Archive for the good old days

Little Brothers and Others

brothers quote

That’s why I like the Internet. It has brought many of us closer, and though things still aren’t the same as they were back in the good ol’ days, it beats the way it was before the Internet came along.

It’s also true with friends—some I’ve yet to meet in person. The Internet has caused my family to not only grow closer, but to grow larger, and I like it!

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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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‘At Ain’t No Bunk!

Ah seed a young feller in a lil blue car

Ah node ride away heez a row-day-o star

Is bucket-sized at wuz black azz night

Wuz a look on ‘is face, sayed he’s a ready ta fight

 

calf roper

Ah node loss a cowboyz long time aygo

Most from a drugstore an not row-day-os

They chawed toobaca, cussed an drunk beer

Wore pointy-toe boots an was never afeared

 

They rode ‘em a bull, wuz juss a machine

An roped a old cow a munchin its feed

Them boyz wood fight if a dood drop ‘is ‘at

Or if a consarn galoot hit dare boot winny spat

 

Yep, ah use-ta ride wit a orneree bunch

We rode are horze an got are nose puncht

Them wuz a dayz when we wuz fulla some spunk

Now it’s cowchiz we ride, an ‘at ain’t no bunk

 

Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

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Beside Myself

About four summers ago, I was driving through the small east Texas burg of Trinity in my old pickup when I suddenly found myself beside myself—in an odd sort of way. A carload of teenage boys had slid to a halt in the lane to my left, and it didn’t take me but a second to realize I was to be their entertainment til the light changed. Read the rest of this entry »

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What’s Next?

In one of my earliest blog posts, Weird, Isn’t It?, I asked the question, “Where’s everybody going?” We’re always in a hurry to get to one place, so we can do whatever there, then rush to the next place and the next thing. Well, we started young. Read the rest of this entry »

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Obsessing… Still

Obsessing Still

olds 442

My first new car. I still dream about it sometimes; finding it in an old barn, maybe.

In my youth I was obsessed

The automobile and its awesome power

Owned me

Its only rival the music that

Moved me

Or were they partners in the game 

Both have ceased to call to me

 

And yet… I find myself obsessing still

But now… with being still

Absorbing silence

Breathing deep of the rose

Rendered odorless by man’s fumbling desire

To make things “better”

 

In the void, seeking; sometimes finding

Blessed inner peace

Wanting nothing more

Hoping for nothing less

Obsessing on its promised caress

All else… scattering in the road

Behind me

 

Now and then, glancing up to the mirror

Watching… as the silent movie plays

Parts and pieces bouncing and tumbling

Into the muddy ditch of the past

Once filled with the raging waters

Of my life

 

Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

 

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No Sir, I Ain’t No Cowboy

Long before I worked at Roger Robideaux’s Gulf station where I used to shoot the breeze with a couple of real cowboys—Tom Cox, and James Caan—I found out I was not cut out to be one.

Oh, I had heroes like John Wayne, Marshall Matt Dillon, Rowdy Yates, and so on, but I learned the hard way that being a cowboy wasn’t as easy as it looked on TV. I learned this when I was about eleven or twelve years old. We used to go to Flay Randolph’s ranch just outside of Buckeye, and he’d saddle up a horse, and let us take turns riding it in the alfalfa field

On one of those visits I was riding in the pasture, where some steers—not very big ones—were grazing. The saddle Flay had put on the horse for me had a lariat hanging on the side, by the saddle horn, so I figured I might as well try my hand at calf roping. I’d seen Rowdy and the boys do it on Rawhide, and it didn’t look too hard.

calf roperSo, I took the rope off the saddle and got it ready, then rode up alongside one of the steers. The steer didn’t seem to notice I was there, so I just dropped the rope over its head; piece a cake. One problem: The steer didn’t like it at all, and it took off running across the pasture.

No problem, I thought, as I grabbed onto the rope and yanked back like I’d seen them do on TV. Next thing I know, I’m air born, then skidding along the ground learning what alfalfa tastes like. I finally let go of the rope, and after I’d recovered a bit, limped over to the house and told Flay what I’d done.

When he finally quit laughing, Flay saddled up another horse and with me riding behind him, went out to retrieve his rope and my horse. Horse and steer were grazing side-by-side when we arrived. After I jumped down off the horse, Flay dropped his lasso over the steers head and—of course—it ran off again. But, to my amazement, it stopped abruptly when it got to the end of the rope. I followed the taught line of the rope back to Flay’s horse and saw that the other end of the rope was tied to the saddle horn. Flay just grinned and said, “Go git your horse, cowboy.”

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Wondering how I knew James Caan? Click on this link: Working With James Caan

And, if you’re curious who Roger Robideaux is, click on this one: Don’t Do That!

Tom Cox? Shoot… everybody knows who Tom is!

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