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"But what is Labor Day?" asked Roshus, as he helped his mother pack the picnic basket. "Well, Roshus, many years ago - way back when Great Grandpa Bunny was about your age - there were some people who worked very hard to help build our country. They liked what they did, but some people felt there should be a special way to thank them. Just as I thank you when you put your plate in the sink, or help me in the garden, they wanted to find a way to say thank you for a job well done. Many people thought about how they could show appreciation for all of the workers, and someone, we think it was either Peter McGuire or Matthew Maguire, decided it would be nice to give them a day off and to have a parade and a picnic in their honor."

 

"I love parades," said Roshus, as he gathered plates and napkins to add to the basket. "When did they have the parade, Mama?"  "Well, Son, some people wanted to have it in May, because that is when many other places honored their workers. They decided, though, to make it special by having it at the end of the summer. It would be a good time to relax and have fun before the children went back to school and would provide a time for celebration during the long period between the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving. So, they held the first Labor Day Parade in New York City on Tuesday, September 5, 1882.  Over 10,000 people came to the parade and then went to Reservoir Park to have their picnics and play games."

 

"But, today is Monday," said Roshus, as he lifted the heavy basket and tried to carry it to the door.  He had to rest it on his toes and shuffle his feet to get it to move. "That's right, Roshus," Momma said, as she took the basket and carried it to the car. "The first parade was held on a Tuesday. Later, they decided to move it to Monday so they could have one of those three day weekends we enjoy so much.  In 1894, Congress decided to make it an official holiday and to celebrate it on the first Monday in September each year. "Right," said Roshus. "More time to swim, play and barbeque stuff before school starts."

 

"You know, Roshus," said Grandmother Bunny, as she brought out a cooler filled with ice cold drinks, "There are other traditions besides parades and picnics. Back when I was a young bunny, we couldn't wear white clothes after Labor Day, especially white shoes." "But, that's silly," laughed Roshus, as he munched a carrot chip cookie. "What difference does it make what color you wear? Why can't you wear it whenever you want?  Even Mother Nature wears white after Labor Day. Snow white is one of my favorite colors!"

 

"Another tradition is one of my favorites," said Papa Bunny. "Football. The National Football League starts its season on Labor Day weekend. Then we know summer is really over, and it won't be long before we need to bundle up to sit in the bleachers and cheer for our favorite team."  "You know," said Uncle Patrick Bunny. "Football is good, but my favorite starts then, too. NASCAR racing. That's the best. It's exciting knowing that once we get through Labor Day, it's off to the races." "You're right," smiled Grandma Bunny. "The parade is great. The picnic is fun. Football and NASCAR racing are exciting, but the best thing of all on Labor Day is the MDA Telethon. I sit up all night watching those stars helping other people. It makes me feel good."

 

"You know what makes me feel good?" asked Roshus, as he fastened his seat belt. "It makes me feel good to know we live in a country where we can decide for ourselves what to do on Labor Day. We can go to a parade, we can eat whatever we want and we can watch football, races or a telethon. Or, we can do something different if we don't like those. We can even wear white after Labor Day, if we want.

 

After the parade, Roshus helped his mother put the food on the table. As everyone gathered to give thanks for their food, family and freedom, Roshus added a little prayer of his own. "Please, God, bless those who don't get to take today off as they work to keep us safe. Bless those who still have to labor on Labor Day, and, God, please be sure their moms save them some carrot chip cookies."

 

In memory of my sister, Darlene Horton Williams. 

Aug. 14, 1946 - Dec. 3, 2007

 

 

She came into my life without warning.  As was the way when I was six years old, I was sent to spend the night with my grandparents without being told my life would change, forever, while I slept. I left home as an only child.  I returned as a big sister.  I went from being the sole recipient of my parents' time, love and attention to someone who had to share those treasures with this tiny newcomer to my world.

 

I think it would have been easier to accept this new member of my family had I, as today's children are, been told that she was coming and how it might affect my life. I wasn't prepared to see this tiny person in my mother's arms, my bed and my father's heart. I wasn't prepared to go from someone who was always cared for and protected by my parents to someone who would, later, often be charged with caring for and protecting the baby. Watch out for your little sister became etched in my heart and mind.

