sunshine

There are vast oceans between continents and great distances from north to south, but ultimately, we are not separated by much. That is to say the people of one corner of the planet have the capacity to mold themselves in much the same fashion (they have the same vulnerabilities, the same emotions) as the people of a very distant region. I have to think that if Americans are being seen right now as "callous, sadistic, full of misplaced grievances and utterly resistant to introspection" (NYT commenter from Canada, who can hardly be faulted for viewing us this way), well this is because all of us have the potential to become that, and many over the centuries have indeed strayed in exactly this direction. It did not serve them well in the end, but hey, they surely were beasts before their ultimate fall.

As I keep reading reactions to the events as they unfold here, in the U.S., I see that some Americans feel unfairly chastised: "I did not vote for this and neither did 77.5 million Americans" they say. Maybe, but here's another truth: nearly 90 million eligible people did not vote at all in 2024, which is to say that nearly all of those fellow Americans were okay with handing over the presidency to the person now in charge (they did nothing to try to stop it), and of course 77 million positively endorsed the team now running the show. So tally the numbers: 167 million were at least okay with putting at the top the person who is in fact legitimately captain of this (sinking?) ship (unless you think that actually Elon is in charge and of course he got 0 votes, but that's another story). 77.5 million is not looking very sizable by comparison. 

I was born in Poland in 1953, then under a "communist" dictatorship. We didn't legitimately vote for that, it was forced upon us and though some tried to eek out the best possible outcome given what we were stuck with (my father was such a person I think), most just concentrated on getting by, because really, it was a challenge! And we did not get much sympathy for our plight from the rest of the world. Ultimately Poland dug its way out of that horrible autocratic era on its own, though it was helped by history handing us for once a deck of cards that allowed things to fall into place with some but not too much violence. But this much is clear: we couldn't be called "callous, sadistic, full of misplaced grievances and utterly resistant to introspection," because really it was not our fault. Later, as Poland once again toyed with a dictatorship, you could point fingers at those who voted in favor of it, but in the end the majority, and I mean a real majority of voters spoke and the autocratic beast was pushed aside. Sure, this is my reading of history, but I think most would agree with this narrative.

So what I thought deeply about this morning is this: how does it feel to live in a country where a vast majority of the people (167 million!) either voted for or indirectly supported what we have now?

To me it feels like something that could happen anywhere at this moment in time. To repeat, we all have the potential to become "callous, sadistic, full of misplaced grievances and utterly resistant to introspection." None of us is above being selfish, and when pushed, we can all take on behaviors that would make our grandmothers wince (or my grandmother wince, because she was such a sweet person!). Nonetheless, it feels awful to know that your country now leads the way in this world in being "callous, sadistic, full of misplaced grievances and utterly resistant to introspection." Yes it could happen anywhere, but it happened here, among my fellow country men and women. This is what pains Ed as well -- that the vast majority chose or at least was okay -- is okay -- with what is happening in America right now. And once more, I feel compelled to go on record here on Ocean to say that we, us two, are not okay with what is happening in America right now. Sort of like a bulletin being flashed on your TV screen (remember when that happened, in the olden days?!) -- we interrupt the regularly scheduled programing to bring you this special bulletin, so too here, on Ocean, I feel the need to flash our bulletin, even as Ocean remains apolitical and is a friend to all good and kind humans everywhere -- and here it is -- we are not okay with this! 

 

It's cold out there today! I feel it when I go out to feed the animals. It's before dawn. Another one of those nights where I may as well get up and get going because I'm not going to get any more sleep. But oh, do we have a pretty sky! I do think south central Wisconsin rules in terms of big beautiful skies! (Fine, that makes no sense, but it sure looks that way to me!)

 

We eat breakfast. No gloom today. It's not that we're getting used to what's happening, it's just that one cant ignore the tulips blooming on the table and the utter deliciousness of a cinnamon roll from Madison Sourdough.

