My father turned 70 yesterday. He is a rascal, with a cover of so-called innocence. He was called Raymie when he was young, and he is still Raymie. Even some of my high school friends call him Raymie. Look at the picture below, when he was a young man. You can see the devilish twinkle in his eye. His precious camper is in the background. He claims that was for “bible study”. Mmm-hmm.

Dad is the youngest of three children, and very much the baby of the family. When he and his siblings went to the grocery store with their mother, Dad always claimed the front seat. They were each given money to pick out a candy bar and a comic. Dad ate his candy quickly, then reached into the back seat and grabbed theirs. When they started beating on him, he cried and carried on. Grandma Hazel yelled, “Why can’t you get along with your little brother ?!”

My favorite Raymie recollection is the dog poop donut story. One day, Hazel was making donuts. Dad and his brother Jimmy played in a tent outside. It was too dark to see anything. Jimmy asked Dad to fetch some fresh donuts. As he was returning, he noticed a ring of dried dog poop on the ground, nicely donut-shaped. He picked it up and gave it to his brother to eat. You can imagine the hell that ensued.

My dad can’t help himself. And while I will never hear the end of his teasing, my skin gets thicker with every year. Or I dish it right back to him. He is a sweet, good man, but he can drive me absolutely nuts.

My dad has taught me to not take life too seriously. And not get too hoity-toity. Enjoy the simple things in life. When everything else is stripped away, they are all we have.

I was itching to make cupcakes again, and asked him what he wanted. I originally planned something more fancy, but he really wanted chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting. I added a butterscotch filling and an extra surprise element. You’ll see.

I love cupcakes. A cupcake is meant for you, noone else. You are special. You are loved. When I worked at Williams-Sonoma, they sold single cupcake containers. I adore that idea. You open up your lunch bag, and there it is, encased reward waiting after your sandwich.

Where to get a good cupcake recipe? I connected the dots like I always do. D gave me a cupcake book. The connection between these two male loves in my life is this: they work hard and know how to laugh. And make me laugh.

I found a devil’s food recipe. How freakin’ appropriate.

On Monday, we went to The Blue Angel for dad’s pre-birthday lunch. Its a local bar & restaurant where folks can eat and drink in their work clothes and have a good time. His cousin’s daughter, Nora, was bartending that day. She is a salty gal who writes a column for the local newspaper. She came over and gave some affection.

I concocted the cupcakes yesterday. Cupcakes done well are a long process. After the usual impatience and struggle, they happened.

After the crumb cooled, I made the butterscotch sauce from my previous fudge recipe and filled them. And frosted them.

And I added Dolly. Dolly Parton. Dad shares his birthday with her, and she is only the most Raymie-licious woman on the planet. I found an image of her online, a Playboy cover! Irresistible. I captured the screen image on my camera, printed it out on the photo printer, cut out her shape, and fixed her to a toothpick. She sat atop a cupcake and was presented after we sang Happy Birthday. Dad liked.

Dad liked it very much.