Working and Schlepping

    Some of us work for nothing, but maybe ourselves, or God, or others. We do not always work for money, but for the good of the work that we perform. Working for work's sake.

    But not for money.

    Most of us work for money. Sure.

    I have. And I still do. But, I volunteer and work for others. However, it is harder to work altruistically, I admit. I should have a more working spirit, I confess.

    Writing is working. Some do it with effort, but seemingly execute it effortlessly. Those who do it well make it seem effortless. But they are working, for sure. People need to read to be able to write, too. So, reading is work. Some see that as a lazy behavior. I do not. Keep reading, readers!

    I strain and struggle to write, and read, going on decades. Sometimes for money. Probably most times?

    Oh, no, I mean struggling to write. For some, it becomes lucrative.

    For others, it pays during their life, and it pays in fame and glory. Some, mostly outliers, become renowned after their life has been lived. Like Franz Kafka. His fortune and fame was posthumous.

    The rest try to make such achievement while living. Few really do. There are perhaps a million or more by now. For such we have scholars and teachers, editors, translators, and script writers.

    There are biographers and anthologists, film makers and connoisseurs. Experts of books, magazines, newspapers and journals. And now blogs and podcasts! Yes, the 21st century is deeply upon us.

    I worked on a little basis as a smaller youth in the 1970s. It became more steady and financially remunerative in the 1980s. And it continued. 

    Thinking back on the 1980s. I wrapped or bundled the Herald Times, for my friends and later for a couple years of my own neighborhood. In the shadows of the trees and nearby factory and its woodsy grounds. Off-limits spaces where I would sometimes find myself. Outdoors and free, locked up and forbidden. In the city of my birth. A key to all and cut off from most. 

    I would work for and with my dad. He worked in houses, apartments, stores and businesses. Running wires of all kinds.

    I worked at concession stands at the college football games, the basketball games. And the county and campus fairs. Making Dragon Ears, peanut oil cooked scones. Hot dogs, little pizzas, popcorn and drinks.

    I would hang out at the copy and typing shop of my parents. I hung around as my mother collected or perused, later to be her expertise as an antiques dealer.

    My dad and I sold some Christmas trees to make money for Scouts. Other fund raisers...

    I mowed lawns, sure, sometimes a distance from my house. Sometimes raking leaves, or shoveling snow.

    I wanted my children to do such things. On occasion...

    We work, we schlepp, we read, we write.

    We think, reflect, and dream.

    The blogging dialog...