Mitchell Way

Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Crash speaking, aka Marty Mitchell. We are coming in for a landing at Mitchell Way, the home of my misadventures in life and reflections on faith.

Is Mitchell Way a state of mind? A real place? A way of life? Tough to say. You be the judge.

My Most Recent Stories

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  The Mound Beneath My Feet
  It was a scene reminiscent of an Elmer J. Fudd hunting cartoon. My granddog Milton Barry and I were stalking wild game. I was wearing my plaid hunting cap and my wool coat. In my hands I carried a 12 gage 1897 Winchester pump shotgun. We were walking on tiptoes. I had never seen a… Read more: The Mound Beneath My Feet
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  Little Girls and Long Brown Curls
  Saturday, June 4th, 1988. Just another typical weekend morning for me. I was reclined in my lounge chair in front of the TV, sipping a cup of coffee and watching Garfield and Friends. These were the Saturdays I enjoyed. Totally relaxed, no socks on, not a care in the world.
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  Teatro ZinZanni
  My mother was a world traveler. Ask her about any country or region of the world and chances are that she had been there. She traveled by plane, train, bus, cruise ship, camel and elephant. She was never keen about bicycles or skis because she said that elegant ladies should never fall on their faces.… Read more: Teatro ZinZanni
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  “Think Men, Think!”
  I was an eleven-year-old in sixth grade All City band. It was two hours each Saturday that the family would not have to listen to me practice my trombone. There is only so much a parent can do to encourage a child. After that, they play a game called, “Hide the Slide.”
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  The Fine Art of Irresponsibility
  Recently my wife has been ailing from sciatica in her left hip. This has been a blessing for me. For the first time in a long time, I am not the biggest pain in her backside.
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  The Osprey
  It was a panoramic view which I am sure most people have never witnessed. The whole of Abbotsford, B.C. and further up the Fraser Valley to Harrison Lake, south to Bellingham, Washington and west to the San Juan Islands. There I sat in the morning sun; the wind was at my back — about 80… Read more: The Osprey
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  The Rushing Mighty Wind
  It was the sound of a rushing mighty wind. “What was that?” I asked my wife Cheryl. “That,” she answered, “was your youth being torn away by a twister and your body being thrown somewhere into old age.”
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  The Pondering Tree
  What if a man died on a cross? What would it matter to me? Maybe not much, people die all the time. Maybe I’d care if I knew him. But what if a man died on a cross What if He did it for me? Gave up His life so mine might be spared. That… Read more: The Pondering Tree
• 
  Fernando’s Serenade
  In a small cabin at the Fisherman’s Cove Resort on Curlew Lake, eight men prepared for a week of deer hunting on Vulcan Mountain. This was the opening weekend.  This was the final weekend of the World Series and this was the year we witnessed “The Phantom.”
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  Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire
  “I once sucked down a whole can of sardines — heads, guts and all, while only taking one breath.” “Ok,’ I said. ‘You’re a liar.” My friend Rex removed a can of sardines from his backpack, peeled back the lid, took one deep breath, and proceeded to slurp down the whole can — head, guts,… Read more: Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

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