Mitchell WayI’m Marty Mitchell, aka Captain Crash, the guy behind Mitchell Way. MitchellWay.com is the story 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.
It was a time in life that every boy either looked forward to or shuddered to think he must be a part of. It was a freshman class in high school that every boy had to participate in to graduate. It was a required class, and girls were not allowed. They called it Boys’ Health and, Sex Ed.
“Just another ripple on my lake of irritation,” I can almost hear custodian Luke muttering this as he hiked up the stairs to the third floor at Bellingham High School. For some reason the drinking fountain was plugged.
Ho, Ho, No! You ain’t getting me into that thing! And with that, Santa left his sleigh and drove off in his car.
Dad and I stared at each other. “Huh,” he said. “I guess we go with plan B.”
It was the yearly tradition of The Santa flights.
Light snowflakes were falling out of the evening sky as I crunched through the foot-deep snow covering the sidewalk in my hometown. This was something I looked forward to each year; walking the streets of homes in the historic part of town to look at Christmas decorations in their yards and the lights from their windows. Not only were the old homes elegant, but the trees lining the streets, the 100-year-old oaks which had long since lost their leaves, now shimmered with their white snowy coverings. Except for the occasional passing of a car, it was all very still and quiet.
My best friend, Chuck, was sitting across from me in a booth at Bunks Drive-in. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was setting. A blonde woman’s wig lay in the center of the table between our two Cokes.
Once upon a time, before freeways, and Safeways. Before Thriftways and Haggens, Fred Meyers and Walmarts, when boys wore Brylcreem and girls wore skirts with Bobby socks and saddle shoes, there were neighborhood grocery stores.
As I lay on my back under the stars I wonder, “Is that the Aurora Borealis or is my headache causing my vision to shift?”
As I lay on my back under the stars I wonder, “Is that the space station or a really, really, really high jet and if I had a flashlight could it see my twinkling light shining up at it?”
You’d have to be in a certain age range to notice: 50 years and older. Any younger and you would never have heard of the man, but it is not uncommon for me to get the same question asked from the 50+ crowd: “Have you ever heard of the humorist, Patrick McManus? You have the same writing style.”
Not all stories are embellished for a laugh. Some are 100 percent true.
When I think of a US Naval station or base, I think of battleships, destroyers and aircraft carriers moored on long piers. Jeeps shuttle sailors up and down streets lined with large warehouses filled with supplies while tugs escort submarines into the harbor. The Jim Creek Naval Radio Station shattered that stereotype.
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9
Summertime on the Nooksack River, sitting in an inner tube, floating mile after mile in the warmth of the sun. On any hot weekend in July and August the river is spotted with hundreds of floaters drifting as singles or bunched together in groups. When you are young and haven’t many responsibilities, the river is the place to go.
Right off the bat I know that many of you will scoff at the notion that there may be a spirit world. The idea that there are good spirits as well as a slew of very unsavory ones is to some, a laughable idea. Yet the movie industry makes millions of dollars each year on movies based on the occult and the living dead.
I was standing in line at the movie theater waiting to buy a ticket when I heard two twenty-somethings making comments about a slowpoke elderly man. They couldn’t mean me. There has got to be someone else in this line who is older than me. I will just casually turn around and see who they are talking about.
Nuts! It was me.
Say guys, are you tired of sweltering hot days where the perspiration running off your head ruins that freshly permed $56.00 haircut? Tired of having sweat stains in your Grecian Formula leaving you looking like a leopard? Do what I did. I got the Extended Face Kit which includes extensions all the way to the back of my shoulders.
I have long suspected that we have ghosts in our house. The original structure was built in 1890 so it has a lot of history. One night during the time we were giving it a complete renovation, I was upstairs pulling ship lap boards off the walls and tossing them through a hole to a pile outside. It was 10:00 pm and there was no light except my one bulb shop light, although I was there by myself I could hear children’s voices and I stopped several times to shine the light around the empty house to see if I could find the source. Later one of my young step-sons told me he was afraid of the lamp beside his bed because a face would appear in the lampshade.
First of all, excuse me for whistling. If I don’t let the music out, my head will explode.
I am a chronic whistler, more so when I am stressed. I also constantly have a melody looping in my mind. That same tune can loop for hours until I nearly go crazy listening to it.