|Grande white taxi|
As you might notice from the photo, the doors have closing and opening issues. Mine today had flowery contact paper lining the inside of the door.
|Petite Red Taxi|
As a general rule, I really think we should say we are from Seattle, mention Bill Gates, and hope cab drivers like computers. It's just a thought. I'm going to try it the next time I am in a petite taxi.
Amazingly, Judy and I made it to a Kentucky Fried Chicken with the morose driver. We asked to be dropped off, and we did not quibble with the price. Happy to still be alive, we did not eat at the KFC; we had heard the chicken wasn't very good. Gosh, they probably got it off the side of the road....I have told you about the live chickens you can buy on the side of the road to cook up for supper, haven't I?
Judy and I walked a few blocks and easily found The Palace. They ushered us right in; Judy was whisked away for her hair issues, and I asked if I could have a pedicure. Certainly, Madame. They give pedicures differently here. A pretty young woman pulled out one of those spa pans you get at Walgreens or Rite-Aid, but it was not electric. She had filled it with a bit of sudsy water, and I plopped my beach worn, Morocco dusty feet into the container.
She asked me how I had destroyed my feet as I sat on a stiff chair with one foot up as high as I could put it comfortably. I meekly said something about the plage(beach), but it was a lame excuse. I have been wearing my Ann Taylor Loft flip-flops for 6 weeks non-stop? I had other things higher on the list to do? I have a hereditary problem with leather feet? I just smiled weakly instead and began working on a drawing.
The beautician really whipped my feet into shape. I want to go to her every week, maybe twice a week. However, I probably will never see her again. I do know where the Palace is now, and they do make me feel pretty special when I arrive.
Oh, wonder of wonders, after a great little lunch at a French cafe (eating outside! as women) we WALKED about 1/2 hour or more through rather poor neighborhoods to the area of the art supply store. The framer was not in, but the art store was hopping. We found out later that today is "back to school" days and payday as well. People were packed into the store like sardines or oil pastels in a box.
The owner took a personal interest in my needs, I had met him in the quiet of the summer when I had first arrived, so I was able to secure 3 canvases for my personal use along with some tubes of paint. He gave me a terrific discount because I am an art teacher. This made me joyful more deeply than you might be able to understand. He said he'd deliver the canvases Tuesday. (That could be any Tuesday in the calendar year. Trust me on this.)
We left the art store happy that we had accomplished so much today in a city of millions of people, even successfully enduring some who don't like Americans.
(Most seem very friendly.)
We grabbed a petite, red taxi after leaving the art store and had a really nice driver. Then we piled into a grande, white taxi for our ride to the school. The back seat was filled with women covered in neatly wrapped head coverings and long Jellabas. We smiled happily at each other.
|Sunflowers, my favorite, in Morocco!|
(Learning to get around town is a very good skill.) Good night from Morocco!
Yes, I will tell the next generation
the praiseworthy deeds of the LORD,
his power, and the wonders he has done.