NPR's Scott Simon honoring the jobless

Having no job does not mean having no work. Your children must still be fed, bathed, and ferried to school … But you have less money for food, gas, and the new shoes your children need for school. … Having no job means that things people talk about these days -- iPads, android phones, 3-D movies, new music, or meeting friends over $4 coffee drinks -- are just beyond reach. You worry about getting dull, having nothing to talk about, and losing friends. … You may blame politicians, brokers and bankers, but in the middle of the night you might turn your eyes to the sky and wonder what you did, didn't do, or should have done. … This Labor Day we might salute the millions of Americans who don't have jobs, but who in many ways work harder than ever.

--Scott Simon

My new found appreciation of this Labor Day

In the middle of the most difficult recession since the Great Depression, I have never worked harder but also have never been happier with my work. I am grateful on this day for meaningful work, the people I work with, and the President who is making the right long-term investments in this country./Joe

The poem that inspires my life

I think often about this poem and am inspired by its verses as I approach work, personal projects, relationships and friendships, and mentorships with kids. My business partner, Jane, found and brought it to my attention, and the title ("To be of use") serves as the mantra for our strategy consulting business.

"To be of Use"

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

~ Marge Piercy ~