Traffic was heavy coming home from errand-hopping today, patrol cars hiding under every bridge or road-slope. “Wonder what’s going on…” I commented, and then we both seemed to think of it at once: Labor-day Weekend. “Of course…” we exclaimed, verbally head-slapping ourselves, “it’s a holiday weekend.”
The last hurrah of summer… barbeques, picnics, beach treks, camping trips, you-name-it. The highway is full—campers, out-of-state-plates, cars with carriers atop, bikes on the back, and back windows stuffed to the hilt with sleeping bags and overflowing knapsacks. After this weekend, summer is officially over.
Now to me there’s something slightly oxymoronish about that term. Labor day, when in fact what most of us are doing is lolling about, or catching up on the latest dish with friends and family, stuffing our faces with picnic-fare, glugging our lemonades, and playing beach volleyball or reading the final chapters of our summer romance while wriggling bare toes in the sand. Hmmm. Do tell! How is that labor?
Well, I suppose to be fair, it’s good to recognize that there are some who use this last summer holiday weekend to pull weeds in the flower garden, trim shrubbery, or finally do something with the zillion cucumbers and tomatoes covering the kitchen window-sills. And believe you me, canning and pickling are definitely labor!
Or perhaps it’s the weekend to close up the pool, or clean out the garage so we might actually park there come winter. Okay. I suppose then it’s accurate—labor day.
Or perhaps it’s the weekend to close up the pool, or clean out the garage so we might actually park there come winter. Okay. I suppose then it’s accurate—labor day.
Maybe we should change it to Hurrah Day. After all, whether you choose to frolic at the cottage, or close the cottage up for winter, at the end of the day there’s bound to be some hurrahs at the end of the day.
Happy Labor Day—ah, Hurrah day everyone!
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