Even though it is only 14f (-10c) out there and the wind is making it feel like it's really 0f (-18 c), I urge us to go out for  a walk. And we do. To the development next to us because it's close and there are buildings to shield us from the wind. Still, I feel like Ed came very close to significant frost bite! (I had my face covered by a scarf, but the guy doesn't own or acknowledge the need for scarves.)

(looking back toward farmette lands)

More reading and some munching followed, and now it's time to pick up the kids.

There is talk (among the young ones) about getting ice cream. I get cold just thinking about it. I postpone it for another day.

What really made this day more bearable weather-wise was the amount of sunshine that came our way. Even a thin haze in the afternoon failed to make this day seem gloomy. There is a special kind of magic behind February sunshine and I was thrilled to feel that magic today. 

Still, it was cold. Split pea and lentil soup for supper! Yeah, a perfect night for it.

with love...

tears and croissants

How does breakfast fit into your day? Think about it: do you care at all about its content? It's presentation? I ask, because for me, over the years, this meal has had a wild ride. And I wonder why. After all, it's just breakfast. And yet, I seem to have infused it with some special meaning and whole lot of emotion.

I don't remember breakfasts before moving from my grandparents' home in deeply rural Poland to my parents apartment in Warsaw. But once I relocated to Warsaw at age three, I have it firmly in my memory bank: breakfast then was at the daycare where I spent virtually all my waking hours. And it was awful. At least I thought it was awful. Milk soup with rice. That kind of thing. I hated the smell and the taste. I'm sure I hardly ate any of it.

When we moved to New York (age 7 for me), my mother was the breakfast fixer and I continued to hate the meal. She was, understandably, concerned about vitamins and such and so she insisted we start the day with half a grapefruit. Guess who hated to start the day with half a grapefruit? The cereal that followed was no better. (To this day I dont get Americans' love of flakes and crispies mushed up in cold milk.) 

But in the summers, I was back at my grandmother's house and her breakfasts in my eyes then were... sublime. Oatmeal, white bortsch, bread toasted on a wood burning stove-top, ozzing with melted cheese. Or, with white cheese and a local honey. Bowls of berries, also drizzled with honey. Warm tea with fruit compote. All eaten on the verandah, with sunlight coming in on two sides. Heaven on earth!

Later, in my adult life, breakfast was a blur. Getting the kids off to school and myself off to work did me in. I dont even know what I ate. I'm sure there was a lot of coffee in the deal.

Once the kids were out of the house and I started in on my life with Ed (sounds like a TV sitcom, so? "My Life With Ed"), breakfast became important. No, make that super important. I connected to him in those early hours over morning foods. The berries from my grandmother's time returned to the table. As did the oatmeal. And of course, I added croissants. And granola for variety. I am back to this equation: breakfast = sublime pleasure.

So it is no surprise that after another too-short-a-night (Ed's cough), after feeding the animals and walking the farmette lands...

... I got in the car on this drizzly, just a degree above freezing, very misty day...

 

 

... and drove to get croissants at Madison Sourdough.

It would have been a beautiful set of minutes, except that I kept the radio on and of course in the early morning hours, NPR carries news of the day and the news was so... miserable! Such meanness we are capable of! Brutal acts with consequences to poor helpless souls all over the world. Who are we as a people? How can we do this stuff?

I came back in tears. 

And so, yes,  breakfast was beautiful. Delicious.

But it was tainted by the news of the day. True, it was comforting to sit across the table from Ed. But, he is already glum about it all, so he suggested maybe we put these topics on hold and talk instead about jams and other innocuous things (we have had many long and beautiful conversations about jams and other innocuous things), but this made me tear up even more because of course I'm this postwar child who was born after my country of birth endured horrors, and listening to how others are now victimized and treated with scorn and labeled as radical lunatics and worse (because they feed starving families) -- well, this just isn't going to sit well with me, because I know what this leads to, this hatred of others and I dont want to be a part of it in any way. And so this is why Ocean is a bit off course this morning: I feel compelled to write about those tears, the sadness that I have because of what so many of us, here in this country, are willing to do to others who are just trying to work hard and raise families and have a chance at a modestly okay life.

