Contemplations and Quotations

The sky is overcast and the sea is a pale, pale blue. Two men are swimming. A woman sunbathes. An old man and his grandson walk in the sand. The tinny sound of bad Russian rap drifts down the beach from one of the cafes, where workers are cleaning and readying for summer tourists.

I come here to sit when I have a spare hour between classes, time to wait before the next activity starts. I like the solitude and the openness of the sea. Soon, I know, the beach will be crowded, full of towels, blankets, speedos, and bikinis, and I'll have to find my solitude somewhere else. Even at 9:30 on a Tuesday morning.

Today I am here with a bottle of water and a Snickers (breakfast of champions), waiting for the post office to open. They are on a cleaning break or something; the sign does not say why they're closed, just to come back later. But I could see someone inside mopping the floor, so in my mind I call it a cleaning break. I wrote two letters last weekend and need to buy envelopes. (Why can you buy envelopes only at the post office? This makes no sense to me. They must be for sale somewhere else, if I can only discover where...right?)

This morning I went to school to meet with one of the teachers whose classes I teach. We were deciding final grades for each pupil.

"He is strong in speaking and understanding, but reading and writing?"

"Yes, I know. He never does his homework."

"She is very shy. Sometimes I forget she is there."

"Next is your favorite..."

"Sasha."

"Sasha."

Sigh. "Oh, Sasha. What can we do about Sasha?"

Grading is difficult for me. Beyond the fact that I still don't remember everyone's name (I'm a horrible teacher), beyond grading using a different system, I sit there debating. A 9 or a 10? A B or an A? What does this grade do to a student? What does it mean, coming from me? Will a low grade turn this student off English? Will a higher grade motivate, make him work harder next year?

Strange maybe, to worry about grades, about the permanent impact of a number of a piece of paper. Does not my behavior in class have a greater effect? Yet sitting there I feel a fleeting sense of misplaced power: what I say today could effect a child's entire life.

Ridiculous. And not ridiculous.

Now I am on the beach with my sleeves rolled up, golden tan hands (from being so much outdoors in long sleeve shirts), pink arms, white shoulders. Watching the changing colors of the silent sea (oh how I miss the sound of waves): light blue, turquoise, navy, a hundred shades I have no name for.

I finished a book today, Mr. Wilson's Cabinet of Wonder, by Lawrence Weschler. An endnote quotes Albert Einstein. It is one of the more wonderful quotes I've read in a long time:

The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Whoever does not know it can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead, and his eyes are dimmed.

The sun is out and the sea is a bright azure blue. Down the beach someone wades cautiously into the water A woman plays in the sand with her daughter. The sunbather has put on a green sundress and is packing up. A truly awful cover of George Michael's Faith drifts down from the cafe....