Archive for Some truth to it

The Same Thing Only Different

Bubbles and Lies

Bubbles are much like lies 

They usually come in bunches

One leading to another

Obscuring the truth of who we are

 

But they soon drift away

Leaving the others to burst in time

And always sooner than we expect

We are exposed to the world

 

Some are big, some are small

Some reflect the light in beautiful ways

Fooling those who witness them

But only for a short while

 

Bubbles and lies cannot survive

Unless time can be stopped

Or the expelling of them does not

Or… they become our truth

 

What will we do

When the bubbles are all gone

When the world sees us clearly

As we stand naked and ashamed

 

Will we hang our heads

Or quickly dip into the jar

Wave our arms and like magic

Remain a figment of our delusion

bubble

 

Copyright © C. Mashburn 2011

Photo courtesy of Google Images

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It’s A Furniture Thing

For years, my pal, Rooster, and I worked together and lived in the same area. During those twenty-plus years, we spent many hours debating the various topics of the day. Well, not so much debating as discussing in what was typically a humorous vein. We’d hash things out quite thoroughly, until at some point one or the other of us would say, “But you know what?” To which the other would always respond, with a knowing nod, “It doesn’t matter.”

And usually, it doesn’t. In the overall scheme of things, we (people in general) tend to get all riled up about things that usually… well… just don’t matter. Or, at best, if they do matter, there’s not a doggone thing we can do about them.

rv couchThe point of this non-mattering diatribe is this; I’ve changed my response from, “It doesn’t matter”, to, “It’s a furniture thing.” I did this after a recent conversation with Sherry. We were talking about our upcoming move to our new-to-us house, and at some point the topic of furniture came up. We discussed it for a bit, her telling me what she wanted, me agreeing some, disagreeing some, until I finally ended the conversation with this statement; “You know. I have an opinion about furniture, and I like furniture, but in the overall scheme of things, I don’t really care about furniture, so whatever you want is cool with me.” What I was saying was, furniture doesn’t matter to me.

So, since that conversation I’ve stopped saying, “It doesn’t matter, and I’ve replaced the statement with, “It’s a furniture thing.”

Now… just between you, me, and the post turtle, I don’t expect my little saying to catch on but, hey, Rooster likes it, the Duck likes it, and … it’s a furniture thing.

 

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Just a Normal Guy

I play golf a lot, and many times I play alone. Back in the day, most courses didn’t allow players to play alone. I stumbled upon such a course yesterday, and they put me with another group of three. Two of them I’d never seen before, but the other one was quite recognizable.

 

Matt

He told me I could take pictures, but asked me not to put them on Facebook. But… hey, he’ll never see it, ’cause he doesn’t know who I am!

“Hey, Matt,” I said, shaking hands with him. “What’re you doing in this neck of the woods?”

 

He grinned, then turned to put his clubs on the cart. “Got a couple cousins over here,” he said, nodding at the two loading their clubs on another cart. “Hey, Josh and Dan! Come over here and meet…” he looked at me for a name. “Charlie,” I said. “Come over here and meet, Charlie.” They came over, we all shook hands, then they went back to the cart. “They’re not very sociable,” he said. He grinned then sauntered over to the driver’s side of the cart. As I slid into the other side, I grinned back at him and said, “That’s okay. I ain’t either.” He grinned again and said, “Right, right, right.”

At the first tee, Josh and Dan were not happy about their respective hook and slice. Looking to cheer them up, I said, “Okay boys, I only have one rule; get back to the house without hurting anyone.” Josh and Dan looked at me like they thought I wasn’t funny, but Matt laughed and punched my shoulder. “Gonna be a good day,” he said.

And it was. We had a good time all day, listening to Dan and Josh grumble and cuss as we tried to help them find their golf balls. The trees and brush lining the fairways were thick, and those boys seemed to like to play anywhere but the fairway.

As we were heading from number seventeen green over to the last tee, Matt looked over and said, “Pops (that’s what he’d decided to call me), I enjoyed the heck outta playing golf with you today.” I said, “Well, the feeling is mutual, son. You’re an okay fella.”

As we climbed out of the cart at the eighteenth tee, he met me around back of the cart and said, “You treat me like a normal guy. I like that.”

