This excerpt is from a post back in 2016; now, before you think the Charles has gotten lazy, just bear with me for a minute. How could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads?”  ― Plato, The Allegory of the Cave An old friend of dad’s found my story last night, and like most, her initial response was, “how sad!”. Then she dug farther into the posts…

It's been raining at the Casa del Whackos for the last two days; I have had no inclination to go outside and frolic, and dad has been putting an inordinate amount of time into finishing the book, so that has left me with plenty of opportunity to reflect on some of our recent adventures. Dad and I went to New Mexico back in December, "just because", as sometimes we need to just stop, drop and…

Dad here; where is "home"? Not the brick and mortar building that the mortgage company no doubt owns more of than you do anyway, but that place where you can reconnect and recharge? Is it in a few minutes of stillness and solitude in the evening? Or in boisterous community around a kitchen table? Is it in walking or running or biking through streets or through hills? Is it in listening to music? Or, better…

Many questions have been asked about the origins of the Claire Bear; thus us exactly why dad and I started the blog at thecharliebravostory.com as a supplement to the Facebook page. Beteeen the facts that my story has so many twists and turns and also that FB has a tendency to move posts around willy-nilly, we decided we needed a place where we could keep the posts in chronological order. This was so if some…

Dad here; life since Charlie Bravo has been a rollercoaster, albeit one without the benefit of safety belts to give a sense of security, or rails to give the car a sense of direction. In that case, I guess that it's been like life in general for everyone else on the planet, except exponentially sped up by the catalyst of a sleek black force of nature that gave it some direction. Before we go any…

The darkest hour is always just before dawn, but even through the inky blackness, we can detect movement along the perimeter. The Marcoterrorist is up to his usual tactics, using the volume of mom's lumberjack activities(does OSHA know that she operates a sawmill at night? Is that even legal?) to cover the sound of his stealthy approach as he probes our defenses in search of a way of attack. By our defenses, I am implying…

Mom here; Charlie and Dad are the storytellers; Mom is well… just Mom.  The dowager queen,so to say, and I'm OK with this. I've never liked the spotlight; I work happily and quietly in the background. But today I'm charged with telling part of a story…(dad here; as well she should; she knows all the details, I just wander around in a haze, doing her bidding) Yeah, right; anyway, a follower of Charlie's page who…