Labor of Love

Today I'll write a real time post instead of continuing to muse endlessly on the misadventures of my life, which is still doing laps around Memorial Day from a writing perspective.

And since today is Labor Day, I have decided that I will do absolutely nothing that resembles labor. Which may sound odd coming from an unemployed person who has no immediate need to get out of bed, don fresh panties and a spiffy outfit, or put gas in my car. 

I will not spend one moment fretting over my labor camp of a yard. Beads of sweat will not form on my forehead as I endlessly mow and weed whack. I will not haul out the tree saw, the hand saw, the chainsaw or the hedge trimmers to tame the behemoth hedges that surround my yard like a fortress, planted oh so many years ago by Lars, who insisted on privacy and encircled the place with a hedge that can be seen from space. Deep Space.

I will not dust, polish, vacuum, or remove sticky stuff from anything in my house. Anything. The volume of Irish Lace suspended from the ceiling will not prevent anyone from moving freely about the house and will be waiting for me tomorrow, I'm quite sure.

I will not do laundry of any kind.  It can fester in the hamper plotting to choke me with its noxious fumes for another day. 

I am going to sit and reflect on what it means to be part of the work force --- and to not be.

I am still not working, at least for a paycheck.  But I feel like I have worked quite a lot this summer. At finding meaningful work, at networking, at presenting myself favorably to potential employers.  And at not letting the ups and downs, like bi-polar mood swings on the best of days, make me feel anxious, hopeless or unworthy.

I have worked very hard to stay in shape. Slogging away for hours at the track and on trails, even when traveling (I hesitate to say "while on vacation" since I was really not on vacation from anything.  It was all just a matter of geography...). I have pushed myself physically and have been determined, even getting out in the rain a few times and coming home soaked to the skin with my beloved iPhone wrapped in one of those plastic bags the park provides for you to curb your dog.

I have worked very hard at being a parent.  It occurred to me a few weeks ago that Hil was the exact age that I was when Estelle spread her wings and flew the coop.  It gave me fresh perspective on how much we need our parents at that tender age and what it meant for Estelle to have skimmed that chapter. (Maybe we'll muse about this another time together.) I have been present.  I have communicated. I have provided advice and guidance. I have been game for all manner of activities (i.e. rollerskating, apple picking, outlet shopping, R-rated movies against my initial judgment.)

I have worked very hard at sorting out matters of the heart as thoughtfully and honestly as possible.

I have worked very hard to manage money, which is in admittedly short supply, without giving the kids too much to worry about.

No, I will not work today. I will reflect.  Reflect on what I've done and what I need to do. And I am hoping that what reflects back at me is something with renewed enthusiasm, determination and grace. Relax, and have a happy Labor Day!