“Well… Matt…” I said. “You are fairly normal.” I was grinning, but before I continued, I put on a serious face. “And besides, you’re not the most famous actor I’ve ever met.”

He looked at me with a hurt expression and said, “Right, right, right. And who was this famous actor you met before me?”

I pulled my driver from my bag and said, “Jimmy Caan.”

“Who?” He said, with a confused look on his face.

We both got a laugh out of that and were still chuckling as we watched Josh hook his drive into the number ten fairway. He blamed us, saying we’d been messing up his game all day with our constant chatter and giggling. That got us to laughing out loud, which didn’t help Dan’s slice a bit.

The glare he gave us after his ball vanished into the pines led me to believe we might not make it back to the house without somebody getting hurt.

 

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Please Help If You Can

ear tuck quote 2“They” give it a name—preferably, one that has a cool sounding acronym—and, BAM (Bowel Associated Madness), it’s a disease and they have a pill and/or treatment for it. Both–pill and treatment–are usually quite expensive, but, hey, you’ve got health insurance, right? If you don’t have health insurance, the IRS (most hated acronym ever) would like to talk to you.

I saw one—a disease I’d never heard of—this morning, and decided to announce one of my own: AHS. And, I am sad to inform you, my dear wife is showing symptoms (too many to list) and is obviously suffering (I do NOT use that word lightly) from Annoying Husband Syndrome.

I’ll be setting up one of those donation site thingy’s (DSTs) later today. Please… help if you can.

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First Kiss

a first kissOne of my favorite childhood games was spin the bottle. I was petrified every time we played it, but I still loved it! I’m not sure my first kiss was from Lisa, but it’s the memory of that spinning bottle, and the fear coursing through my young brain and body this little ditty is about. The names, the faces, the places… pick your own, and go back when. That’s what I did. Enjoy!

Forever Changed

Bottle spinning, is but a blur

There on the basement floor

All eyes upon it as it slows

Not knowing what’s in store

 

Was Lisa who set it to spinning

Young goddess with golden hair

Every boy prays, let it stop on me

So a kiss with her I might share

 

Slower still the pop bottle spins

A last taunting turn then points

My eyes grow wide, I can’t move

Fear has frozen my young joints

 

Panic takes over my mind then

I’m horrified down to my core

Why am I here, what will I do

I’ve never kissed a girl before

 

From the circle I jump and shout

No way, I just can’t do it

Lisa gives a wink that says

Calm down, boy, I’ll get you through it

 

Young lips meet mine a trembling

My life then forever is changed

Fate’s hand upon the bottle spun

My world at once rearranged

 

Copyright © 1998 C. Mashburn

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Family Reunion

boy and watermelonWe’re in north central Alabama this morning to attend a Henderson family reunion. My paternal grandmother was a Henderson, and I vaguely remember attending the reunion when I was six or seven years old. The main reason I remember it is we stopped somewhere on our way from Texas and bought a huge watermelon. Dad said it weighed fifty pounds, but he was always pulling my leg, so… who knows? He put it on the floor right in front of me—I loved watermelon—and I rode the rest of the way with my feet on the gigantic melon and a grin just as big on my skinny little face.

I wonder if folks will remember me if I walk in carrying a fifty pound watermelon? Well… the fact is, I’m not a skinny little boy anymore, and they might think I have a fifty pound watermelon under my shirt!

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Pure Freedom

Are we free? Do we even know what freedom is? It seems to be a fleeting thing; disappearing as we punch the clock, or slide into our seat for first period, on Monday morning. So many times, we feel trapped by our circumstances, and too often we ask ourselves, “Am I really free?” Freedom is a state of mind, and there are times we soar like eagles lifted by the winds of happiness, and then there are times we come crashing to earth in the throes of a life that is sometimes cruel. Freedom… sometimes we just have to race full-tilt toward it, jerk back on the handlebars and let it lift us into the air. Being able to do that, my friends… is pure freedom.

kid on bike 2Freedom is a memory; a memory we can carry with us and relive when life seems hard or unfair. Freedom is a feeling like the feeling I had on that glorious Saturday morning—the first day of summer vacation:

Yes! In those precious moments I was free! Free from the rigors and trials of fifth grade, the screaming and crying at home, and from the very earth. In those few seconds, I felt a freedom that was complete and real, and I wished I could just keep on climbing into the sky and disappear forever.

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