Archive for Family

Mom Broke My Heart Today

be still coverI talked to Mom today. She sounded so good, so happy, and that makes my heart sing. I love my mom as much as any man can love another person. She’s my mentor, my guide, and my light. I just sometimes wish I could be the man she hoped I would be.

Her husband, Ray Brown isn’t well. So many things going on with his poor old body I can’t begin to list them all. But they keep praying and believing for his healing, and I pray with them. He’s a good guy, Ray Brown is, and I should have shown him more respect and given him more love these past 25 years or so. But I’m not that good a guy sometimes.

As mom and I talked, while I walked, this morning she told me how much it meant to her that I’ve started calling Ray every now and then—just to talk. Then… she told me about a dream she had last night. She said she doesn’t dream that often, and when she does, her dreams are vague and disjointed. But she said this one was vivid and clear. She said she dreamed I was sitting across from Ray, me in a chair facing him in his chair, and I was just holding his hand and smiling at him. But here’s what broke my heart and left me crying off and on the rest of this day. Mom, trying her best not to cry, said, “There was nothing but love in your smile, Charlie. I can’t even describe it.”

I don’t deserve a dream like that. I just don’t.

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Grandpa Does it Again!

Bill, Sawyer, Haynes, Tracey, Me (2)

The grandson is home from UT for spring break, which got extended for the Corona scare, so yesterday we had a little get-together.

We were just standing around shootin’ the breeze, when I leaned into the boy and said, “Got any tattoos yet?” Every head in the room snapped my way, the boy looked down at me, grinned and chuckled, then mayhem ensued. Shots were fired!

Actually, they don’t own any guns and the shots were merely daggers fired at me from the eyes of all present. Except the granddaughter. She was behind me, but got me with a well-placed “accidental, I’m sure” elbow to the ribs as she walked past on her way to assist her grandmother, who was spitting and sputtering, having apparently shot a mouthful of iced tea out her nose.

Turns out the boy doesn’t have any tattoos yet, but I think the granddaughter might be hiding something.

Apparently, their mom and dad are “kind of” against the idea of ink on their babies and didn’t want me putting ideas in their heads. Who knew?

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Simpler Times

This is a melancholy sort of poem but, just so y’all know, I’m not sad. In fact I’m very much at peace and have great hope for the future. I do, however, often look longingly at the way things used to be. I think we all tend to do that. I hope you enjoy the poem.

Those Times Ago 

 

Eyes closed, I smiled and imagined

A full moon hanging low in the sky

Looking like a shiny pearl button

On a dandy cowboy’s shirt

 

Sequin stars glittered

On a blouse of blue-black silk

While in the distance cattle lowed

And coyotes yipped and howled

 

When I opened my eyes

It all faded to cold hard truth

The hot dry grass on my neck

And burning tears I wouldn’t let fall

 

City traffic whirred nearby

Distant sirens pierced the night

A neighbor screamed angrily

At her laughing children

 

I gazed up at the dingy sky

Closed my eyes and tried to recall

Those times so long ago

When hope still lived within me

 

Times when stars twinkled

The man in the moon smiled

And parents, tired from their day

Murmured and chuckled softly

 

just us kids 2 (2) quoteGliding in the old wooden swing on the porch

Smiling, looking forward to tomorrow

While in the moon-shadow of a tree

Children tittered secret laughter

 

I wondered when the world had changed

And wished we could go back

To when life was simple; those times ago

When hope was more than just a word

 

Copyright © 2011 C. Mashburn

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Blown Away

panhandle treeThe Texas Panhandle is a place where you can stand knee-deep in mud and have sand blow in your face. The wind blows so hard there, and so often, the trees all lean the same way. As I stood in the muddy street—not knee-deep by any stretch of the imagination—I could attest to half the saying being true. Gritty sand stung my cheek as I stood staring at the old house. It leaned to the east, and I couldn’t decide if the wind had pushed it that way, or it was somehow alive and straining to look around me with its two dark eyes. It spoke to me in groans and creaks, and I found it sad. I tried to recall the love and laughter that had once filled it; the singing on the porch, the smell of frying chicken and biscuits made from scratch. The memories, much like the sand, had a sting to them, so I turned and walked away.

This post is a part of SoCS ~ https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/24840312/posts/2589351338

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Don’t Buy That House!

Yard 9-2019I’d just finished the yard—which is looking pretty good, if I don’t say so myself—and was sitting in a lawn chair cooling off, when I noticed a guy looking at the house behind ours. He was about my age and looked to be very interested in the house. He must’ve walked around it five or six times. As he finally seemed to be finished and started toward his pickup, I went over to the fence and said howdy, then asked him if he was looking to buy the house or paint it. He caught my sarcasm and chuckled, then said, “Buy it. The realtor hasn’t shown up yet. She’s late. You know anything about the house?” I said, “No, but I do know the nearest neighbor’s kinda mean and can be pretty difficult sometimes.” He glanced around then asked, “Which one?” I threw a thumb over my shoulder at my house. He grinned, frowned, grinned, frowned, then looked at me like we might be fixin to fight. I laughed, put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry ‘bout it though. Her husband’s a real nice guy.”

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Who’d A Thunk It?

IMG_20171016_150100797_HDRDay number 25,202 started like most of the last 1000 or so; about three cups of coffee and some sweet cakes—always have to have something sweet with my coffee—been doing that every morning for about 35 or so years. That said, I then read our morning devotional, and Sherry and I talked about God and our many blessings for a bit. We’ve been doing that for almost 24 years now. After that, I did a four-minute plank, then Mom called and we talked about God, which is mostly what we talk about in our weekly chats. And then, I put on my shoes and was about to walk out the door and take a quick five-mile walk, when son, Bill called. We talked for a good while—we always do—but I had to smile after we hung up. I told Sherry I knew it was my birthday, because Bill let me talk quite a bit. We laughed, because she knows when Bill calls, he usually does most of the talking. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I love to listen to him and get the low down on what him and his boys are up to. When Trevor and Nathan were playing football in high school, Bill would call on Saturday or Sunday and literally give me a play by play of Friday night’s game. Being so far away was hard—never getting to see the boys play ball—but Bill’s account of the games took away some of the pain. So, anyway, after we talked, I went for that five-mile walk, then came back and fixed me and Sherry a PB&J on some of my grilled homemade jalapeno bread. (Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.) Now—it’s straight up noon—I’m going to run to the store, then come back and mow & trim the yard. Probably take it easy the rest of the day, then go out for a celebratory dinner this evening. Early evening, of course. I mean, after all, I’m 25,202.5 days old, ya know. Who’d a thunk I’d last this long?

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Time

Cliff Patterson, the father of my childhood and lifelong friend, Barry Patterson passed away yesterday, after a well-spent 92+ years. I only saw Cliff a few times after I left Buckeye, Arizona when I was about 18, but he always held a special place in my heart. He teased me mercilessly from the time I was 10, until I got out of high school, but he did it in fun, and I always took it as such. He was my little league coach for a couple of years, and he taught me to throw a change-up. He’d signal me to throw it at those times he thought it would work, by giving me a “secret” sign. And when it worked, twisting the batter into a knot, as he swung wildly at the floating pitch, Cliff would split a big grin. That’s what I remember most, that beautiful grin. Rest in peace, Cliff Patterson. You made us laugh, you were loved, and we will forever carry you with us in our hearts.sunset (4) poem

 

 

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