Archive for fun stuff

It Was Bound To Happen!

This is a true story. It happened in the summer of 1998 when Sherry and I lived in Pflugerville. It was a dawning of the ages, I suspect. I hope it brings a smile to your face; it does mine, every time I read it.

The Grouchy Old Man

 Was not long ago this happenin’ happent

On a Saturday as I best recall

Out the window I saw some kids in a tree

And thought, what if they should fall Read the rest of this entry »

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Do-lang, Do-lang, Do-lang

The eighth grade dance! It was without a doubt an event every young boy awaited with a gut-twisting eager dread.

I grew up in the little town of Buckeye, Arizona, and by the time my pals and I reached the eighth grade we knew we liked girls, but weren’t sure why, or what we should do about it. Read the rest of this entry »

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Police! Open Up!

Thankfully, I’ve never heard those words from the other side of my front door. I was, however, visited by an officer of the law yesterday. He rang the bell and waited patiently for me to answer. Then! Four of them pounced on me, cuffed me and dragged me, kicking and screaming, to the van parked at the curb!
I’m kidding!

cartoon handcuff guyI am a much too calm and collected person to have screamed and kicked. What were you thinking?

There was only one of them, and he asked me, very politely, to turn around so he could cuff me.

Still kidding!

Okay! I’m making all this up!

Here’s what really happened (honest): Read the rest of this entry »

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There It Is!

One Saturday afternoon a few summers ago I was taking a walk around the small lake at the RV park we were staying at and came upon an old boat. It looked as though it had been there for a while; leaning precariously to one side, weeds grown up around it, paint chipped and faded, and the body spider-webbed with cracks.

boys water skiing

We were pretty good skiers, but no, this is not me and Ed. We weren’t THAT good!

As I looked at the boat, Uncle Marvin came grinning into my thoughts; I can still see his big smile. Some of my best childhood memories are of the times he took us to the lake. Those summers and trips to the lake were awesome.

I can still envision me and my cousin, Ed; huddled shoulder-to-shoulder on one side of the back seat, staring intently at the landscape whirring past. We were filled with anticipation, and around every bend in the road we’d search anxiously for that first view of the lake. And then, finally, we’d shout in perfect triumphant harmony, “There it is!”

Yes, that old boat leaning to one side there in the weeds might seem like just an old boat to some who pass by it, but to me it holds a boatload of memories.

Uncle Marvin and Cousin Ed are no longer with us, but the wonderful memories of them and the times we spent together at the lake on those glorious summer days will never leave my mind.

 

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Three on the Tree?

three on the tree

It’s true, we don’t see many standard transmissions these days (do they even make cars with them anymore?) and so the scene I witnessed this past Saturday morning was quite unusual.

We stopped for gas in one of those little east Texas crossroad “towns”; no more than a gas station/convenience store at a four-way stop sign, with a couple of dilapidated metal buildings next door and across the street. There was an old car—maybe a ‘90s model Mustang, but couldn’t be sure—sitting in the sloped drive facing the road. As I pumped gas into the tank, I wondered why the driver had parked there; kind of in the way. As I was climbing back into the truck, an older local (I could just tell, ah’ight) ambled out of the convenience store with a sack of fried chicken in his hand. He was “big” and I marveled at how he could even fit into the small car. He hit the starter, and the car made one protesting grind then went silent. The driver’s door immediately popped open a leg came out and with one smooth motion the car was propelled down the driveway. It lurched as he popped the clutch and the engine sputtered to life, and he made a right onto the farm road and vanished into a cloud of gray black smoke.

I grinned and in my mind went through a myriad of similar scenes of myself doing much the same thing, many times and many years ago.

 

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A Little Less Conversation – 2

You look a lot older in person, I said

I wasn’t expecting the gray hair

Or the weathered look

Must be the dry desert air

 

How old you think I am, he said

Giving me one a those lopsided grins

Voice still smooth as ever

Every word spoken like a song

 

old men talkingI thought about it for a bit

Shrugged and said, maybe eighty

He didn’t look that  old

But the math said he might be

 

Damn, son, he said

The grin sliding away

Sad eyes looking at me

Like a hound dog sent to the porch

 

 

Sorry, man, I said

Holding my hands up; surrendering

There just ain’t no accounting

For a fool such as I

 

He laughed and raised his hand

We high-fived; his one-sided grin reappeared

And he said, well that’s all right

Long as you stay offa my blue suede shoes

 

I got up to leave, shook his hand

Told him I was glad he wasn’t dead

He made me promise not to tell where he was

Lot of suspicious minds out there, he said

 

I walked away, looking back one more time

Grinned at the flashing neon sign above him

A big blue moon floated above red letters

HEARTBREAK HOTEL

 

Below, smaller letters read, try the king’s sweets

A picture of a Twinkie was below that

As I slid into my pickup, the old guy mumbled

Thank ya, thankyaverymuch

 

Copyright © 2013 C Mashburn

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It Takes a Lot of Balls…

… to play golf. Especially if you’ve only played twice in the last 12 months or so, and your last round was six months ago. But, one has to put everything into perspective. Ten years ago, “a lot of balls” (I’m talking about losing them) would have been a dozen or so; yesterday, I lost three. So, as I used to enjoy telling my fellow duffers at Spicewood Beach after they’d hit a bad shot, “Well, you’re gettin’ closer!” In other words, what was a bad day yesterday was really good compared to those days of yore.

Son Bill hit the nail on the head last night, after I described my “horrific return to the links” to him. I told him about all the bad shots—like my drive on hole number five that found an unexpected water hazard. I couldn’t see it from the tee box, but there was a pond in the fairway—left over from Monday’s rain—right where my well hit shot landed. Imagine my surprise when a spray of water erupted when my ball came down. And to top it off, the “pond” was just big enough that I couldn’t retrieve the ball. Anyway, after I finished describing the horrors of the day, I finished with, “At least I managed five pars,” and Bill said, “Five pars! That would be considered an outright miracle for me!”

I guess that proves everything’s relative… pun intended. Speaking of relatives…

dont-count-that

 

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