carrier?

With the whole of me missing terribly the better half of me, I decided there is no better way to cope than to do it with a bash, indulge too, with my self for company. I never hesitated believing for a moment that a cake, even as big as Robinson Crusoe’s head, was not good for this occasion. You may need candles, and planting 61 burning solid waxes in honor of the spouse who is absent on top of a cake that big—or that small, whatever—may be unthinkable, to say the least. If you are now as old as I am, you may insist too that a cake is a remnant of childishness that we have left behind, that being childish at 63 is not only contrary to nature, it is also against reality— even if the heart wants it, the wallet does not.

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