We ended breakfast with Ed reminding me that perhaps buying less right now would be a good thing. I'm not sure I entirely follow that logic, but of course, since I've been traveling so much, I'm already not in a spending mode because the retirement purse is only so big. 

For the rest of the morning I lose myself in reading about far away places. Where people do good things and live good lives with open hearts and willing hands.

And in the afternoon, I pick up the two kids after school.

Mondays are ballet days for the girl and in the evening I was to drop the boy in one place, and the girl in another (for her class), but someone left her ballet things in her school cubby, so we did none of that. I didn't mind the extra time with the kids at the farmhouse: I started reading a new book to her (but he listens in, only sometimes he pretends not to) and it's another winner and honestly, there is no better way to spend a late afternoon than on the couch, with a winner book and winner kids.  

For supper I cook up some eggs from our once again laying hens and now I am right back on the couch, with Ed, and this, too, is a good moment, a special moment, belonging to the very best: just him and me and the occasional cat. And a piece of chocolate to end the day.

with so much love...

sleep, interrupted

Typically I can recover from a nighttime disturbance. I wake up, take note, go back to sleep. But four disturbances all within minutes of each other? If you can doze off after that, you're a better sleeper than I am.

There was Ed's cough (he is still recovering from his bout with Covid... or something else... in any event, still hackin' away). Then there was the beeping of his phone -- there are multiple ongoing exchanges with the CEO of the machine company Ed works with, because, you know, next week's tariffs, which will lead to fewer machines for educational facilities, for manufacturing companies, and for independent machinists, and higher prices for all, in addition to a certainty of layoffs at his company, and possible closing doors to production, period, will make America... what did you say? great?... again? And this is when my phone started beeping because my grocery shopper needed to tell me that a good chunk of my groceries, scheduled for delivery at 7 a.m., were no longer available. Tomatoes, for example, which is sort of ironic considering that tomatoes will surely be a problem after the tariffs, but then here we are -- suffering empty tomato shelves even before the crisis begins. And finally -- the cats. Ed had spoiled them in my absence by leaving the bedroom door open, so naturally, they're meowing and scratching at it now that I closed it firmly shut for the night. I could add to this list the buzzing of a box elder beetle, but I do think that I would have slept through that one under normal circumstances. This night, however, was not normal. And so this morning we are just plain sleep deprived.

A light dusting of snow covered the farmette lands overnight. You're probably thinking -- oh how nice, you got your wish! I can't say that I did. We are to have a one day warm up (if you call 45 F/7C warm, though I suppose it is quite warm considering this is February and I live in Wisconsin) and so by noon all this will be gone and we will return to a sullenly dark landscape. But for the early hours of the morning, enjoy!

(what? enjoy? no! we don't like it!)

(pretty, maybe, but useless and fleeting)

I wait with breakfast until Ed is done with his calls (with the CEO guy). It isn't exactly a gloomy morning meal, but on the other hand, we're not cracking jokes either. Still, it's nice to be together and to know that whatever happens, this will be our lot -- a morning ritual repeated until I lose all interest in granola or oatmeal or croissants. Today it's granola because granola is, in my mind, a comfy crunchy food!

We had wanted to go biking today. I mean, it's above freezing! We've done it before in winter weather. But the lack of sunshine is just so off-putting! It makes cold seem colder. So we stayed glued to our screens until it was time for me to fix dinner and Ed to fix whatever broken thing he has lined up for that task.

Yes, the young family is once again here for Sunday dinner. 

(the youngest of the five...)

And it is lovely to see them. All of them.

And of course, once they leave and I've put away all that needs to be put away after family gatherings, I just want to crash because, well, we're sleep deprived! And yet, that pleasant hour or two on the couch with Ed -- it's irresistable! But please -- cats, phones, box elder beetles -- stay away from me tonight! I need the week to get off to a good start.

woth love...

home

You have to really love your home life to feel happy about returning to it after a trip to some of your favorite places. Love your routines. Love the life you live for most days of the year.

