Friday, September 2, 2016
It’s not just any old Friday, which would be Friday enough. It’s a supercharged Friday with so much of Friday…well, could I even write Friday too much?
That’s how much Friday is the Friday belonging to Labor Day weekend. It’s the first and the last of an informal marker on the change of seasons. Within one day students return to classrooms and outdoor swimming pools in Wisconsin are hollowed.
As a teacher I loved the first day of school, marking the freshness of faces which had been browned and buffed by more time outside than inside as they returned proudly with unblemished backpacks, erasers and tennis shoes. As a mother I despised the day with all intensity as the most difficult day when one bids good-bye to lazy times and lazy schedules with my son. Not really. Well, yes it is true. It is one of those “mom-things” to which a person probably should not admit. Yawn. Yeah, sure.
The best part of school times as a mother is hearing of his adventures, his passions, his interests and how he recalls the events during his day. With a tugging of my heart, I have grown used to the unraveling of the ‘apron strings’ so to speak. To tether him would be tethering the soul of a young man yet to discover what language his soul speaks. As a mom you know the fragility of the fight of life. But you also know its grandeur. As a mom, you want the both for your son…the honor of his life.
Ah, yes, to be that young. Um, no thank you.
The quandary of my body and soul this morning measured significantly less in philosophy and more in the question if I could withstand floors cooled by the covert dance of thirty seven degree clear night air. Furnace. Definitely.
How much in each day! I jot notes in my head if not on my phone as if I had an invisible checklist of topics. And the day rolls with unremarkable events. But that is the remark for which I am most grateful. I am most grateful, after the experiences of my years, for the kindness and gentleness of days in which I can breathe in sunshine, tap the petals of flowers, and work my dreams.
And my biggest worry might be whether or not to turn on the furnace.
Happy Labor Day weekend! May it be Blessed as remarkably unremarkable as you choose.
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