40 Hour Week

Recently I was on my way to work, easing down my bumpy dirt road watching the sun rise and Alabama’s song ’40 Hour Week’ came on the radio.  As I listened I was reminded just how blessed I am to live in a country where I am able to work, worship and live as I please.  I get so irritated when I hear people griping about trivial things, Facebook abounds with folks getting all worked up over nothing.  Who REALLY cares if Kim whateverhernameis had a baby and gave it a completely retarded name?  Who REALLY cares that Miley Cyrus can’t keep her tongue in her mouth?  Change the channel or better yet turn it off!  It is so easy to get caught up in all that hoopla…..sometimes I think people need to back up, tune out the extras and recall what it is they REALLY care about.

Hey, I’m like everyone else, it would be nice to have a rich husband, bigger house, better handbag, larger barn, better chicken coop and on and on.  But after a while, the new fades away and guess what?   You spend what you make (no matter the amount), houses need repainting, clasps break, leather cracks, barns leak and coops get crapped in (excuse the French).  We all put on our britches one leg at a time.

If everyone played football there would be no fans.  If everyone were an architect there would be no one to install the toilets or the lights.  If everyone sang there would be no accompaniment from a band.  If everyone were a Wall Street genius there would be no one to farm and grow our food.  You get my point.  At the end of the day we should all be thankful for what we do have, take care of the things in life we have been blessed with, large and small, and remember that it takes all of us to make the world go round.

flagI leave you with the lyrics that inspired my Thursday morning rant and hey, America?

Thank you for your time.

There are people in this country who work hard every day
Not for fame or fortune do they strive
But the fruits of their labor are worth more than their pay
And it’s time a few of them were recognized

Hello Detroit auto workers let me thank you for your time
You work a forty hour week for a livin’ just to send it on down the line
Hello Pittsburgh steel mill workers let me thank you for your time
You work a forty hour week for a livin’, just to send it on down the line

This is for the one who swings the hammer, driving home the nail
Or the one behind the counter, ringing up the sale
Or the one who fights the fires, the one who brings the mail
For everyone who works behind the scenes

You can see them every morning in the factories and the fields
In the city streets and the quiet country towns
Working together like spokes inside a wheel
They keep this country turning around

Hello Kansas wheat field farmer, let me thank you for your time
You work a forty hour week for a livin’, just to send it on down the line
Hello West Virginia coal miner, let me thank you for your time
You work a forty hour week for a livin’, just to send it on down the line

This is for the one who drives the big rig, up and down the road
Or the one out in the warehouse, bringing in the load
Or the waitress, the mechanic, the policeman on patrol
For everyone who works behind the scenes
With a spirit you can’t replace with no machine

Hello America let me thank you for your time

flagIsn’t our flag pretty?  This was taken in my orchard late one evening last week.

🙂

2 thoughts on “40 Hour Week

  1. Amen! Your comments are the reason your posts appeal to me! Good ole down to earth common sense from a hard working country girl! I hardly ever look at FB anymore! I would rather spend my time cleaning dirt out from under my finger nails from working my little dirt farm and playing with a crazy labrador retriever!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Frankly, if I see one more semi-nude (or 90% nude) celebrity article, I am gonna scream. No wonder people are so messed up, having that trash shoved in their faces all the time. And I avoid FB drama like the plague. Life is too short and precious for me to be caught up in that casserole of nonsense.

    Liked by 1 person

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