And I do. All of it. I love waking up in the mornings to a farmhouse day and today is no different in that regard. 

The walk to the barn is on the early side. That's the seven hour time difference for you: sleepy early in the evening, wakeful before it's time to get up. But I don't mind that! It's a schedule I can live with.

Pretty sky!

I appreciate it all the more since not much about the landscape is looking especially stunning these days. We've had no snow. Just cold temperatures. Below freezing (though the Arctic blast has moved on to blast someone else right now -- probably those living in the Arctic). Perfect weather for snow. And yet there is none.

I stall breakfast until Ed wakes up. I want his company today!

And then I do something that makes no sense, since really, I'm so satiated with my travel right now and am absolutely thrilled to be home. Despite that, I spend a couple of hours reconfiguring my next trip (which isn't to be for a several months). I'm always learning something new about what fits my habits, my energy levels, what sparks my travel fancy right now, and after this trip, I decided to make some changes to the ones before me. And that took time.

But here's a must-do for today: a walk with Ed. The guy's not in his best form. The Covid cold is still dragging on. And on. And of course, he's been sitting in the thick of all the political shock du jour while I've taken a partial break from it, reading the news once through each day and then putting it away. Occasionally in France I'd get that sympathetic shake of the head from people who'd ask where I'm from (and they always ask), but otherwise, across the ocean you really do feel you're in a different world. So when he asks if I want to take a longer walk -- over through the DNR lands just a couple of miles south of us, I'm totally agreeable. (Too, he wants to pick up and haul away several large tires discarded there by someone who obviously didn't want to pay the tire-throw-away fee. It feeds into his disgust with humans!) 

 

(a few fallen trees and branches add to the charm of this forest)

 

 

The walk is lovely. Really lovely. Perhaps not striking and without the beauty of, say, mountains after a snowfall, but still, we take in the forest and we are made whole by it.

The rest of the day is spent with one goal only: to do things without hurry. Suitcase not totally unpacked? Who cares. House not completely in order? Ho hum. Groceries, purchased online? Of course! You think I'm up for a shopping trip? Dinner, too, is indifferent. a slab of fish over a salad. The day is heavenly not in the detail, but in the attitude: I mean to go forward with ease, without rush. And so far, it's working out just splendidly!

with love...

returning home

Wake up before 6, out of our hotel room by 7. It's dark in Paris then. I take no photos -- I'm keeping the girl focused on moving along, on counting her stuffies. On being responsible for her two bags. Both purple! -- she tells me. Easy to keep track of. for a purple loving girl. 

We say goodbye to the Baume staff and cab over to the airport. Winter bags are too heavy for me to navigate through the commuter train system. The 10:30 long distance flights bring out hoards of people and it's always crowded at the airport at this early hour, but that's just the way it is. I still prefer this departure. Leave early and you get in early (expected arrival before 5 pm). Leave later and you drag in close to midnight. 

My airline loyalty serves me best at the Paris airport. Here I benefit from shorter lines and space to zone out. We eat breakfast, she plays Wordle. 

I think about how tired I was last night. Not the kind of tired where your legs ache and you want to sit down, but the kind of tired that comes with age, when nothing is functioning at optimal levels. Head spins, stomach churns. Travel is becoming like that for me: in the mornings I am raring to go. By evening, I'm a bowl of wet noodles. Limp. Soggy. Useless. I keep hoping I can keep this at bay, that I can keep traveling, alone, or with a grandchild. In the mornings I always think -- of course I can! In the evenings, I'm less confident.

 

We board our Delta flight to Detroit. This is probably the most traveled leg for me -- Delta to Detroit. I like Detroit best of all the entrance destinations (even though their TSA at International is awkward). The airport is rarely crazy busy. And the last leg from there to Madison is under an hour.

 

Her dad picks up a radiant Snowdrop. She just loved this trip -- up there with the one to the Italian lakes, she tells me. Maybe she is at heart a mountain goat? But one who still wants to see the world. She'll tick off countries she wants to visit. There are many.

