…sunSET, sunRISE…

For some strange reason, Vancouver’s Pacific National Exhibition (PNE) has experienced its second power black out during this year’s fair.  No doubt a bit shocking to organizers—let’s just say this somehow shouts …..power to the people!…..

There’s good news in that a last minute deal to avert a workers’ strike at Vancouver International Airport has been reached. 

Fly on people & cheers to no expected delays!….

A story about the ups and downs of day-to-day living says two BC elevator companies have been found to not be violating their employees’ privacy by requirng gps tracking of their movements during the work day.

Cheers to watch your step!….going down…..somehow me thinks more on this story shall escalate!….

An interesting snippet in today’s news asks the question —-I recently switched barbers…do I owe my old one an explanation? …..is the courtesy of a conversation about this owed do you think or is appropriate to just leave it as “cut and run?”……

Cheers to a wonderful Labour Day weekend—-may sunset on August Fridays sing sunrise on a sensational September!!

It’s September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold,
And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning’s sharp with cold;
Now the garden’s at its gayest with the salvia blazing red
And the good old-fashioned asters laughing at us from their bed;
Once again in shoes and stockings are the children’s little feet,
And the dog now does his snoozing on the bright side of the street.

It’s September, and the cornstalks are as high as they will go,
And the red cheeks of the apples everywhere begin to show;
Now the supper’s scarcely over ere the darkness settles down
And the moon looms big and yellow at the edges of the town;
Oh, it’s good to see the children, when their little prayers are said,
Duck beneath the patchwork covers when they tumble into bed.

It’s September, and a calmness and a sweetness seem to fall
Over everything that’s living, just as though it hears the call
Of Old Winter, trudging slowly, with his pack of ice and snow,
In the distance over yonder, and it somehow seems as though
Every tiny little blossom wants to look its very best
When the frost shall bite its petals and it droops away to rest.

It’s September! It’s the fullness and the ripeness of the year;
All the work of earth is finished, or the final tasks are near,
But there is no doleful wailing; every living thing that grows,
For the end that is approaching wears the finest garb it knows.
And I pray that I may proudly hold my head up high and smile
When I come to my September in the golden afterwhile. – Edgar Albert Guest

 

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