Title : Summer's End? Not Quite, Labour Day, Not Quite. . .
link : Summer's End? Not Quite, Labour Day, Not Quite. . .
Summer's End? Not Quite, Labour Day, Not Quite. . .
Summer's not letting Labour Day push her out the door, not here, at least, where we went swimming in the (not so very warm) Pacific last night -- delicious!
Still, I expect rhythms and activities will begin to change in the coming weeks. We have two granddaughters in school now, so our visits will be arranged around their new schedules. . . I always feel excited about Fall and the changes it brings, but I also always feel most conscious of time slipping away as the days shorten. Some atavistic core in me counts out my life in summers, and another one is almost gone. . . .
As for Labour Day, now that I'm retired it's lost much of its immediate significance, although I have plenty of projects I'm working on. They don't feel much like labour, though, given their voluntary nature (although down in the gym, just before I wrote this post, sweating away on that mat, hefting those weights. . . . hmmm, that didn't feel so much like play). Even my mending I'm turning into fun, having taken that sashiko course this spring. I put it aside for the summer, but finally ordered more supplies last week. They arrived promptly from A Threaded Needle -- what fun it was to open that envelope pictured above. The thread and needles were tucked into that sweet little rabbit-printed bag along with freebies: the "Hand Made" label for stitching inside the next sweater I make for a grandchild, perhaps; a stamped, wooden button; and a postcard inviting me to the upcoming Knit City event here -- with handwritten greetings on postcard and on the tag to which button and label were stapled.
So I'll be celebrating my Not-Going-Back-to-Campus status today by mending some cashmere that a few moths have clearly laboured over. . . .
Happy Labour Day to those who are lucky enough for it to make a difference in your daily rhythm. A day that I'm very aware of my privilege indeed. . . . May workers everywhere have their labour honoured and may we make choices that ensure progress toward fair compensation for all that labour.
Still, I expect rhythms and activities will begin to change in the coming weeks. We have two granddaughters in school now, so our visits will be arranged around their new schedules. . . I always feel excited about Fall and the changes it brings, but I also always feel most conscious of time slipping away as the days shorten. Some atavistic core in me counts out my life in summers, and another one is almost gone. . . .
As for Labour Day, now that I'm retired it's lost much of its immediate significance, although I have plenty of projects I'm working on. They don't feel much like labour, though, given their voluntary nature (although down in the gym, just before I wrote this post, sweating away on that mat, hefting those weights. . . . hmmm, that didn't feel so much like play). Even my mending I'm turning into fun, having taken that sashiko course this spring. I put it aside for the summer, but finally ordered more supplies last week. They arrived promptly from A Threaded Needle -- what fun it was to open that envelope pictured above. The thread and needles were tucked into that sweet little rabbit-printed bag along with freebies: the "Hand Made" label for stitching inside the next sweater I make for a grandchild, perhaps; a stamped, wooden button; and a postcard inviting me to the upcoming Knit City event here -- with handwritten greetings on postcard and on the tag to which button and label were stapled.
So I'll be celebrating my Not-Going-Back-to-Campus status today by mending some cashmere that a few moths have clearly laboured over. . . .
Happy Labour Day to those who are lucky enough for it to make a difference in your daily rhythm. A day that I'm very aware of my privilege indeed. . . . May workers everywhere have their labour honoured and may we make choices that ensure progress toward fair compensation for all that labour.
Thus articles Summer's End? Not Quite, Labour Day, Not Quite. . .
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