Happy Labor Day. Speaking of which: Christine Hoflehner labors at the post office. She is the title character in The Post-Office Girl, a novel by Stefan Zweig. Extraordinary book, extraordinary piece of art. I have written about it in my column today: here.
Maybe a touch of mail. In my Impromptus on Friday, I wrote about the weather — maybe the most routine subject in the world. But there was a particular context:
A few days ago, in New York, I noticed lots of kids in school uniforms: first day of school. Man, was it hot. A scorcher. My longstanding opinion is this: Kids should not go back to school in August, when it is hot outside. That might as well be summer school! The year should begin in, oh, mid-September, when the weather is more reasonable.
If I had my way, school would be from, like, September 15 to June 15. But when do Papa get his way?
A reader writes,
I moved from Washington State, where public school starts after Labor Day, to Texas, where it starts in early mid-August. I was told when I got here that, in past years, this schedule had been implemented as a way to get poor children into a schoolroom, which was more likely to be air-conditioned than their home. In Texas in August, that’s a big deal — I would hate to be without air conditioning at this time of year. I don’t know if this explanation is true or not, but it tracks with my experience: In Washington State (which has relatively temperate summers), we started school later and let the kids have a later summer, while in Texas we end the schoolyear earlier (around Memorial Day) and start it earlier.
By the way, this calendar never provided relief to my kids, all three of whom were, or are, in marching band. They start marching outside three weeks before the schoolyear begins and continue marching outside through the beginning of November.
Just wanted to contribute to your body of knowledge on this subject.
Also in that column on Friday, I had a little note about an experience at the golf range. A bold New York kid, about ten — straight out of Central Casting — asked me about the swing and the game. Upon leaving, he said, “Thanks for the wisdom!” and flashed me a big grin.
A reader writes,
Hello, Mr. Nordlinger,
Greetings from Clarkston, Mich. Your note about the kid at the driving range reminded me of a recent U.P. camping trip.
Brief interruption: When we Michiganders say “U.P.,” we mean “Upper Peninsula.”
Okay:
A trio of us older gentlemen were sampling some very fine bourbon while aimlessly shooting the breeze. The 14-year-old son of one of the participants walked over to the fire and asked us what we were talking about.
I responded, kind of facetiously, “Oh, nothing much, just about our hopes and dreams.” His instant retort: “You still have those?”
Get off my lawn.
Finally, let’s have a picture from Dr. Hans Goeckner, our physicist-photographer in Chicago. He sends us “a butterfly about the size of a dime,” as he says: a summer azure, or, more formally, Celastrina neglecta. Hans says, “This is a female in the process of laying eggs on a plant”:
You want a dragonfly, as a bonus? Here’s an eastern pondhawk (female):
Thank you to Dr. Goeckner and thank you to one and all.