Friday, December 23, 2011

Just right.

Steadily, you guide me.
With openings and clasps, 
Like a masked bandit, you turn & twist counterclockwise. 
Loops, you create.
Loads you transport.

In soft light and dark hours, you heal away tears trickling.
Your own and others.
You hold close hurt hearts and broken things.

You high five.
You spank.
You weave in and amongst tiny fingers ten.

Through mountains of fabric, you create.
1 dimensional turned 3.
Sheers slicing.
Placed pins pulled & put back.
Griplock to the iron's hand.

You are my right.

And, so often, I neglect you.

I see your tale tell signs of the times.
The signs of her in me are becoming so clear.
The light lines traced like cracks are her steps before me.
The twisted knuckles remind me so.

One solid band adorns you.
Almost 10 years it has.
Dinged and scratched, it still finds its way.
A  R  O  U  N  D
And complete.

My right.
It is only fair that I give you more.
Of me.
Of who I am on the inside.
Of what I hope to be to others on the out.

My right.
Just right.
Just write.

Just right.
Just write.
My left hand.

.mac :)

Monday, August 29, 2011


Quiet amblings amid rumpled covers.
In & out of now.
Mind jargoning with plans both premature & present.
I wake & slumber simultaneously.

Like dew in the new morning, the doubt shimmers iridescently on my skin.
Twisted in and amongst the what-ifs, the shimmer is more honestly known as sweat.
stenchy & real.

I do this more times than I can count.

Stifle success.
Shut progress up.
Second guess His plan & provisions.

I eradicate hope.
The one thing that is and will always be free.

It is here where the phrase "getting on your own nerves" is so aptly appropriate to my state.


Saturday, August 27, 2011

I have an addiction.

And, so badly I want a ramekin of sea salt and this bar just to go one louder.

You know, like Fun Dip?

Good gaw, get this piece of sin out of my house quickly.

I think I might even be growing horns. 

{chocolate ones with salty tips}


.mac :)

Thursday, August 25, 2011

I let him go.

8 hours.
Without Mama.

With "B" close by his side, he is ready.
He left grinning and waving out the top of the back window cracked.

He's in good hands.
Just for a little while.
Make some great memories, Casey Face.

Like this one.

I love you,

Wednesday, August 24, 2011


Combat vehicles and kin are the perfect mix.

On Sunday afternoon Kenny's sisters {MiMi and Tee-Tee to Eli & Casey} along with their Uncle Jonathan, Papaw, cousin Mark, as well as their highly skilled safari mother loaded up for some off road outtakes in the county of Cocke.
MiMi and Jonathan are the proud of owners of this all terrain BeAsT you see us uploading complete with collapsible ladder; Uncle Jonathan can be found in the dictionary under the word "prepared" mind you.
You think Tee-Tee is a bit overjoyed to safari with wildlife? 
She is crazy scared and that would be the look of terror propped under that adorable hat of hers.
Check out how Tee-Tee rocks the smile when animal-feeding directions are being delivered.
Me on the other hand, well, there is some disbelief under those shades, my friends.
Reminder:  Uncle Jonathan and MiMi are top of the charts in tow with action snack packs for each youngin.  Each bag had about 5,000 calories of naughty goodness AND a can of FLARP.
Nice one, MiMi.
Oh furry ones?  We be hookin' you up!
And, now for your virtual safari tour, enjoy:
{Yes, we fed each of these animals in quantities of 4 or more}
Camry + 9 point buck = WHAT KIND OF FOOD Y'ALL HAVE UP IN HERE?
Whilst Uncle Jonathan drove and the children crammed tiny clusters of tube-like cylinders of joy into furry creatures' mouths, I snapped pics and Papaw had some father-daughter bonding.
Back at the ranch once we rode through not once, but twice to feed the hoofed and/or feather loverlies, we decided to try a little stationary nibble love.
Meet Zoe.  She is a Zorse.  I wanted to tuck her in my pocket and take her home.
A rugrat resting with a grizzly...
And, well, this is ONE LUCKY BEAR!!
Drenched in one's finest natural animal essence mixed with quite possibly 10 coats of good ole Cocke County, TN sweat, the Cobble kin finally decided to vacate the premises of this fine establishment.

Super time.
Great company.
Another memory in the book of life.
And, we still have the FLARP to boot.

.mac :)

Tuesday, August 23, 2011


When one experiments with a new eye wrinkle cream, results are visible even overnight.

{undesired and allergic}

But, results nonetheless.


.mac :(

p.s.  Thought I would throw in this little vanity post regarding the fight against the aging of the eyes as I my last eye post was a bit more profound.  Gotta keep it poppin' around here, you know.

