Labor's birthday
I celebrate Labor�s birthday by working on Labor Day.
That is not a complaint by any means. I have always worked on Labor Day. When I was 15, I was the guy pumping gas at 34.9 cents per gallon and cleaning bugs off windows (kids, ask your parents). When I worked at U.S. Steel, it meant time-and-a-half. As a sports writing guy, it usually meant some game somewhere being played on a holiday field.
I am the son of a steelworker, a third-gerneration American whose immediate family had fled Europe and found this better life. Work has always been the center of it. We are not a people who will ever stop working.
Editing weeklies meant you had to do it or it wouldn�t get done. Same here. I�d rather work on the daily diary we publish than pump gas, risk disfigurement in the mills or even cover a college game, for that matter.
So I worked. My day started at midnight, as most days do. I was here getting a jump on things, having been escorted into to town by the splendor and slash of the Blueberry fireworks. I thought, who else gets such a welcome to work.
I got home around 3.
Mikayla provided a wake-up at 8. It�s part of the deal in her world that she announces it�s time to get up and fully expects one of the bigger kids to do so.
So she had little teeny pancakes and I had a milk-based concoction and Labor Day dawned.
We took our usual morning hike. We inspect all the neighborhood tomato and pepper plants. Most of the folks who grow them encourage us to take what we need because tomatoes tend to overproduce. And I had gotten my plants in late; those other gardeners just shake their heads at the poor goofball whose plants are just sprouting small green tomatoes.
Much to our surprise, we discovered one of the bigger gardens has already been plowed under. That guy is always ahead of the curve.
And, on the walk, Mikayla had to run up and touch the newly-laid red sparkly carpeting on a porch. She always has to run up and touch it.
As we neared home, we saw our own morning glories in their cascading purple majesty, turned to the sun and delighting us all with a showy display. That�s one thing I can grow. Nowadays, they have reached to the rain spouts and have snuck a peek over the roof.
I watched the Cubs lose and the Sox win. Then it was back to the shop, to line up all the stories and pictures and get ready for this edition.
Greg the genius computer guy graciously volunteered to come in and help me with the electronic placement and execution of pages. The boss had emailed suggestions.
They have bailed me out a lot early in this journey.
We had the wonderful front page story from Betty the balloonist with picas from Tom.
We had the great photography of Jamie and the steady writing output of Stacey. Plenty to work with. It�s a wonderful feeling as an editor when you have too much rather than too little. I have had both. Too much is good.
Another newbie, Ron, came in and flashed through his sports pages.
All I had to do was type obits and arrests, find the lottery numbers and direct the orchestration.
Another midnight came and we were done.
As the beginnings of the September moon chased the borrowed car towards home, I realized writing a daylong love letter to you is not work at all.
Labor Day merely reminds me of the joy.
It�s my privilege and my blessing.
|
|
| Community Calendar |
|
No events listed.
|
|
Interactive Calendar
|
