Labor Day 2018

I don’t work full time – only part of part time. And September hasn’t meant ‘back to school’ in almost four decades. Except for light in the evenings, I’m not all that fond of summer. Despite the peril of getting around when it’s icy out there, and although summer does have baseball going for it, I’ve always preferred winter to summer.

Yet I always feel a bit ‘this means something’ when Labor Day rolls around.

And it does. Not just end of summer. Not just revs up of the pennant race. Not just darker earlier. Not just Halloween candy on the shelves at the Roche Brothers and at CVS. It means a salute to those who work. Especially those who work at the hard, not particularly glamorous jobs that may not pay hedge-fund manager wages, but that make life better for the rest of us. Teachers. Nurses. Firefighters. Cops (other than Mass State Troopers). Farmers. Home health aides. The guy who maintains my HVAC system. My clearing people. The clerks at Roche Brothers and CVS, and – better yet – the folks who work at my local hardware store (Charles Supply) and my local drugstore (Gary Drug). The people in Maine who make Giffords Ice Cream. The people in Vermont who make Cabot Cheese. Whoever picks the apples at Brookfield Orchard. The ever-helpful customer service reps at LL Bean.  Et al.

I’ve been laboring at the labor of Pink Slip love for nearly 12 years now. In my first Labor Day post, way back in 2007, I wrote that “I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,” and Joe told me to take the day off to celebrate Labor Day.

Damned if Joe didn’t appear again in my dream last night.

Happy Labor Day!

And to help you celebrate, here’s a gifteen for you, the incredible Joan Baez singing Joe Hill.