We are home. Cats, chickens, Ed. All quiet. Such a contrast to the days that just flew by! It was a 24/7 watch over the girl. Total responsibility for her well being. She gives me plenty of downtime, but I'm always there for her. My focus, my energy is completely directed at keeping her excited, happy, in a learning mode. At home, I am responsible for feeding chickens and a few cats and occasionally Ed. That's it. When a challenging trip ends, if all goes well, I am hugely relieved. Satisfied. I wanted to create memories. I've done it and they were good. I'm so happy.

But, too, I am happy to be home with Ed in that bubble of quiet that we love to share. My time to think, to exhale. To smile at all that life has to offer. And most importantly -- I am so grateful that all went well, that all is well. 

with so much love...

two days in Paris

The rains recede, I see a little blue, the streets of Paris glisten. [Snowdrop asks: why do they literally wash the streets here? Why indeed. I've never known Paris not to spray down and sweep up its streets. Pride of place? Habit?]

We eat breakfast -- lots of croissants, breads. Our fill of it. It's our last breakfast in the city. Tomorrow before dawn we leave.

The girl feels comfortable here. She knows the place and they know her. 

But it's all fleeting of course. Tomorrow she will return to her routines. To her brothers. To her friends. One last chance to spend a day listening to her stories. To walk hand in hand.

 

 

 

But where to? She wants to get close to the Eiffel Tower. This is a recurring theme of her visits here. I never offer her a trip up to the top, even though I know she'd like it. I suppose she knows my limits. (I've gone up twice in my life and believe me, that was enough.)

We walk along my best paths. Past squares, past markets...

All the way to the Tower. It's an hour if you go without pauses, pictures and purchases. We had pauses, pictures and purchases.

Finally. We are there. 

 

 

 

I'm surprised to still see the fencing -- weren't they fixing up the parks by the Tower? Is this a very long-term project? Regardless. It's always special to be close to this structure. Surely every angle has been photographed by millions by now. And yet, we keep on taking pictures...

 

 

 

And now it's time to turn back. Snowdrop inspects every corner to make sure that no one is selling cotton candy (because in the busier seasons, you can count on it in the parks, and especially by the Tower). We talk about what to do next. Snowdrop had wanted a picnic by the Tower, but of course it's too cold for that (and the public spaces are mostly blocked off by fencing). She has the idea of picking up a baguette and fruits and treats at the Bon Marche food courts and maybe taking these back to the hotel room for a picnic there. But, too, she wants the merry-go-round at the Tuilerie Gardens. That's a lot of walking.

Can we take a taxi? 

No, Snowdrop. It's not raining. Let's not miss out on all that we see when we walk. 

I break things down: let's walk to the Tuileries. That's only maybe 20 minutes (a gross understatement -- it's maybe double that). Let's see how we feel after that.

We persevere. And are so glad to finally get to the very empty gardens! 

 

 

 

And triply happy to see the merry-go-round in motion. Every day, from 10 to 7! Reliable, with the same ticket seller there, rain or shine. (And I swear, we felt a few drops on our walk!)

Snowdrop looks awfully lonely on her horse, then airplane, then spinning cup. No other child in sight. 

Paris really is empty of tourists in January. Understandable, but on the other hand, it isn't that cold here. In the mid 40s F (maybe 7C). Positively spring weather by my Wisconsin sensibilities. 

Snowdrop gets lucky here: the merry-go-round guy also makes and sells cotton candy. Her dream realized!

From there she pushes for a taxi to the food courts, but I encourage her (more like bribe her) to continue. It's only 20 minutes more! (Another under-estimate.)

I have to say, when we finally enter the warm store (after several hours in the windy and cloudy and damp city), it feels like heaven! 

 

 

The deal is to get some strawberries -- she has been coveting them all over the city and I kept deflecting (we have to wash them! later! maybe tomorrow!) -- and a baguette and some of her favorite macarons. When she spots some currants, she adds those. 

 

 

I add a carrot salad for myself. We are set!

Can we take a taxi back to the hotel?

It's only 19 (um, more or less) minutes!

