My Walk

I thought I'd post pictures of the daily trek to school. Scott goes with her in the morning, and I do afternoon pick-up. It's about a twenty minute walk.

I pass our bus stop, local grocery store, and our pharmacy. Sometimes I wonder if the pharmacists keep mental track of our medical needs. Like, do they look at me when I come in and think, "Boy she sure has bought a lot of lice shampoo over the years." Hopefully not.

 Next to the pharmacy is the real estate agency that we used to buy our apartment almost five years ago.

A few years ago, Justin always brought a foam ball to play soccer at recess. I think this was partly politics; if it was his ball, he could always play. When it would get kicked up onto a roof, he would beg for three euros, and go down to this gas station to replace it.

For our first year and a half in Nice, we lived in the apartment above this restaurant. The bathroom was really nice and big.

 This is a side street on the way. The onion domes are the top of the very lovely Russian orthodox church.

 I go under the train tracks leading to the central train station. It doesn't smell great.

 And out again into the light...

 past a store with a small dog in the window. He wouldn't look my way.

 There are several cafés and restaurants with tables and chairs outside...

and stores with produce on the sidewalk.

The way back is different. Anna is chattering about her day, waving at me to catch up so we can cross the street on a green light, visiting animals and friends on the way, and occasionally getting ice cream. I will post about all this another day.

But the pictures here show my walk down to school. A friend posted recently on her blog about a walk that she has found where she can reflect and pray  When most people think of walks for reflection and prayer time, I suppose we think of lovely, lonely places far away from people and pollution and clamor.
I like these too, and there are these places, even in Nice. There are olive groves, historic neighborhoods, rose gardens, and hills.

But the reality of my life now is that my walk is this busy European city street. It's a walk that is part of the pattern of my life. I don't have to plan it into my schedule or go out of my way to make time for it. It is my schedule.

Rainy Day

I stood and prayed in the rain as a life came to an end yesterday.

An elderly woman had attempted to cross the street several meters away from the cross walk. The driver of the van ran over her. I read today in the paper that the emergency workers had to extract her from under the vehicle.

I watched as they administered c.p.r. under a shiny, metallic tarp and transferred her to the ambulance. I prayed for her family and for the driver.

The paper said she was eighty years old and that the driver was taken to a hospital in a state of shock.

My Neighborhood

I love my neighborhood.

During our first few weeks in Nice, we were short a few appliances, so we frequented the combination dry cleaners/self-service laundromat a few doors down. Like most of the shops on our street, it is is run by a couple. I went with Anna one day, and the owner lady fetched her dog from behind the counter, grabbed a handful of dog treats, and let Anna feed Gypsy, the shop dog. We often pass them on the street when we are coming home from school at midday. She ALWAYS stops to let Justin hold the leash and Anna pet the dog. She also gave us a free circus coupon when the circus was in town.

A couple blocks down the street we have a Speed Rabbit Pizza (or Pizza Labbit according to Anna) take out/delivery place. It’s just like Pizza Hut pizza. In any case, we are on a first name basis with the employees, and we don’t have to tell them anymore what the order is—we’re regulars. The kids always want to go—not so that they can help with the pizzas, but to see Alexia and their other friends who work there.

I went and ordered a dinner from the Chinese/Vietnamese restaurant downstairs Saturday night. We haven’t taken advantage of this restaurant too often. Just twice, I think. Nonetheless, when they couldn’t find a disposable container for the soup, they loaned me a Tupperware container. Just asked me to return it when I could.

There’s a homeless man often in front of the grocery store down the street who sells poetry. I don’t know if anyone buys it. I always refuse, but I still think it’s rather charming.

So, there you go, a few of the people and places that are making 111 bis Boulevard Gambetta home.