It’s been a wet, rainy day in Nantes, drizzle throughout punctuated by periods of hard rain and wind. I’ve loved every minute of it. It’s actually one of the days I dreamed of when I knew we’d be living in France for a year. Why would I imagine a dreary fall day? Because it’s just the opposite of what you typically imagine when you think of going somewhere. Days like this are stored away, kept only for residents, not shared with visitors. Getting a day like this proves to me that I actually am living in France, not just visiting.
Here’s another thing. We have a house and in front of that house is a mailbox and on that mailbox are our names. Our names. On a mailbox. In front of a house. In France. And each day this lovely gentleman with an enormous smile bicycles along our sidewalk delivering the mail. Yes, our mailman travels by bike. And with him every day is his faithful dog, an Irish Setter. Yesterday, which was a pleasant fall day, the dog trailed behind the mailman, stopping to sniff places and do typical dog things, whatever those are. The mailman just rode on ahead, confident his dog would catch up. Today, however, the dog was in the lead, seemingly wishing his human companion to hurry up. I took this picture from our window, aiming across the street. I could almost hear the dog saying, “C’mon. Do you have to stop at EVERY house? Can’t we go home? Why are we out in this rain?”
Because you are a resident. You live here. Like me.