Nice is nice

I had the opportunity to travel to Nice, France last weekend. I attended a conference for educators with some colleagues from school. We were there to attend workshops and shop for math and language resources for our school.

We arrived late Thursday night without our luggage as the airline could not manage to get both passengers and bags to the same place on the same plane at the same time. The luggage is a story in itself, but that is not the story I want to tell here.

I was wndering around the exhibition part of the conference where there were publishing companies, software companies, travel companies and then this booth with John Farrell, Peace. I looked at some literature on his table and saw that he had some organization that was interested in promoting peace. He is a musician and had a guitar on his lap and a bunch of CD's with his name on the laying on the table. My interest here is related to my work as a teacher as I will be teaching a unit on peace this year. The unit is an exhibition unit in which the children must take some kind of action. I wondered if John's project Bridges of Peace could be something to introduce to the kids. John tells me he is form upstate New York but also has a home in PEI. Knowing as all Canadians do that everyone knows everyone in PEI, and that a good friend from the Soo is a PEI musician, I asked John if he knew Bradley. He relpied that Bradley is a very good friend and played on his latest CD. I was stunned. I mean, I am standing in a conference centre in the middle of a city on the French Riviera and in front of me is a man who knows well one of my childhood friends who grew up across the street. What are the chances? Pretty good, it looks.

Anyway, John and I had a good talk, he played me some of his songs and we are definitely going to connect on this project because it fits so well with the IBO's educational approach and philosphy. I hope too to get him to the school to do some music workshops with the kids. The guy who took our picture was an officer in the British army. He served in Bosnia in the 90's. He now runs an organization that has shut down state run 'orphanages' in Romania. You may remember that after Ceausescu was overthrown and killed the first images the west received were of the thousands of children kept in bondage and prison like conditions. He has managed to work with local agencies in Romania and close the last of these institutions. He has worked with the current government to set up alternative residences for the most severely affected children and adults, and reunited those who still had family alive with their relatives. Brave work.

It was a great weekend in all. Nice is nice. Splendid actually. 20 degrees in late November. Nice.

That's the news from here this week.

The Hospital, the Angel and the Hearbeat.

I thought I would be writing in this entry about all of the hospital visits and tests that I have had in the past few weeks. However, even the story about the brain scan I had, and paid for under the table, (10$) doesn’t compare to hearing the heart beat of your child inside of the mother’s womb.

Masha is now nearly 17 weeks. Today I went with her to her monthly check-up and met the lovely Doctor Ludmilla. This woman is an angel. We arrived 30 minutes late and she immediately took Masha by the hand and assured her that everything was fine; don’t worry about being late, let’s go get your tests done, etc. She could see Masha was somewhat stressed from spending too long in traffic and that she was worried about missing her ultrasound appointment. Ludmilla the angel immediately put Masha at ease as she lead her down the hall to her office.

In the office Masha sat on the table which had the back raised so she could sit comfortably. The nurse came in and drew some blood, and followed with a blood pressure check. The doctor then turned on the heart monitor machine and placed the Doppler on Masha’s stomach. I have never heard anything like it. The striking of a snare drum from inside a bag of water, maybe. But definitely the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. Immediately tears start streaming down my face and Ludmilla the angel says with a heavy and smoky accent that I am not the first man to cry in this office. Da!

Then, we got in the clinic car, with the clinic driver and Ludmilla and drive to another hospital to get an ultra sound. Traffic in Kiev is at its peak awful but we make it there in time. The doctor is waiting. We leave our coats at the coat check and head to the ultrasound room with Ludmilla who is still holding Masha’s hand and offering her advice and insight and the reassurance that is so necessary for a mother who is expecting her first.

The ultrasound room is, well, like an ultrasound room is, I suppose. Bed, machine, a woman behind a desk. The doctor sticks the Doppler on her belly and pushes and moves it and looks at the screen and starts telling Ludmilla and Masha what he sees. Masha is prostrate looking up at a screen where she can see the ultrasound picture and I am peering over the doctor’s shoulder wondering what the hell that is on the screen. He is telling Masha how many centimeters, that he sees 2 kidneys, two hands, etc. And then I see this teeny weeny little heart pounding out a steady double beat.

The doctor assures us all is well and we pack up and head out, back to the car which returns the doctor to her apartment and us to the metro. It has been quite a day, as you may well imagine

As a side note, I am off to Nice to attend a conference with a huge smile on my face. My mother is knitting in blue even before learning any concrete news. The weather is warming here, again. Our apartment is coming along, slowly, but we are hopeful for a 2007 move in date! In the meantime, we have names to think about.

That’s the news from here this week.