Lazy Sunday

This morning, we walked over to our local open air market and bought the supplies for a picnic lunch. Lilian came with us this time, and it was so heartening to see them come out of their shell a bit as they chatted with the flower vendor. The way it works is you pick flowers by the bundle, you tell the vendor what you want, and then some nice women cut them all to size and bundle them up in paper for you. We picked orange dahlias, and they included a few red blossoms in our bouquet as well. I learned a new vocabulary word: “nid d’abeille.” It means honeycomb, and it’s how the vendor described the texture of the dahlias that we purchased (as opposed to other ones that had larger petals).

At the marché, you don’t generally pick up your own produce. Instead, you exchange some pleasantries with the vendor, and then you tell them what you want. It’s a little intimidating at first, but we’re all starting to get the hang of it. The flower vendor was so nice, Lilian got up the courage to speak with other vendors as well. I think it’s a lot easier to be happy and social when you’re carrying a lovely little bouquet!

I read once that the social niceties of small talk and prescribed social interactions contribute to our sense of well-being and community. It’s one of the reasons (among many others!) that so many of us suffered during the lockdowns. I’m sure there will be days where I just want someone to give me some food because I’m hangry. But, one of the reasons that Kristian and I wanted to make this move is that we love the rhythm of daily life in France. Daily social interactions with the folks who bake your bread and produce your cheese is definitely part of that.

After packing up our supplies, we took a half hour walk to the northern part of the city and the “Parc de la Tête d’or.” It was a peaceful, quiet walk, it being Sunday and all. It also gave us a chance to show Lilian what a couple other neighborhoods are like. I’m pretty sure I’m going to get outvoted and we’re going to look for an apartment that’s not quite as central, but in a quieter neighborhood.

The Park of the Head of Gold is a 290 acre park, where there is a botanical garden, a zoo, a pond, and a whole lot of children asking their grownups to buy them ice cream (or cotton candy, which is translated literally from french as “daddy’s beard”).

We sat on a bench to eat our sandwiches, and then we put up my camping hammock in a shady spot and spent a couple hours relaxing.

Kristian: “Ummm, is putting up hammock a thing here?”

Me: “I don’t know, but I also don’t really care.”

(For the record, nobody gave us any funny looks).

(Although an awful lot of small children tried to break free from their parents to pet our dog).

The park gets fairly crowded, because there aren’t a lot of parks in Lyon. They’re planting a lot more trees, but most of the city parks have minimal shade, and very little grass. Although, based on the number of times I heard Lilian say “ooooh that’s a nice looking playground” on our walk today, the playground equipment is pretty sweet.

By downsizing from a house to an apartment, I hope that we’ll have more time to spend outside in parks. It’s going to take me some time to get used to the idea that I can while away a Sunday in a hammock. Especially after the last few weeks of packing and planning, it was difficult to let myself relax. There’s still a part of me that feels like I need to tick a bunch of stuff off a list. My hope is that my own awareness of this tendency will help me to let go.

It also doesn’t hurt that I was reading the New Yorker in my hammock and one of the articles was about the psychological impact of perfectionism…

We spent the rest of the afternoon chilling at home. I worked on some knitting, and Lilian wrote postcards. They’ve decided that Sundays should be postcard days, as a way to maintain a connection to folks back home. I’m open to accepting bribes in exchange for suggesting that you be added to the correspondence list. Once we’re in a more permanent apartment, you can send us mail as well!