I8Brainiac's blog: "Saturday Breezes"

Today was white shirt day. Not just any ordinary white shirt day but The White Shirt, the one which is related to Pig Pen in the comic strips; the one that is the first shirt my daughter ever bought for me, the one that has been lovingly de-stained every single week for year after year after year...... and yet again today, its true nature called to it. Never mind how thread bare it is, and I can now a days only wear it around the house, its sentimental value jumps and leaps with every washing. I was presented with this shirt when my daughter got her first job in college. I figure she must have saved for nearly 6 months on what she was making to be able to buy this branded polo shirt with her college name on it. At the time, I was flattered, never knowing how with each wearing of it, the preciousness of it would increase. I wore it proudly as a dad should the day she presented it to me and took me to meet her boyfriend. We both ordered spaghetti and both dropped spaghetti sauce on our shirts at the same moment in the same spot! Amid the embarrassed tears of my daughter, Valerie, we jokingly told her it was a sign she was meant to marry Chris. Both Fate and the shirt listened well... I took it back and scrubbed it and scrubbed it and finally when I got home I bleached it. But after that night, the shirt knew its proper place in the universe. Everywhere I went with it, ... it gathered new stains. It never seemed to matter how clean it would be coming out of the dryer, but the moment I put it over my head, the signal for new stains was given, and they gravitated towards the shirt like ducks to a pond. Today was certainly no exception! First before I got within 20 paces of the coffee pot, there were 3 new coffee stains. Shortly there after as I walked back into the kitchen raw egg attached itself to the shirt, and dirt near the window plants trembled in anticipation. I am of course quite used to this and it does not bother me till the end of the day. Not properly trained dirt from plants at the store adhered to it, left over oriental food from 3 days ago stained the lower abdomen when the fridge door suddenly flew open and the stain shot out. Avocado missed the apron and found the shirt as have fresh tomatoes today. This was after all a very slow relaxing day for both the shirt and for me. Nor can it be thrown away, for each and every attempt guarantees it will be returned cleaned and pressed, ready for a new adventure, a new set of stains to increase both its memory and its worth. Each stain a memory being added to the core of the shirt, and hidden by bleach or not, they live there, to bring back days of adventures when life went on between emotional pains. If this were not so, Chris would never have found it my luggage. He pulled it out to show Valerie, and they could not believe I still have the shirt, edges worn off, threads hanging loose, insignia tight as a drum, and a spaghetti stain that will never come out. Chris looked at it and asked if that was the stain from the night so many years ago. And my daughter sniffled holding her husband's hand. So many years ago when I first met Chris, we shared a stain together, and taught my White Shirt how to remember. Neither of us is going anywhere. We have new adventures awaiting us tomorrow.

The week before memorial day weekend, and its been one of the top "one of them weeks". Locally the discount gas station went from $2.90 / gallon to $3.50 / gallon with the name brands being even more. Another announcement of some 300 jobs earning less than poverty level is coming soon to our town, A lot of people have stated to me I should write a political article lambasting politicians for ruining the lifestyles of 25% of the country ... which just happen to live around here. Personally, I have had to dig into my savings twice this week, once to replace the pump on the well for my parents or let them not have water and once to pay for the repairs to my car I asked for before the last 4 gas hikes. Hard to beleive that was only a couple of weeks ago. My publisher hounded me every day to get more revisions back to her for the novel. I wonder if she is panicking yet? In spite of her rants and raves, I managed to get to her all the information she was after and the novel will still be published in Mid august. My primary doctor told me he doesn't think I have my diabetes under control and wants me to spend more time exercsing and less time writing. I wonder if I should introduce him to my publisher? I wonder if I sold tickets to the bout if I would get enough money to fill my car with gasoline? My heart doctor told me the ekg indicates I had a mild heart attack, probably about the time I was in DC at my Daughter's wedding. No wonder I felt like I was out of breath and could not go anywhere all the time!! Good thing her new husband is a doctor!! I don't think he is so sure about that attack. But hes there, I'm here. So tell me heart doctor, why do you think this forced my heart to grow new blood vessels? I didn't think the heart could do that? My dad has a long list of telephone calls he wants me to make for him since he is decided he is too old to complain about lousy service. I tell you, if my mom didn't hide the roll away bed every morning at 7 am, I would have this urge to stay with the covers over my head. OH well, life is no longer what it was, and is what it is. Someone hand me the phone and make sure the battery is good. I have a list to make it through.

Today, a day stetching hard to shiverus at 35C, instead sweated us out in the early morning. A day when the berg cfinishes celebrating their birthday, honoring the apple blossoms, kills the travelling carny show, and shoots off half the towns budget in fireworks. Why a town that long ago pulled out all the fruit orchards, sold the property to housing developers, and the business to Chili farmers, still celebrates the fruit it no longer has is at best puzzling. It is also one of those days when the irrigation pump decided to spring forth with the funeral poppy and the dogs hid from all the people trying to escape the town and the parade. A purchase of a new pump obtained a sleek black shiny new casing, but no plans on how to convert from one pump to the other. Isn't family politics wonderful? The parental units at 77 and 84 took in the parade and helped the police block streets, while I strugged in the pump house, covering myself with cobwebs and dirt. Only to find that the size pipe I need was not the pipe we have on hand. The parts which came with the pump are for a different size casing so Monday will be busy fixing the fix....SIGH Tomorrow my aunt will turn 98. at 4 feet 4 inches, she is tough as nails and refuses to give up driving. Now if she would only discourage her younger brother, my dad, it would be ok. He is not tough as nails, but floats like the ocean. How these two got their personalities mixed up I dont' know, but they are fun to watch at family gatherings. My cousins have asked we hold off on the celebration until Tuesday, which is fine with us, since now I can work on the pump. The end of the day, the fireworks over, the pump still sitting in the kitchen, my novel untouched with the letters from the publisher about deadlines and allI can think of is tired. So I guess the right question is ... does anyone have a hot tub and free back rubs???? Its one of those nights when a good friend with massage oil is a requirment, and like always it tends to be missing. And that just makes the weekend lonelier still. Mike