Proof that motivation, like the economy, responds well to flexible rates.
Watching her cross the finish line, flushed and proud, felt like the best return on investment I’d made all week.
After Parkrun came my singing lesson — technically still labour, just in a higher key — followed by the grocery run, a reminder that no public holiday can pause the household economy.
By midday, I’d added a stop at the bookshop — our way of supporting Rotorua’s local businesses while pretending it counted as rest.
Back home, the domestic economy was in full swing.
Bella resumed her self-assigned patrol duties, trotting from room to room as if checking household activity was part of her job description.
Clearly, even on Labour Day weekend, some members of the household just didn’t get the memo about taking a break.
Blizz, my domestic short-hair cat, finally decided to participate — though not entirely by choice.
When Bella’s enthusiasm turned into a full-scale chase, he leapt on to the table for safety, and then pretended he’d meant to be there all along — observing the chaos below with the calm of a central banker watching an overheated market.
Bella, clearly representing the restless real sector, never stopped moving — chasing toys, dreams, and probably inflation.
Blizz, ever the regulator, preferred stability: measured breathing, minimal energy output, and the occasional nap to keep the system balanced.
Sunday brought more “unpaid labour”.
I decluttered the wardrobe, folded away winter layers, sorted donations, washed sheets, and tidied the garden — small contributions to both the circular economy and my mental GDP.
Just as I sat down to rest, Bella and Blizz formed a rare alliance — a joint operation to catch a particularly well-fed pigeon that had wandered indoors.
Feathers flew, chaos reigned, and the pigeon hid behind the fireplace until I rescued it, trembling but wiser.
I doubt it will ever steal pet food here again.
By late afternoon, I’d earned some fresh air — or at least a different kind of work.
The Secret Spot Hot Tubs 5K Trig Loop run, coming up in two weeks, was already on my mind.
At Waipa car park, the air still buzzed from the Whaka 100 mountain-bike competition that had filled Rotorua’s forest with riders, cars, and cheering crowds.
The scent of pine, espresso, and human ambition lingered — the unmistakable aroma of local economic activity.
By Monday — the actual Labour Day — I had truly earned my rest.
The house was finally quiet.
Bella curled up on her bed, one paw twitching mid-dream, while Blizz, the governor of his own calm economy, claimed a sunny corner of the bedroom.
It became a gentle day: light rain in the morning, then sun, then clouds again — the kind of changeable weather Rotorua is quietly famous for.
Coffee brewed, music played, and sunlight spilled across the table between showers.
For once, I didn’t measure productivity in tasks completed but in calm restored.
Maybe that’s what Labour Day truly celebrates — not the absence of work, but the grace of balance: knowing when to move, when to pause, and how to value time as much as money.
Because rest, too, is a kind of work — the quiet rebuilding that keeps everything else running.
