Labor Day isn’t what it used to be.
Parades are less prominent, Jerry Lewis has been ousted from the MDA Telethon, summer weather seems to drag into mid-October and even the “no white after Labor Day” fashion dogma has crumbled.
And our day-to-day lives have made the once-great notion of a day honoring the working people of America a farce.
The excavation of an ancient drainage tunnel beneath Jerusalem has yielded a sword, oil lamps, pots and coins abandoned during a war there 2,000 years ago, according to archaeologists quoted in a recent Associated Press article. They said the finds apparently are debris from a pivotal episode in the city’s history when rebels hid from Roman soldiers who were crushing a Jewish revolt.
The White River journey continues as I learn more about this fascinating part of the country.
This week I was introduced to several culinary creations that are so good they could be dangerous. I mean they are so delicious that if they were placed on a plate and held over a man’s head his tongue might beat his brains out trying to get to them. That’s how dangerously delicious they are.
My mother was under the illusion that I had some kind of musical talent.
Mothers are like that.
“If you don’t use your God-given talents, they will be taken away from you,” she would say while writing out a check for my weekly singing and piano lessons and reaffirming it with the “use it or lose it” biblical lesson.
I knew the parable of the talents by heart and I didn’t want to lose mine.
I wonder what the Great Depression was really like.
All we really know about it comes from old news reports and what our older family members told us.
My father’s parents must have had a great time dating during the “Roaring ’20s.” They married in 1929, one month before the stock market collapsed.
My grandfather was lucky, though. He had a good job, working directly for the Mellon family as an accountant.
He helped feed and clothe his sisters’ children during the hardest times, though he would die in 1937 from strep throat (penicillin was not yet available).
I remember, when I was in school, having fire and tornado drills. I honestly don’t remember having a lot of earthquake drills at Cord-Charlotte, at least until Iben Browning predicted one would cripple the New Madrid fault zone on Dec. 3, 1990, but we may have. You know the memory is one of the first things to go in old age.
When my parents were in school, it was the atomic bomb drills that were all the rage; before that it was air raid drills (in certain parts of the country — we were probably safe here).
Recently, the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly upgraded our lives with cell phones. Up to this time, I just assumed the cell phone was what a prisoner used.
My wife and I drug our feet for a long time until we finally took the plunge. Both of us finally went to the cell phone store and signed up for cell phone service. She picked out a phone for her and then picked up another phone and turned to me and said, “I think this will suit you.”
I learned long ago that when my wife is “thinking,” I should not interrupt the phenomenon.
Nobody tells you it’s going to be like this.
The early days of the job are exciting. There are so many new things to see and learn, each day seems to last forever. Then somewhere in the middle, a routine sets in. The days are longer, but the years are shorter. Then suddenly, it’s over.
One day you’re a young upstart ready to make things happen. Then before you know it, you’re done.
I’m not talking about careers; I’m talking about parenting.
When I read the Facebook message from my Dad’s first wife that said, “Lacy go to classmates.com and look in the 1950 class book and see your father in the 9th grade school love neva,” I didn’t know what to think.
But I did what she said. I logged into Classmates.com, a website that was created for alumni to reconnect.
Sure enough there was my dad’s yearbook from 1950 Grenada (Miss.) High School and there he, Paul Mitchell, was on page 34.
During the period July 1, 2010 to June 30, 2011 the 95 members of Independence County Extension Homemaker Council performed 49,511 hours of volunteer service in their communities and our county.
According to the President’s Council on Volunteerism this has an economic impact value of $1,057,554.96 for our county.
Yes, we’re more than biscuit makers!