I love fall. The colors of the leaves, the crisp air, boots and sweaters. Everything about it, except for the fog. Waking up in the mornings to soupy gray ghosts hugging the windows is less than a cheerful way to start the day. Not being able to see two feet out the door is not a poster child for good morning sunshine. Fog travels, as we all know. It moves along the ground and wraps itself around trees and hillsides, cars and homes, hiding everything behind it’s gray doors. If you open a window on one of these foggy mornings, it will enter your head. That’s right, your head. Fog travels everywhere, which is why none of us can even think on foggy mornings. It’s nearly impossible to think when your head is in, and/or full of fog. And if it doesn’t burn off by noon, it’s nap time; at least for me anyway. I’m not kidding. The grayness swallows me up and replaces any energy I may possibly have had with extreme fatigue. There is a real danger of sleeping right on through till spring if there’s enough fog in the fall.
I studied my mothers’ hands. Hands that still shone the beauty of youth behind the layers of age. Anyone could see they belonged to a woman who lived life to the fullest. Tiny sunspots dotted her skin and short nails represented a desire for cleanliness and usefulness, ready at a moment’s notice, these hands were. Her knuckles were slightly swollen, evidence of days long ago filled with sewing and cleaning and cooking. Busy hands belonging to a women with a house full of needs only she could meet.
Fire up the grill! It’s Labor Day! A celebration of working America. Now, I’m wondering…does this mean non-working America should sit this one out? I mean, there are a lot of unemployed, layed-off, no work to be had, people in our country right now. People who would love to be celebrating Labor Day because they are part of the labor force that drives our nation forward. What if they’re collecting unemployment, using food stamps, and have medical paid for by the rest of us?