He grew up in Nebraska.

And he likes to ice skate in our front yard.

I think he was in the Olympics.

He loves my karaoke machine.  And sounds just like Earl Scruggs.  (You don’t know who that is, do you?)

His dogs always wear sweaters.

This is in New Orleans.  Banjo Man loves Cajun and Creole food.  He gets a bit overcome when he sees it.  And with that halo behind his head, he looks like Saint Glen of the Gumbo.

And then he’s embarrassed that he ate so much.

 And he cries.

He plays the banjo and wears funny hats.
And loves rocks.

Happy Birthday, Banjo Man.

 (Remember the cake pan I bought at a yard sale and how many times you’ve tried to take it to the dump? And how I got mad and told you never to touch it again? And how I sneaked it into the trunk of the car before our road trip this year?

I scare myself sometimes.  You know, when I think something is really, really great.  Like a guitar cake pan.  And it turns out to be the coolest cake ever.  With chocolate sprinkles and berries.

Admit it, you’re happy I kept it.

Love,
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