Happy Labor Day. May you be able to rest on your vocational laurels for these 24 hours. It’s a shame that our holidays are no longer what they used to be. I would LOVE to hear that WalMart closed its doors for 24 hours straight – or that any and all other stores did the same for that matter. I have a lot of respect for those small operations that actually do respect our formerly time-honored tradition of actually taking a holiday from work.
So, if it’s Labor Day, it must be September. Being from New England, this IS my time of year. This is the color and smells and glory of another year dying into winter.
People say that because I live in California, we don’t experience the seasons. I say this is not quite correct. Our daily temperatures drop from what can be a suffocating 100* to being a bone chilling 50*. At night, we do have frost and freezing temps. Perhaps we don’t have snow here, but I can travel less than an hour to see it, walk in it, make a snowball and throw it at something or someone. Our summer does melt into an autumn-like melancholy and then into the winter doldrums. I do get cabin fever.
And, each year I wonder to myself if it is time to write my September Song. I must consider that putting together a very loose family history does have to take place as a start to this song. Have I finally reached that point in my life where it’s all downhill from here. Well, rationally, I know that happened a few years ago. But am I really going to accept that fact? I try not to stare my own mortality in the face often.
I got to this point in my posting and thought, I don’t want to write about my mortality. I know it’s there… not too much I can do about that.
It was then I remembered a wonderful series that was aired on PBS a while ago. Victor Borge was a very accomplished Danish pianist and quite adeptly mingled humor into his concerts. This is my contribution to September Song for 2009.
I hope you enjoy a little smile with these two talented muscians. To see more September Song contributions visit TAKE THIS TUNE.
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