The Charlie Bravo Story

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You will notice that there is no picture attached to this post; this is because that I plan to attempt to paint one with words later on, and would hate to spoil the experience for you.

The Casa came into being, first by accident as critters in need just kept showing up over the years, then by design as a place to escape the constant barrage of negative energy on the Web. We consider it an inestimable honor when folks drop in to recharge a bit, whether it be from afar via this page or better yet, in person. Everybody needs a break, and although the Casa isn’t a special place by material standards, there is a certain “vibe” here, where sometimes, due to certain circumstances in their lives, those who might consider themselves misfits seem to “fit” for a bit.

This holiday weekend was one of those times; an old buddy of mine has recently lost his wife of thirty years to a bitter, prolonged, war with cancer, and decided to come up from the Lone Star State and hang out with some hillbillies for a few days before continuing his journey west.

We were eating breakfast on Independence Day when Sandy came bounding up onto the back porch with a large slobber-covered box turtle in her mouth. We rescued the turtle from what was certain “death from annoyance”, as the inmates all act like every turtle they find was created by Pet Smart for their own personal enjoyment, and placed it in a bucket to be granted it’s own Independence Day later that morning.

Well, it slipped our minds, as seems to happen more and more these days. Later, my friend and I were standing out front checking out the motorcycles and discussing the vagaries of life, and mom was out on the back porch working on Little Tree the clarinet, when she heard a scratching sound. The dogs were all frolicking around the back yard, and she had forgotten the incarcerated turtle in the bucket, so, mom being mom, immediately assumed that something wild had gotten under the porch. She quickly realized the source of the sound and set out to free the turtle.

This is where you visualize: the Casa is close to the end of a dead end street that ends in a slighty(very) swampy area. So here’s mom, in her leopard print pajama bottoms, clarinet in one hand and bucket in the other, procession of goofy dogs trotting dutifully behind, striding purposefully down the street on a mission like some sort of Pied Piper to free the turtle; and we wonder why the neighbors think we’re just a bit “teched”.

But this is who we are, and this is how we roll; I personally wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chark diem!

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