Well, I finally did it. I got a new computer. HP desktop. It has Windows7 as its operating system. I love it. I am also frustrated by it. Everything is different. Sometimes the changes are simple ones. Others not so much. I spent much of yesterday setting up email accounts, only to have all of the work I did vanish when I updated to Internet Explorer 9. Suddenly, my only email option was my Hotmail account. I don't like Hotmail. It has taken what felt like an age and a half to find the Windows Live mail program (Stevil likes) but I did it. And made it my default email program. The work I'd already done was there. The spam filter is great. So far I haven't spent much time with Explorer9 - I only dloaded it about an hour ago. As for the rest of the computer, it's so nice to have a keyboard that works. Websites appear instantly. Videos stream properly now. So many changes - the only one I haven't figured my way around is to be able to see what is on my computer as a series of nested file folders. It's terribly old fashioned of me, but I like it - so there. Okay, back to exploring. I just wanted to see how posting to the blog was affected. And OMG but it's so easy now.
Here's today's graphics "just because".
Midgets for Coolidge 1924
And, I didn't post on May 5th as I bought the computer after work. So here's the graphic I had intended to use that day.
Today, May 2nd, is the birthday of the man who wrote the lyrics to the above. His name was Lorenz Hart. With his songwriting partner, Richard Rodgers, he co-wrote some of the great standards of the American Songbook.
This personal fave is also beloved of someone who has gone missing from my life, Miss Magnolia Thunderpusy. Mags, honey, do show up soon, please.
Hart's lyrics often 'get' me. Or maybe I should say that I 'get' them.
I think my favorite of Hart's work just might be the following song. I couldn't find a version on You Tube that I really wanted to post. This is, or should be, a memory, a wisp of hope, a moment of longing, an admittance of loneliness. Sinatra comes closest to nailing it in this version, but is betrayed by one of those wow socko finishes that Nelson Riddle would arrange. Even still, it is the kind of song you know in your heart. It's for people who have been there. Maybe that's all of us?
It's truly beautiful now - on my 6am walk to work the forsythias are blooming, both the star magnolias and
the cup and saucer magnolias are in bloom, as daffodils, jonquils, and tulips perfume the paths I trudge; delicate birdsong twitter tweets are joined by the less prosaic musings of geese wafting thru the air. Trees have light green cotton candy tufts swaying ever so lightly in the morning breeze. Spring is here.
It's May the first. In much of the world, its a day given to celebrations to honor workers and men who were framed and killed in Chicago for trying to unionize to demand a 40 hour work week. And it's Beltane, the new season of growth, the veil is thin, magic can...... WAIT. WHAT? men killed in Chicago?
See, May 1st, 1886 had been set as a day for a general strike and protests all across the U.S. in favor of a 40 hour work week. The average work week at the time was 60 hours, while many worked 12 to 15 hours a day, 6 days a week. Child Labor was common. Thousand upon thousand marched. The bosses tended to feign surprise at the numbers of workers who gathered. In Chicago, 80,000 took part in the main protest. On May 3rd, as one rally ended, hundreds went to Haymarket Square to protest the strike breaking "scab" workers who had been brought in at the McCormick plant. The police were brought in, they opened fire on the crowd of workers. Some say four were killed. Others reported hundreds. A rally was held the next day to protest the violence. Someone threw a bomb. The police said it was the workers. The workers said it was thrown by a Pinkerton paid tough. It exploded, sending shrapnel into the crowd of workers. The police backed up, aimed their weapons and opened fire - according newspaper accounts for a full two minutes and more. The number of dead workers was not mentioned in the press.
Eight men, labor leaders and organizers of the May 1st march and subsequent protests were rounded up on false charges, and put on trial for being anarchists who incited the mob to violence. They were condemned to die by hanging. One man killed himself first. Five men were hung. The world took note. May 1st, Labor Day was born. But not in the United States. Here, after the murder of workers of the Pullman Union, President Grover Cleveland, to pacify workers and get their votes, created and set Labor Day at the beginning of September. He did not want to place the day in aassociation with May 1st, International Labor Day, so that no one could stir unrest in memory of the Haymarket martyrs.
As the trials and executions ended, a new labor organization was started, the AFL or American Federation of Labor. In the early 1914, Henry Ford gave his workers a 5 day/40 hour workweek. The eight-hour day was realized for many more workers in the U.S. in 1938, when the Fair Labor Standards Act (under the New Deal) made it a legal day's work throughout the nation.