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village


beach


[And not a single baby will be mentioned.]


Yesterday was the first day of school. The summer session has begun.

Which means, following tradition, the previous weekend was spent in a quaint and relaxing locale, just far enough away to feel far enough away. There was even a bar there with the clever name So Far So Good. The weather was a little too good. I spent all day Saturday under a tree or in the water, and ended up with a nasty sunburn all over, especially bad from the knees down. By Sunday I could hardly walk, so I stayed in bed, alternating cold towels with a “regenerating” lotion from the pharmacy. I’ve been reading Until I Find You, by John Irving.

Monday, back to reality, and laundry.

Tuesday, I thought I was well-prepared: I arrived at school early, made my photocpies, even found a place to sit. (The school thins out a lot in summer, fewer students, fewer teachers.) My first lesson was a breeze -- the kids even let me go ten minutes overtime without saying a word. I’m not sure what happened to my watch -- there was a little time warp in there somewhere.

After work, I met another class -- this time, a group of Canadian college students visiting the local university on some kind of exchange program, which I’m sure they considered a great chance for a summer holiday. My Greek teacher had been assigned the dubious task of teaching them an introductory Greek course during the week of their stay, complete with a final exam at the end, intended to impose some sense of seriousness on the endeavor. She had told me that from the first moment, all they wanted to do was find excuses to leave the class early and do other things. And sure enough, when I met them, they flirted, they bantered, they wanted to go out to eat. On the day’s syllabus: revising the alphabet and learning all the fruits and vegetables in the market.

Later in the evening, something else happened to me that I liked. I realized that sometimes, all you have to do is ask.