We walk.

Two more pauses -- at the spoon shop, and at the new little coffee vendor by the hotel. And finally, nearly 20 000 steps later (we both have counters and for once, it feels good to look down at the day's walking successes), we are in the hotel room. She swears she wont ever leave again. [I have to finish with my transportation card purchases, so I hop out for a few minutes on my own to the train/metro station. And I pick up some tea on the way! A walk in Paris, even a short walk in Paris, always is like this.]

Of course, she, too has to leave. In the evening, I booked dinner at Vita Ristorante. A new one for me. My pescatarian traveler is so much more flexible in her eating habits, but the typical French bistro will have five dishes -- three will be meats, one fish, and one vegetarian. Though she'll eat whatever fish is presented, not all will be her favorites. I  did not want to disappoint her on her last day of her trip, nor did I want to walk far for dinner. The Italian Vita seemed a great idea, made even better by the fact that it is in the direction of the Latin Quarter. At the last minute I looked up entrance tickets to Notre Dame and sure enough, there was a spot available for tonight. Snowdrop seemed excited by the idea of visiting the cathedral late at night. It's a plan!.

Vita is a good place, though I liked our opening fried mix more than I liked my pasta with shrimp. Importantly though, Snowdrop's main dish -- pizza -- was delightful.

The walk to Notre Dame at night:

I was amused that they required tickets and that it was so difficult to claim some, because no one checked ours and there was no line to get inside. Moreover, though Snowdrop was somewhat awed by the grand interior, much of Notre Dame's beauty is in the detail on the outside, and in the stained glass windows -- all this was lost on us.  I'm glad we saw it, but honestly, if you're going to make a point of exploring the cathedral, do it in daylight! Of course, the adventure of being out on the island late at night, just before a return home, was wonderful. Snowdrop was all smiles.

A late at night walk back... 

 

 

 

... to our sweet room at the Baume. Early tomorrow we will be on our way to Detroit, then Madison. My next post will be from the farmhouse.

with so much love...

two days in Paris

There will be rain after the noon hour, but in the morning we wake up to a pretty, rose tinted sky. One could sing a song about it!

We are in Paris. Staying in the lovely Hotel Baume, in a room with big windows looking out onto a quiet street. And the Theater Odeon. 

 

 

Breakfast downstairs. Familiar baskets of breads and croissants for me, smoked salmon for the girl. 

And then what? 

 

 

 

Well, importantly, she races me six floors up to our room. This is a game she loves to play at the Baume: use the stairs no matter what. Well, I got mountain legs now! But so does she.

I made a list for our two days here. There are essentials and there are possibilities. Spread out over the Left Bank. How much will we accomplish? I cannot tell.

We both agree that we should start with the Luxembourg Gardens. Just to say hello. And to greet the distant Eiffel Tower.

I then steer her to the metro/train station at the Luxembourg gates. I am trying to figure out Paris's ever-changing Navigo travel card system. There has been a gradual shift toward using cards rather than individual tickets and you just cant keep up with it, or protect yourself by making advance purchases, because chances are it will all be different the next time you're here. This has happened to me far too often and I am determined to get the details straight, since I know that 2025 ushered in something new for travelers. 

In the end, I sort of get it. It seems unnecessarily complicated and I way prefer systems in place in Chicago or London where you can load money onto cards and then just spend it down. (Or Poland -- where people my age travel for free!) We'll see if it all shifts once again before I am next here (in a couple of months!).

We are a short walk away from a bookstore called Shakespeare and Company (which happens to be very close to the Notre Dame...)

 

 

 

We go to the bookstore now. 

It's a special place and it has a long history of supporting new and aspiring writers. Snowdrop is less intrigued by this, but she does like the Shakespearean emphasis (at least in the name) and she is delighted to find one of his plays published in a graphic novel, and another sold in its full version.

I'm interested in the other books (and there are many!), but in the end we cut our visit short. We're not in Paris long enough to blow time this way. We need to do some city walks!

