Of all Disney's seven dwarves, "Bashful" is the one that Dad just doesn't "get". Dopey, Grumpy, Happy, maybe, but Bashful? Not when dad would talk to someone stump if the stump would hold still long enough. Invariably the conversation works around to me and my message, and he feels the need to be very descriptive when relating my I'mprevious condition, not necessarily for the shock factor, but more importantly, to demonstrate how far I've come.…

It's good to be back; I understand why dad felt the need he to post this weekend with it being the anniversary of the bag and all, but really? Sure, he makes a great chauffeur, but he needs to leave the writing to me. One of the benefits of presiding over the Casa del Whackos is the number of pilgrims we have had the privilege of entertaining, in some ways the descendants of the honorable…

...before the next printing... also, tomorrow is the last day of free shipping, so hit it while the hitting's good!

Dad here; two years ago today, everything went from good to not so good in a micro second. Mom questioned the wisdom of me wanting to revisit the scene of my near demise; all I could think of were the ten lepers that were healed by Jesus, and only one returned to offer thanks. As it turned out, this trip wasn't only for me. Charlie and I loaded up Miss Ellie and headed west for…

"One, two, three; lift!" Who are these people, and why are they levering me from one bed to another? And why do I have hoses and tubes inserted into every hole I have, and even into a few that someone has taken the liberty to add? And will the indignities never end? It appears that I'm now the proud owner of a shiny new colostomy bag, attached to my gut like some sort of plastic…