We may be the last people left in the world who take snapshots on vacation and stick them into a photograph album. We have a library of albums as big as medieval Bibles in which our summer memories are lovingly preserved. The pictures have scarcely changed over the years. The main actors get a little older, and grayer, but the prints are so small and fuzzy that it scarcely matters. Every vacation place looks exactly like every other. Photograph albums give a reassuring sense of time standing still.
Labor Day means different things to different people: the last day of official summer, the last big outdoor party, or the best sales of the year. Some very senior citizens may even recall that Labor Day was once a celebration of the great American labor movement. But for those of us who have ever been involved in education, Labor Day means that a new semester and a new academic year are about to begin. The freshmen are coming, some more fresh than others, the hopeful, anxious class of 2017.
The city of Copenhagen has long suffered from the image created by a song sung by Danny Kaye in a 1952 movie about Hans Christian Andersen – “Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen.” Old songs are not, on the whole, a reliable source of information about modern cities: consider “April in Paris,” for example, that gets the weather all wrong, or “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” that completely ignores the effects of traffic and air pollution on bird life in London. Copenhagen is a pretty nice place, but “wonderful, wonderful” is stretching the truth a bit.
Summer time, and the living is easy? George Gershwin was a genius when it came to songs, but obviously he was no gardener. Summer time in the suburbs is just what it always has been - the season of the most brutal physical labor. A large part of this labor consists of dragging heavy hoses across the lawn, and then rolling them up again.
History tells us that first souvenirs were collected by the Crusaders of the eleventh century. They liked to bring back relics from the Holy Land, or a Saracen's head, just for the memories. By 1291, the modern souvenir industry had started up in Venice, making exquisite glass objects to sell to visitors. Seven hundred years later, Venice is literally sinking into the ocean under the accumulated weight of little glass objects, and the tourists who come to buy them.