Paid BART to You

My father turns 65 this coming Saturday, and he was in town this past weekend for a visit. It seemed the ideal chance for an early birthday kickoff celebration so I made a cake (yellow cake with chocolate frosting) and surprised him with it when they arrived on Saturday afternoon.*

After dinner, I handed the alphabet candles (spelling Happy Birthday, one candle per letter) to Eric to put in the cake and went off to do something (I have no idea what). When I came back, my father had somehow been put in charge of decorating his own cake and was, apparently, in an anagramatic mood. He proudly displayed his handiwork, a reference no doubt to the fact that they had come to our place via BART that day.


So of course we all sang "Paid BART to you, Paid BART to you, Paid BART Paid BART, Paid BART to you."

My father was very pleased.


*I also surprised all of us by accidentally dropping it on the floor. Luckily, the 5 second rule applies to birthday cakes so we quickly scooped it up and declared it no worse than before. This prompted Mykael to tell the story of a Thanksgiving long ago when her grandmother proudly marched a meticulously prepared roasted turkey from the kitchen into the dining room only to have the whole thing slide off the tray and onto the floor. "No matter," she said coolly. "I've got another one just like it in the kitchen." She then gracefully took the getaway bird back in the kitchen for take 2.