My new plates came today. Black and yellow California plates. A birthday gift from the huband, who was impressed that I even asked for them. He was mostly excited that he got to put them on. I’m no longer butt hurt that he ate so much of my cake, which is almost gone after only one day.
They made black and yellow plates from 1963-69 in Folsom Prison and apparently they still make them there. Prison plates. And now I have the Johnny Cash song “Folsom Prison Blues” stuck in my head. It’s the kind of song that makes me want to write songs. I can see my guitar on the wall, another birthday gift from my husband four years ago, the guitar I can barely play but I keep playing anyway. “Name that tune” in my house is awfully fun. I can fake my way by now through at least 12 songs by now, including The Eagles’ “One of These Nights.” Just the rhythm part, not the solo, which I’ll be teaching myself on the elecctric guitar my husband also gave me, which was clearly a huge, loud mistake. Thankfully, I live in a house where my neighbors can’t hear shit. So if you’d like to play an torturous round or two of “name that tune” with me, come on over, baby ♥