Labor Day here means a parade. The West Indian Carnival Festival to be exact. Music and costumes and steel drums and flags and grills and police and street closings and partying. It’s noisy and raucous and . . . not really our thing. I love that it happens. I love that we live close to it. And I love that we can take a small taste of it and then let it be. We caught a bit of the children’s parade on Saturday and we ran down Eastern Parkway this morning, which was lined with police officers, booths, early spectators, and the smoke and smells from dozens of grills. And we’ll spend the afternoon at a museum in Queens, far from the madding crowds of the festival.
I hope you enjoy your Labor Day and whatever festivities you have planned.