…can’t trust that day.

I never got that song, as Mondays usually aren’t that bad for me.  Back in the day at TPC, Tuesdays were the worst.  Businesses didn’t call us on Mondays because everyone else was calling them.  They all called on Tuesdays.  It was our Monday.

I don’t usually do this…talk about myself and all (pause for riotous laughter) but…

…what a week last week was!

Monday was good…walk, gym, breakfast, crosswords, work, yard work… the usual.

Then came Tuesday, ‘The boy’ finished school @ NADC in Nashville (more on that in a later but yet unfinished post) and since he has a motorcycle and not a car…guess who went and got all his crap things?

That’s right, dear old dad.

And after driving to Nash-vegas, watching him load UP the Jeep, and then driving back to ATL all in one day, old was the operative word.  I ached everywhere. 

The week continued to excel in pain as I developed an “illness” of sorts, diagnosed by my doctor as somewhere between a kidney stone and a bladder infection but we’re not sure…enter antibiotics. 

Which made me sick-er.

Wednesday was a ‘layinbedandsleepandwhinewhilenoonewasaround’ day.

Don’t say I’m a typical man, ’cause I’m not.  When I’m sick, I usually want to be left alone, and not babied.

Come Thursday, back to school where I felt like chautauqua as I ”taught” Spanish all day; translation:  watch kids write paragraphs in Spanish about topics in English.  Hola, Paco, como estas?  Yeah right.  I did get a few crosswords done! 

Then came Thursday evening.  Went to work, good night, no issues.  Got home to a more than slightly upsetting phone call which shall we say, ruined my evening, kept me from sleeping, and brought on a cluster headache from across the Styx.

Oh, yes, one of my ailments in life, my thorn in the flesh is cluster headaches.  Google it, it’s just too much to tell.

The meds didn’t work.  So, not ever buying into the Less is More silliness, I may have “over done” it on the Tylenol – who needs a liver?

UP all night, “dancing with the devil” – that’s what clusterheads call the headache routine.  The dark room, cold rag, and quiet don’t work for clusterheadaches, you have to move and keep moving.

And spray pepper spray UP your nose to “kill the pain” and a few sinus cells as well.  Call me crazy, lots of people do, but it works!

I was supposed to work Friday, but that didn’t happen, as I’m sure I would have killed the first one who gave me crap not been able to deal with the youth of America properly.

Saturday – rain.  And an “old friend” referred to my blog as “neo-nazi, tea-party, right-wing, republican, Sarah Pailn garbage”.

Have I mentioned abstinance?  I don’t think so.

And I can’t see Russia from house either!

So, it was a week.

Not one of my favorites!

I think Mama Cass said it best when she said, “hack, hack…uggggh” while eating that ham on rye!

I’m just hopin’ this Monday, Monday brings a better week!

…On this day in 1154 BC…the Greeks entered Troy via the Trojan Horse.

Shouldn’t it have been called “The Greek Horse”?

Every once in a while, or Principal at school gives our small world a boost and sends out a ”please read” email.   

It amazes me that she has to ask.  Or thinks she does.  As the Captain of the Ship, everyone reads everything she sends out.   

No, seriously, they do. 

But, the Please Read ones are especially intriguing. 

The Boost is “wear jeans tomorrow”…and we love it.  It’s usually on Fridays, but on a rare occasion, really rare, it’s a weekday…which for some strange reason is even better. 

Personally, I’d wear jeans every day if I could. 

I love the comfort, casual, and carefree ease they seem to bring. 

And Jeans, as we know them, are Iconically American, aren’t they.

Well, maybe not so much.

I did some digging.  Jeans, in America are a fairly modern phenomenon.  Well, at least the way we view them now. 

So, I wondered, who created jeans? 

There is no one “inventor” of jeans. They are really the result of over 400 years of evolution.  Sailors wore them because they were versatile and rugged.  Now they are an “everyday uniform” worn by millions worldwide. 

Jeans are made of denim which is a durable woven cotton fabric. It is a fabric, which for many reasons has universal appeal.  Comfort, ‘dyeability’, versatility, and for everyday wear, it’s usually not very expensive. 

Denim jeans can be worn for hard physical labor, out to dinner, or any type of activity in between.

Denim as we know it was first popular in Europe, but the Indians on the Sub-Continent had been making it since the 1600s.   The Indian fabric was called dungaree – which is where we get the term many use today.  The fabric there was dyed blue and sold near Dongari Fort outside Bombay.

Since Bombay was a major port, the dungarees caught on with the shipmates and spread worldwide.  The Portuguese were the first to sign on.

Soon it was made in Europe.  Those Fashion Frenetic French picked it up and started weaving it near a city known as Nimes.  It was called serge de Nimes.  Shortened to ‘de Nimes”, it was anglicized once it hit the shores of the Good Old USA, hence:  denim.  No fancy French names for us!

Jeans weren’t called jeans until sometime in the 17^th and 18^th centuries.  Genoa, Italy was a major naval base and their navy was dressed in blue denim.  The French word for Genoa is Genes.  Ergo – jeans!

But alas, this international effort to dress mankind in hearty, comfy trousers was perfected by none other than Levi Strauss.  Levi and his partner Jacob Davis patented the rivet when US patent #139121 was approved May 20, 1873. 

It’s it kind of funny that we call them Levis and not Jakes or Strausses or Davises?

So, to all those Indians, Sailors, Textile Workers, and Inventors…thanks for making life a little easier, and a lot more comfortable.

I’ll just be “Forever In Blue Jeans“.

Ok, I was never athletic as a kid, nothing’s changed much fifty years later.

It’s just not in me to catch, run, tackle, hit, throw, and did I mention catch?

But alas, every little boy in Germantown, Ohio had to play baseball for at least one season.  If they didn’t, there was probably something wrong with him.

So, at the age of 7, 8, or 9, Daddy loaded me in the car and signed me UP to play Little League.  I was on Jack’s Service Station’s team.

Jack was a Baptist, like us, but went to a church in another town.

Daddy was the Baptist preacher.  That’s right, I’m a preacher’s kid.  Who knew.

Now, Mother and Daddy both said, “Keep your eye on the ball.”  “Let it come to you.”  (It’s headed right at ya, where the heck else is it gonna’ go?) and my faaaaaaavorite, “Pay attention to the game.”

Yeah, right!

As the coach became more and more aware of the limitations of my baseball abilities, I moved further and further away from the center of the action.   Binoculars were involved.

Frankly, there were times the game was over before I got to my position deeeeeeeeeep in the outfield.  And I’m sure I could hear the conversations on the Cane’s front porch across the street.

But once, just once, the ball came my way.  Tommy Murrell, the Church of God’s preacher’s son, hit a slammer all the way to Comstock Street.

Hearts stopped.

Everyone knew this was a home-run for sure, and there was no way I’d catch it.

But I did.

With my face.

So, my joy in a winning Braves or more importantly, Reds Season aside, baseball and the Church of God just don’t do anything for me at all.