It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

Labor Day takes on a few meanings around here. 31 years ago I informed my doctor that I needed a baby by Labor Day since my parents would be visiting. Since I was already a week overdue, she agreed and we celebrated the labor that weekend.

The past 33 years have also been a ”labor of love,” as we married on this weekend. And of course, we do celebrate this weekend each year with yard work in preparation for winter. We found the chainsaw!

Out of curiosity and an abundance of sneezing, I researched the number of calories burned in a sneeze. Ever hopeful, the answer stunned me. Two. Maybe.

Now I will beg to differ that my louder than a sonic boom sneezes burn only two calories! They are a total physical involvement. Neck strain, stomach doubling over, foot stomping, head bobbing. They are lovingly inherited from my father, with a sneeze that could clear the room. Nothing petite or pretty here.

Anyway, it’s allergy season and this year the ragweed blooms quite unchecked. And sneezing is not an exercise option for weight loss.

Inevitably, the tool needed is not residing in our workshop. Thus, I am heading out to chop the tree with a handsaw. (Not really.)

I do have some labor on the plate and the weather is conducive to finishing it by noon. Thus, a bad pun for the day. Enjoy your weekend.

That is the song running through my brain as I prepare to paint. A fresh can of miracle concealer always engenders that joy of a new journey. I assume that’s how the song popped into the tangled web up there?

After that, I am anticipating the removal of a dead tree, always a favored activity for the Labor Day weekend. That is a true statement. Many a time we have trimmed or removed dead trees on this particular weekend of the year. It seems fitting to ”clean up” before winter. Thus, painting, trimming, and then enjoying a BBQ.

Hopefully my husband reads this and fires up the chainsaw.

My husband won the Bogey League Championship for 2022. Pride bursteth forth. (Not a real word at all.)

Truly, he is a good golfer and he deserved recognition. The best part was the cash prize which restored my pocketbook’s tender after the reunion payment of BYGO. (By the way, ”pocketbook” has not been in my jargon, but spending time with Easterners has made me appreciate the term.)

So the Bogey champ now joins forces with a ”Neatness Queen of the Third Grade.” (another story) Good thing we’re past the age of procreation. We’d spawn golfers holding up the game, doling out autographs and endeavoring for perfection with flowery penmanship.

In the midst of camping for the past two weeks, I also drove 1,000 miles to attend a family reunion. Of course it was fun, but it was also funny.

Apparently no one expected such a large turnout. We met at the Pizza Ranch, but the room which held 30 was definitely not large enough as a slew of cousins appeared along with my aunts. Our party should have taken the restaurant, and the other diners taken the private room! The wait staff became overwhelmed. We had to prepay for the buffet and there was a loooooong line. Thus, we were told that if we were there for the reunion party to just go in and pay later.

Nobody on the staff gave us any attention as we ate and sat throughout the restaurant. We all laughed at our good upbringing, paying for our meals and not skipping out as we passed a ”buy one get one half off” coupon among us.

Family. Good times in the Good Life.

This story in world news gave me a smile.

THE MAN WHO GAVE THE WORLD THE TRAPPER KEEPER DIES AT 85. E. Bryant Crutchfield, a paper-company executive who in the 1980s brought three-ringed order to the chaos of millions of grade-school backpacks with a plasticand-cardboard triptych he called the Trapper Keeper, died Sunday at a hospice center in Marietta, Ga. He was 85.

Who wrote that beautiful line, ”brought three-ringed order to the chaos of millions of grade-school backpacks?” There was no byline. The images of messy backpacks turning into ordered binders are vivid.

Of course, I never had a Trapper Keeper, I was a little older than that audience, but I looked longingly at them whenever Autumn school supply sales began. Rest in peace, Mr. Crutchfield.

It was raining steadily and much too late for an afternoon nap. What to do on vacation while staying at a friend’s place with your normal home-bound activity unavailable? Peruse “Ye Olde Amazon.”

Did you know there is a ”coupons” column choice? I’ve accidentally had Amazon Prime for two or three years now. (Remember how I signed up for it unknowingly?) I guess I’ve never really explored all of the fine opportunities available to me. Dangerous territory.

I’ll let you know how the pink sweater and blue shirt look, coupon code added at checkout.

You know the dream you have when you’re either late for class, don’t have the textbooks or homework, or can’t find the classroom? Apparently I had a new version of that one installed overnight with my Ipad update.

The sheet music was missing and I was accompanying for a wedding – the wedding of my former grade school teacher, who was a nun. Perhaps I needed a dose of music, because I had chosen all of these old praise songs from the ’60’s for the sing-along part of the wedding. It was such a strange dream, and quite vivid.

Let’s attribute it to the mountain air and the 13,000 steps of hiking I logged yesterday, which probably cleared out a stash of useless fodder from my brain, thus allowing for new crazy thoughts. Either that or the Ipad update migrated?

Returning to our campsite last night, trying to open the RV door, we heard, ”Meow.” It’s pitch black, ”bear” country, and we hear this faint mewing.

Instinct kicked in. We got a little milk and used our best, ”Here, Kitty, Kitty,” voices. A very pretty calico came by, checking us out, wandering back and forth, and eventually hopping in the motorhome. Of course, she hopped right back out when she realized it wasn’t hers. Second attempt, I caught her and gave her shelter in my loving arms while my husband alerted the campground host.

Crisis averted. The cat belonged to the man-in-charge, and instructions were to let this beautiful, pink-collared, declawed animal back into the night. She’d find her way home.

For ten minutes I enjoyed a cat. Now I don’t have to own one. She sure was cute.