Friday, August 19, 2011

The Patriot Family

A family is like a place to me.
A togetherness that surpasses all circumstances.
It's that regal connection of unity.

It's the output of instruction; the movement of progress; the integrity of growth.
It's leading with confidence.
It's diligence in direction and purpose.
It's holding close and smiling big.
It's supporting one another.
It's providing.
It's letting loose and learning too.
Family is watching traditions transcend from young to old.
It's finding your way.
It's us.

And again.

Proud to be the newest members of the Patriot Family,

Kenny, Meghan, Eli and Casey Cobble

Go Patriots!

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The Mark of a Champion

There is an art to winning.
I can't decide if its inner most energies are bred deep in ones' veins or if it is just an tenacious decision on an individual's part.

I kinda feel it's a soft serve swirl of both.
This Spring season we had the pleasure of adorning the vibrant orange and in-your-face blue of the Mets. Eli and Casey took their first stab at wearing the long socks, if you will.  Both were guaranteed to be on the same team, and Kenny and I felt it was time to rock that tawny dirt covered-much-like -that-of- a-spray-tan-look.
The Mets were frail.  Frail being best used to mean we were clueless.  


With only 3 players to have ever played before, it's safe to say we had no where to go but up.  The season settled with Kenny being an assistant coach totally unplanned.  And, likewise, I found myself with a crumpled line-up in my hand just a few feet behind the happy you see below.
It is here that I could quite confidently write a dissertation on the role of "player".

I will spare you my copyright here, yet bless you with a bulleted version.  I'm cool like that to the skimming eyes:

  • Athletic parents have a predisposed mindset when it come to playing...ANYTHING
  • 4-6 year old leagues require a 2-3  adult pill intake of Tylenol before any game.
  • There SHOULD be practices for this age limit as opposed to the "let's just show up for the game" approach.
  • Parents that send more than one 12 oz. bottle of Gatorade into the dugout for a child that has a bladder that is only 48-72 months old are bonkers.
  • "If you don't want to shake hands after the game with the other team because you got out at 1st base then that's okay" mentality quite possibly is what is wrong with America today.

Alrighty then.  

In and amongst all of the above, the Mets found themselves in a magical place come mid-June.
{Coach Thunder Dan and his son, Cash, writing the line up}

The orange crush and cobalt blue landed themselves warming up for the championship game for the season.
Playing against the infamous Braves.
And from April-June, I watched Eli and Casey become part of something big.

A mish-mash of cleated vagabonds, these Mets slowly connected with winning.
And, the process it takes to get there.
Their performance in the playoffs astounded all who rocked the wooden planks.

Double elimination was the playoff set up.

The Mets course of play against the A's, the Twins, and the Royals was like a dream.
Which set us up to verse the Braves with one loss under their nylon stretchy belt already.
The game commenced at 6:00 PM.  Temperature was about 98 degrees.

Lotsa sweat.
Lotsa sweat.
Some insurmountable plays by both squads.
Some really BIG mess ups.
The Mets lost 17-16.

Onto game two with a 30 minute recess between.

It is here  I would like to interject that Kenny, so immersed in battle, could not speak to anyone during the recess.

I was a wreck of nerves and emotion.

4-6 year old baseball playoffs, mind you.
[Please refer back to bullet point 1 now.]

Game 2 was grueling.
We had to lose for the Braves to be champs.
I cannot tell you the number of times I watched gum drop out of the mouths of babes only to return to its molar homes. "Quit playing with the grass." and "Get your glove off your head." were shouted on several occasions.

But somehow, in and amongst the ridiculous-ness of a 4-6 year old double header in 98 degree heat, I found it.

{the mark}

It surpasses absurdity.
It exceeds conditions.
It trumps intimidation.
It excels in spite of defeat.

Eli Garrett, pitcher, rocked a double play only to go on and nail the third out in the bottom of the fourth inning.

His triple of the stitched sphere that knocked in the run to place the Mets one louder on the score board.

His eyes piercing and zoned.
Almost glazed, but with a wildness to the sight.
In motion and unwavering.

Poised, he made his mark.
And, all present that night saw it.

Especially his little brother.
Casey's knocks grew ever more poignant as the innings rose in volume.  He found direction in his older brother's stature for victory.

And Daddy couldn't have been prouder.
Coach Thunder Dan actually gave the game ball to Kenny for his leadership and presence throughout the season.

The mark of a champion.

How is it made?
Where can you find it?
In glossy trophies and dirt filled cleats?
In unison towards a common goal?
In leadership full of energy and direction?

Yes, there is an art to winning.
And, I can't decide if its inner most energies are bred deep in ones' veins or if it is just an tenacious decision on an individual's part.

I kinda feel it's a soft serve swirl of both.

.mac :)
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