...for you cannot re-live them- Bob Dylan. Fresh sheets on the cot, and dad is buried deep under the quilts. He is showing no signs of rising any time soon, the only sign of life being an occasional kick or grunt as he chases a dream though an ethereal mountain pass. It's that magical time in the morning when the dawn has brightened to the point that one can just barely discern the difference between…

Dad here; 0600 and an icy, steady rain is falling at the Casa. The first order of the day is to shuffle down the hall like a portly Pied Piper, leading a procession of presumptuous popinjays towards their personal Porta-Potties. With that taken care of, it was time to face what could very well be an unpleasant sight in the kitchen, as things weren't looking too sparky for the old girl when we finally turned…

Dad here; I thought I was going to sneak out today for a little two wheeled therapy on the Salsa when I spotted a bit of white curled up in the leaves on the side of the road. She showed no sign of aggression as I approached, but neither did she make any advances when I stopped just short of touching her. It was obvious that she had recently had a litter of pups, but…

Dad here; since Charlie and I embarked on this journey together four years ago , the hardest posts to complete have always been the most revealing: first, the death of Stevie, then Max's violent demise, followed so quickly by that of Bull Taco. The death of my dad. The loss of my job of twenty one years and ten minutes. The infamous poop story, or "How to save the carpet by catching a turd on…

Dad here; there is a scripture "when I would do good, evil is present with me". I know the context of these words as they are written, but sometimes words have different meaning to different people according to where they are at on their particular journeys. I'm sure that you have noticed a drop off in the frequency of Charlie's posts, but let me assure you, we are as dedicated to the message as we…

Sunday morning at the Casa, and for once in a long while, the rain is gone. Dad and I had defected to the twin bed in Zach's old room, only to wake this morning to find Claire and Ajax had set up shop as well; that's just fine, as it will be us, not them, on the motorcycle later this afternoon. When dad's dad began his decline into the depths of dementia, it became necessary…

Dad wonders how I know, but I know; he thinks it might be the difference between khakis and kevlar, or shoelaces and velcro, but that's not it. It's not what clothes that he puts on that makes me lose my mind, but the vibe his soul gives off. Because I know that we're going for a motorcycle ride! This knowledge causes a switch to literally flip in my brain, and I go into full "Chark"…