Cake crumbs with Mr. Sunshine

Voila!  I whisked the lid off Dad's supper plate, and there was Mr. Sunshine.  I was so surprised I started laughing uncontrollably.  That started the aide known as The Lady In Red laughing, too.  She went out to the food cart to see if all the plates had carrot sunshines.  Nope.  Someone in the kitchen must think just Dad needs to brighten up.

Dad was not particularly amused, but he ate three carrots, and half each of the mystery meat, biscuit, and cake.  He drank some milk.  For him, a pretty good meal.  The Lady In Red started calling Mr. Howard "Mister Sunshine" instead.  He wore another quarter of the cake, but I tried to clean it up.

I told Dad a halfway right version of "How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin".  It was because of the cake crumbs, of course.  Then I had to go home to change my shirt due to itchiness from my haircut, which felt as bad as burned currants in a waterproof.

Feeling less itchy, I found the last cassette player in the house and popped in the old Rabbit Ears tape of Jack Nicholson and Bobby McFerrin doing that Just So Story.  Fabulous as ever!

Them that takes cake

Which the Parsee-man bakes

Makes dreadful mistakes.



Last night we had a big storm with crazy lightning and hail.  Having fallen asleep on the couch under the twin skylights, it was a multisensory wake-up tapdance and lightshow.  My flowers weren't harmed.  A few miles south at my school the hail was so large it hadn't melted away eight hours later.  The lambs ears looked stabbed and slashed with pointy scissors, not the round-tip Fiskars.

I am listening to Aimee Bender's The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake on cd. In the nap room at school I'm reading The Caregiver's Path to Compassionate Decision Making, by Viki Kind, MA, with my Mighty Bright book light, connecting my three jobs--kids, books, and Dad.  At bedtime I read a bit of The White Lioness, by Henning Mankell.  I do not eat cake in bed. 

 You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are gray.

You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder