Labor Day

From farming machines on Saturday, to working people on Monday. From free time (can’t remember, when was that? Oh, that! That was illicit free time! I should have been reading!), to no hours to waste.

To have work, health insurance, health, more work – that is, of course, a good thing.

Except today, it’s easy to feel discouraged. One of those times when I’m in the “one step back” part of the course (or, is it that I’ve switched to “two steps back” for every step forward?).

Oh, I know. We all have disagreeable days – when the IRS tells us we did our taxes incorrectly (why are they picking on me? I’m not worth the money it takes to review my paperwork!), when worry about keeping up with the demands of the everyday make you shake, when surfing the Net brings no relief (quite the contrary – you wonder where people find such tremendous reserves of belligerence and fury) – we all have them.



When Ed suggests we take a spin by the Labor Temple, I first say -- no time! But by late afternoon, I change my mind. It’s Labor Day. My grandfather was a labor organizer. I’m one of those who thinks that people who provide labor have had an especially tough year.

Let’s go.





It feels good to be there.















I invaded the farming machinists' reunion on Saturday, and today I invade the gathering of another segment of hardworking men and women.
















I think I’ve had a very, very well spent handful of days.