I wanted to tell you that we had some answers regarding dad's health. I have no answers. We've gone from "you're dad has Mad Cow" to "we think it's Alzheimer's". All of that, all of the testing and more testing prompted a diatribe on the state of our health care system (and I don't mean Obama care, I mean the total unorganized cluster fuck of the current doctor/patient system). Mom and I are scheduled to leave for Ireland in one week. That sentence kind of just looms there. Saturday afternoon, I sat on a curb in the Costco parking lot listening to my brother tell me how dad had completely lost it. I listened to my brother calmly tell me about dad's latest outburst that involved the county sheriff and a SWAT team threat. Everything kind of clicked into place when I heard Randy say "we are having Dad committed" and that's when I realized I was now sitting on a curb in the Costco parking lot, crying. All I could picture was my dad being hauled into every kind of psych ward ever portrayed on TV. My dad is in a hospital. That's really all I can tell you. So instead of all those things, I give you this:

The Cabbage: "Where are we going?" Michael: "You Say Tomato." The Cabbage: "Tomato, but where are we going?"