Life on foot – Virginia style

The Driver loves to walk. Last year on the other side of the ocean we covered every possible byway in the streets around their high-rise. Now, living in a townhouse in suburban DC, she’s still finding life on foot to her pleasure.

This morning we set out for the shopping center nearby. Boy Blue, not so little any more, is ensconced in his Combi stroller. Built for Japanese children, he’s swiftly outgrowing it. Purchased in Asia specifically to fit through train stiles and onto busses, it has served well on this side of the world as well, but the boy, well, he’s definitely isn’t Asian weight. The larger jogging stroller fits him better now but this one, so compact, maneuvers better in tight stores.

We leave the townhouse and walk up to the corner, keeping to the deep shade in the warmth of a late September midday. At the crosswalk we encounter three grandmothers sitting in the grass, chatting.

“Chinese?” I question, going by their faces since I can’t hear their conversation.
“Maybe, maybe not. We’ve got so many different Asians here. Maybe Korean.”
“There are your babysitters,” I venture, knowing how hard it is to find sitters when you are new to a neighborhood, and how much Boy Blue loves Asian grandmothers.
“Don’t I wish,” says the Driver. “But if they don’t speak any English and there was a problem, how would they call me?”

We cross when the white man comes on and head to the jewelry store to get our rings checked. A gracious Lebanese man greets us warmly, and talks as if we were old friends. He gives us a lesson on old mine cut diamonds we both wear.

Next is a run into CVS, ubiquitous in this country. We find foot cream, and then look for cards. This weekend would have been the 7th birthday of our little Keren, and we want to remember her, and her parents.

The next stop is the supermarket for fruit. Finishing there, we wander back across the street and take a different route home through the townhouse complex. On the way we pass various other ethnic neighbors in this typical DC neighborhood.

No big deal, perhaps, to walk to the store, but I realize that I tend to rush at home and not take the time to walk. A boy in a stroller makes a good excuse, but I need to remind myself that stroller or no, boy or not, I am better served by walking than by driving. The neighborhood here, or where I live, is not as fascinating as the one we left behind in Asia, but fascination or not, when one walks, one actually sees the neighborhood, meets the neighbors, and learns to appreciate the ups and downs of the topography.

Note to self. Walk more.