Laboring and Labor Day

America the beautiful!

Toe tickling cold!

Peaceful waters.

Wherever you are, a blessed Labor Day to you and yours.

Labor Day many years ago, my husband and I were painting the front of the house when my contractions started. With his help, I got off the scaffold and went to the hospital. Nothing happened! We waited. And waited. And waited some more. Eventually I was induced and waited some more. Baby came in time for breakfast. We named her Corrie after Corrie Ten Boom. She was worth the wait and still it.

The Midwest work ethic lives in my blood and bones. I love the feeling of accomplishment. I sleep better. Yesterday I declared war on dust and dirt and labored cleaning house. JB went dove hunting and came home with muddy boots. Oh, well, what's one more cleanup? Two cupboard's contents are organized! I'm working my way to the kitchen. We have closets, but no pantry or basement. Today I sorted a stack of handwritten notes. I could spends hours in a stationery store. Maybe you've received one of my handwritten notes. I like to send news, encouragement, thanks and congratulations. Crane cards and stationery are classy. So is wheat grass paper. I watch for artist's work transferred to cards and sometimes make my own.

Here in the Deep South, hunting is work. Yesterday I learned we now have an "alligator season". Ohhh!!!! An 11'3" gator was taken along the MS River about 15 miles from here. The man who told us was wearing a belt from the one his son got. We are currently in dove season. Our frig has bitty dove breasts soaking in salt water. They'll be marinated in Thousand Island or Zesty Italian dressing, wrapped in bacon and grilled. A couple of bites worth. And then in Nov., hunting season starts. Our guys are good providers. They work at it. It was 105 degrees in the truck yesterday. Buckshot opted not to go. So did I.

However you spent your day, I hope you are happy, healthy and safe.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Cemetery Walk

This week we've had mist to drizzle to down pour. April is living up to her "showers" reputation - tears after March's bi-polar rant. This morning was foggy as the Blue Ridge Parkway. Fog lights lit the roadsides and driving was treacherous when last we traveled it.

Here at home I took my umbrella and went for a walk without boots and raincoat. Even though the day reminded me of Scotland, I was confident our drizzle would not turn to straight-line rain. There hasn't been a recent hurricane in the Gulf.

My destination was Oakhurst Cemetery. The drive curves around old, old oak trees. The recent graves were my priority. I wanted to see (with my mind's eye) who was dead and didn't know it. (Only the body dies. The soul doesn't skip a beat.) I touched each heart so they knew they were acknowledged and not alone. Heart to heart we conversed. Those who were ready to go "home", I took to the tall, wood carved double doors that open into the afterlife. The right door opened a sliver for them to enter. I did not. I have more work to do here.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Labor Day 2011 Remembering is reliving.

District #70 country school used Labor Day to clean up the building and grounds. Parents and kids worked beside neighbors without children, and all shared in the picnic dinner. Summer chickens were fried, potatoes scalloped, cucumbers and onions marinated in vinegar and sugar beside chocolate cakes and cherry pies. Scalloped corn was my favorite. A picnic wasn't a picnic without it.

Grandpa Williamson nailed a 16 penny nail in the center of a foot-square flat board. Working on the picnic table, he jammed the ear of fresh shucked corn on the nail and cut the corn off the cob Mom then blanched and froze. I swiped niblets to eat raw, and still love it right off the cob. Sticky corn milk ran everywhere. When she scalloped hers, she added eggs, butter, our own sour cream and cracker crumbs. Baking set it and gave it a golden finish. I wanted to hijack it, run and hide and eat the whole batch.

Pears ripened in September signaling the start of a new school year and the end to summer and fresh produce. Jani and I each took a pear and a fresh plum to school in our lunch boxes. Side note: she collected rocks in her empty lunch box on the walk home. I can smell the sweet scent of the pear's ripeness as I bit into it and the tangy, juicy flesh of the plum. Pure joy. Alive nourishment. This morning I ate a raw pear with a wedge of Brie, which wasn't a cheese of choice then. Peppermint Patty makes a great pear pie with home canned pears. I must ask for her recipe.

Grandpa was "The Help." His eyes were dark, his hair was white, but his skin was bleached, just so there is no confusion on The Help. He came all summer long to ease Mom's "put-up" load cleaning and freezing fryers for all of us and to sell, picking and canning green beans, canning cherries and picking mulberries for jams and pies with rhubarb. His and Grandma's white peaches we converted to jam and pies and ate fresh until we couldn't. He brought gallons of vinegar and bags of sugar for pickling cucumbers he picked by the bushel. Every available flat surface in the house, including the fold-down table behind the door to the upstairs, displayed jars and freezer bags of cooling produce. And he stayed through clean up. By season's end, both our cupboards and freezers were full of summer, and we had food to give as gifts.

Remembering is reliving live life. I feel the love between us fueling our work with harmony. We are laughing at cucumbers twisted, as if trying to get away from their siblings. Jani and I just used a box of cereal so we didn't have to look at each other. Grandpa, Mom and I make faces at bushels of Dad's morning-picked corn, a whole day's work or two. Both have passed from this world, but our life together continues uninterrupted; we are all alive and well. Forever.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

LABOR DAY 2008

MSN

How are you celebrating? A parade? A party? Camping? Fishing? Boating? Biking? An amusement park?

We used to clean the school grounds and have a community picnic. It wasn't a picnic without scalloped corn, green beans with bacon, fried chicken, apple and peach pies. The adults cut the grass, picked up debris, swept and scrubbed while we tested the equipment. Dad looked at the swing and said, "Stay off. That pin will come out." Well, what did he know?

Two days later Lois asked me to pump. I loved to swing, and I couldn't refuse an upper classman. We were just sure we could get so high we could go all the way around. I pumped higher and higher until . . . oh, no, the pin came out. She lit on top of me on all fours, unhurt, but sprained. The swing seat broke my leg.

Grandpa and mother stopped canning pears to rush over. He made a barnwood splint. She tore up her apron. They put me in the car and took me to the hospital. All the way I begged, "Don't tell Dad. Please, don't tell Dad."

Whatever you do, have a safe and happy Labor Day that keeps you out of the Emergency Room.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Labor Day

We are One Nation Under God, Indivisible.  photo

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series