Shape of Love NOW – This week in movie-making

+ feeling and trying to fight the symbolic end of summer blues

+ thinking about the story arc of the film and the “weave-ables”

+ setting up interviews

PHOTO and QUICK PONDER of the Week: Shape Of Love Labor Day Weekend Edition

I was trying to come up with a shape of love to go with Labor Day weekend. When I was growing up, we had an annual family lobster bake in Portland on a cluster of picnic tables my grandfather made. I picture people I love sitting at them hunched over and happy, but what a mess. Traditions like camping or going to one of Maine’s Labor Day fairs and festivals are sources for shapes of love too, but my trouble is that I look at everything on Labor Day weekend through a filter of tension.

The Tuesday after Labor Day weekend is like the ultimate Monday: it’s back to school, back to work, back to regularly scheduled programming. It’s the day millions of people turn their backs on summer.  There’s extra pressure on Labor Day weekend as the punctuation point of summer. If you haven’t played your summer well, it can make you feel desperate to have a good time.

Running down those late summer exclamation points is part of what makes Labor Day weekend feel like a race (until you’re stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic). Like it’s counterpart Memorial Day, the symbolic beginning of summer, it’s a weekend of transition. People are moving around doing things with the anticipation of what’s to come Tuesday and beyond. Even when I’m enjoying Labor Day weekend, I feel like Tuesday is tracking me.

I suppose there’s comfort in the predictability and familiarity of this sensation. I am as aware of the seasons changing and how that makes me feel today as I was when I was 7 and 27.  I’m connected to the Labor Day weekends of my life and how and with whom I spent them through the unique filter of tension that focuses my attention and appreciation on the memories I’ve made.

I guess I’ll finish this post with my take on a shape of love for Labor Day weekend: footprints in the sand at the beach. Evidence of play, a walk, a run, a swim, a gaze, a memory. They’re there until the tide washes them away; fleeting, like summer feels on Labor Day weekend. They represent motion and transition and maybe a tradition.

I’m going to make some before the weekend is over.

Footnote: (pardon the pun) I think it’s interesting that Labor Day’s origin is rooted in tension. President Grover Cleveland made it a federal holiday after years of unrest between American workers, industry and government and an attempt to break up a nationwide railroad strike. The “workingmen’s holiday” was officially established in 1894.