 

Through our growing up years, there were good times and bad as we shared our lives. I had every doll and book I had ever received.  She destroyed them all - removing the heads from the dolls and shreading the books. We worked together to dress the cat in doll clothes and push him down the street in the stroller. I enjoyed spending time alone reading or writing.  She was ever present, wanting my time and attention. We sang, talked and laughed as we did the dishes after dinner.  I washed.  She dried.

 

She was later replaced as the baby by a brother who joined our family. I often wondered if she went through the same turmoil and feeling of loss that I did as she watched a new person take over a role that had been hers for so long.

 

Time passed.  We grew up and went our separate ways. I stayed on the East Coast. She made her home on the West Coast. She came home to visit for a few days every five or ten years. I went out West to see her a couple of times. There were a few phone calls on birthdays and holidays, but there was no real connection between us for almost forty years.

 

Six years ago, while dealing with the illness and death of one parent, and then the other, we were able to spend some time together. Though we had not been close for many years, we found that we talked all night if given the chance. We were astounded to find that many of our experiences, beliefs and attitudes were the same, though there had been no discussion of such things over the years.

 

We were finding ways to relate. We were getting close and becoming a source of support for each other after all of those years apart. We were looking forward to really getting to know each other, again. We were talking of taking a trip across country, or a cruise to Alaska.

 

She called Thanksgiving evening to say she was headed here from Seattle and would be home for Christmas.  She had bought my parents' house and invited me to join her family there for Christmas dinner. She sounded happy and was excited about people she wanted to see and things she wanted to do while on this visit home.She died of a massive heart attack in a hotel room in Akron on Dec. 3rd, while on her way home. She left my life just as suddenly and unexpectedly as she entered it. There will be no more all night talks, no more encouraging words, no more getting to know each other, again, after all those wasted years.

 

I am trying to accept that she is gone. I struggle, daily, to make peace with a situation that seems unreal. I tell everyone I know to always be sure there is nothing left undone or unsaid that would make it easier to deal with the death of a loved one. I am able to get through most days now without the overwhelming grief. I still wrestle with how this could have happened, how she could possibly be gone. And, from time to time, I remember that I was charged with taking care of my little sister and being sure she was safe. This time, this time, I couldn't do it, because - just as with her birth - I didn't know her death was coming. And, as on the night she was born, my life is changed, forever.

 

I love and miss you, Little Sister! Happy Birthday. Rest in peace.

 

 

As I watched the beauty and precision of the opening ceremony of the Olympics, I was filled with conflicting emotions.The sheer magnitude of the event, and the amount of planning that went into making it work like clockwork, was incredible. How many great minds must have worked together to plan and carry out such an undertaking? What if we put that kind of planning and organizational skill to work dealing with world hunger? Surely minds that were able to design and coordinate the events of the opening ceremony could design and coordinate plans to be certain food and other necessities were evenly, and fairly, shared by the world's population.

 

The beauty of the dancing, music, fireworks and other creative performances was awe inspiring.  So many talented people joined together to produce a wonderland of sights and sounds. So many performers, many of them ordinary citizens, worked together to produce the beautiful effects. What if we put all of that creative ability to work designing ways to eliminate smog, pollution and slums? What if those highly creative people were given the task of making every city, every hamlet, every spot on our planet a place of beauty for its inhabitants?

 

The huge number of competitors was mind boggling. Many thousands of athletes, coaches, family members, fund raisers and other supporters joined together to develop plans that would insure each athlete was in top form and had the financial backing to compete.  Each athlete had the benefit of the best training available in order to pursue the dream of Olympic Gold. What if we put those people to work designing a system that would provide each and every child on this planet a quality education? What if the fund raisers and supporters came up with ways to eliminate lack of income as a barrier to obtaining an excellent education for all children? What if every child born on this planet had an equal chance to pursue a dream?

 

Watching the smiles, enthusiasm and energy of the competitors was heart warming.  For the rest of the Olympic Games, they will forget politics and differing beliefs. They will accept each other as worthy opponents. They will compete but will do it with honor and good sportsmanship. They will represent their countries, but they will do so as one body - as Olympic athletes. What if we took all of those other young people on all the battlefields in every corner of the world where there is turmoil, terrorism or war and let them compete by playing ball, running races or swimming laps? What if a way were found to eliminate the hatred and bitterness that lead to war and replace it with the acceptance and comraderie we will see in the Olympic Games?  If it can be done for the Olympics, why not forever?

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