I can't imagine being disfigured as an adult. I've read articles and seen pictorials of veterans wounded in the war and losing a limb or being disfigured by fire. And then those soldiers coming home to their fiancées to be married. Touching stories indeed. But these are adults. I am saddened by their experience and feel joy at their recovery. There's just something different when you see a similar experience happen to a child. This was just a special pictorial story that I ran across that somehow on some level truly touched me. A story of a little girl with only one ear and the process of making her a prosthetic replacement. A Story Without Words.


Web Junkie

Steve West scours the Web searching for interest or absurdity and then shakes his head ruefully when he finds it. Read more »

That's Good Eatin'

Recent conversation with Brenda: Brenda: (Looking through mailer) Would you like to go to Floyd's Barbecue? me: Why would I want that? Brenda: We could get $5.00 Go »

For What It's Worth...

Round-up of the fun and weird. At last! The taste the world has been waiting for. Go »

Post-Delaware Staycation

The last leg of our vacation was a trip to Dutch Wonderland in Lancaster, PA. This is a pretty terrific amusement park for kids, I mean little kids. Most of the rides are designed for children between the ages 6 & 10. Go »

What The Hell Is An Egg Roll Anyway?

Outside of a chinese restaurant I had never encountered an Easter egg roll before. We managed to become the recipients of four tickets to this year's White House Easter Egg Roll. We were not there to witness the President's participation as we were in the last of three groups and he presented himself to the first. Go »

What Is This, Miami Beach?

Once again, I have to preface this by saying South Dakota snow stories are much more impressive, I'm sure. But here in DC it doesn't get much heavier than this. A couple of feet in a two day period left a lot of snow to be shovelled out of the way. Go »

Christmas and a Lizard's Tale

One Christmas when Lauren was eight, like a lot of girls her age, wished for a pony. My backyard at the time was about the size of a Volkswagen Minibus. Despite her assurances that she would let it roam the neighborhood for sufficient exercise, I said, “Not this year,” as I pictured myself following the horse with a pooper scooper. Go »