 

We go back to the gardens. The girl insists on this and at first I'm puzzled because it is January and there's not much in bloom here now, nor is it warm enough to stroll leisurely. 

 

 

 

I should have known: she so much wants to do their merry-go-round, with the stick that catches the ring.

 

And she wants so much to do the playground...

I shiver at this one -- she moves, I wait. It's not a great January grandmother hangout place. But, she just has to work through all the structures! Fair enough. She has her Paris faves. I'm accommodating.

From there, we go to the shopping area -- the one that yields the most clothing for my grandkids -- starting with a store that has all those cotton tops the kids love and the parents love as well. 

 

(spring=soon)

 

 

Five kids, many tops, bags full.

Now it really is lunch time. Paris and lunch -- you have to play by the rules. But Snowdrop so wants to take a look at the department store toys and we are right there!

We look at toys.

And now we do hurry. We are close enough to Cafe Varenne -- my favorite lunch place in Paris -- but it is raining and the sidewalks are narrow and my bags are bulging and the umbrella sways a little this way and that way as I try to keep the two of us and all my bundles dry. 

And when we arrive -- perfectly at 1, so proper, so French -- the place is bursting at the seams with diners, because of course everyone eats exactly now.  So it's crowded. And the owners run this place so well that you never feel like it's going to be a long wait. Five minutes -- they tell us (and the next entrants and the ones after). And it really is five minutes.

Snowdrop is a bit overwhelmed by the tumult. By the proximity of the tables. By the tight squeeze for our shopping bags. But I let her get away with a lunch of French green beans (many green beans) and fries (many french fries) and she relaxes.

 

The couple to our side engage us. Because of my camera (he knows it and likes it) and because of my mixture of French (with the waiter) and American English (with the girl). The woman is herself American, but she is living in France now and dating this very French camera loving guy. After learning I travel here often, he asks me -- why dont you just buy an apartment here? 

So funny. The short answer is that I love being with my family and Ed back home. There was a time when I thought having a tiny place here would be the epitome of luxury: a vacation pad in Paris! Something to save up for! A little studio on a quiet Left Bank street. Or just out of town.

I never did save up for it and I am so glad I fell short! Second homes, vacation flats, cottages by the lake, by the sea, in the mountains -- they tie you down and they take you away from those you love. And they require upkeep and commitment. What about any of this sounds good to you? 

I smile, tell the French man that I love coming here, to his Paris, but I love my family and my guy even more.

Next stop for us? The candy store next door for their caramels and chocolates!

 

And now here's a problem: I'm loaded with bags. Books, clothes, candies. And we have tickets for the Musee d'Orsay for 3:30. You cant lug this stuff inside a museum. And it's raining hard. 

We cab back to the hotel, I leave our stuff, and then we're out again, hurrying to make our entrance slot to the museum. (I asked her if maybe she'd like to skip the museum, but she is insistent. She really does like paintings and especially Impressionism and especially Monet.)

At this late hour, the museum is starting to empty out. There's no line to go in and there's plenty of space to move around our favorite canvases.

(Gaga! I stood on this bridge!)

 

Home again. Yes, it feels like home. Here's an example: yesterday, Snowdrop and I entered the Baume and she was in tears, realizing that she had left her favorite special cat decorated water bottle in the cab. She recovered, she apologized, but the desk staff took note. This afternoon, we find a big beautiful water bottle in the room, with dogs and cats and even a purple spout. That's how kind they are at Le Baume.

 

We eat dinner at Seulement Sea. I've written about it before: small, close by, and all about seafood. Snowdrop is thrilled -- all seafood? no meat? really??

For starters she wants oysters. Part of me thinks she's mixing them up with mussels, so I explain the difference. Still, she wants to try the briny salty oysters. And she loves them!

Cod with fries...

Chocolate mousse for dessert. Total happiness. 

We leave to walk back to the Baume. It's still raining outside. 

No matter. It's not a long walk and the rain will end tonight. And we're in step now. One umbrella, two of us, walking home to our warm room on the fifth floor of Le Baume.

with love...