We'll Always Have Holiday in Paris....A Continuing Journal
Jan 6th, 2005, 02:53 AM
#81
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My I call you O, I know it is very familiar but, I feel that OO is too coarse for your deep relationship. And you can call me Fam or Unce or Unclear, whatever.
I realize how trying securite is since every time I go through the metal detector, it buzzes like a fire alarm, and I tell the securite people that it is the metal plate in my head, but, alors, they do not believe me.
Adiue mon ami, Mon O
Remember, we'll always have Paree
I realize how trying securite is since every time I go through the metal detector, it buzzes like a fire alarm, and I tell the securite people that it is the metal plate in my head, but, alors, they do not believe me.
Adiue mon ami, Mon O
Remember, we'll always have Paree
Jan 6th, 2005, 06:04 AM
#83
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".... and in my long winded style, I say thanks. Whew!! I must learn shortness,...."
<i>No no, please Uncle Art, keep your "long winded style" it is just perfect!
Thank you for this daily entertainment! Even more timely as we are going back to Paris in March
Scarlett
</i>
<i>No no, please Uncle Art, keep your "long winded style" it is just perfect!
Thank you for this daily entertainment! Even more timely as we are going back to Paris in March
Scarlett</i>
Jan 6th, 2005, 08:46 AM
#84
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Hiya Gang,
This is my next to last posting and I really do appreciate the comments. Here we go, it's a long one....enjoy
Subject : Trip to Fontainebleau. Not the Hotel, dummy
| | | Inbox
After my fiasco of Versailles, I made it a point not to get on the wrong train and it wasnt easy for me to make sure I got to Moret which outside of Fontainbleau where I was going for a luncheon.
I bought tickets and asked many times, and did I got on the right train? Yes it was!
The train was fairly empty, I opened my Coca Cola light and began to read my trusty recycled Reader's Digest when I was tapped on the shoulder, not tapped but pushed. Being the good American Tourist I did not say "What the Hell Are You Doing?" or something like that in French. I turned around and it was a good thing since she was blind. She was searching for the seat with her metal white cane and hit but no apology.
She was about fifty,short,.round face slighty cartoonish with rosy round cheeks, her eyes were small, and her pupils opaque and dead looking,she was wearing a ligh blue scarf. She pulled a Braille book out of a huge blue bag same color as her shawl. It's fitting since Braille was a Frenchman who created it. And for another reason, an odd one for me as luck would have it.
Some of you may remember that I was a film producer for the American Foundation For the Blind, and learned a great deal abou blindness, and I wanted to speak to her but, of course, I couldnt. She knew that there were empty seats but she chose a seat across from a person who knows about blindness.
Immediately as she began to read, I knew she must have been blind for some time because she read rapidly, many who have been sighted for some time and lose thier vision, find it difficult to read Braille. I have seen many blind people reading braille but not as swiftly and without making mistakes. She was very good.
She also had no blindisms,i.e., symptoms of being blind at birth, e.g.head bobbin, eyes rollinglling from side to side. I can only thinks that means she was probably went blind at about six or seven maybe later. She did not look at her book but stared at where I was sitting. I knew she couldnt see me and her staring at me wasn't meant to be rude. She brought to mind either a photograph or a Dutch painting of a blind woman in a shawl who epitomised the sadness connected with being blind,
As the train picked up speed, and this really surprized me, she began to read faster, keeping some sort of inner timing to the rapidity of the train. I have never seen a blind person read as fast. Along the way, she reached into her blue bag, pulled out an aluminum wrapped sandwich and a banana and tucked them next her hip, to secure them. Maybe she thought I would steal them since she was aware of me because when I swallowed my Cocacola light it was with a gulping sound. (the train engineer could have heard it)
It is what I call a "bread and butter" obligation. I met Justine, a friend of my niece, Ronni, and she spent the night at my place. However, I remember her vaguely, but Ronni kept emailing me that I should go. (Especially after the post Xmas email) I could her saying, "It will cheer you up, Unkie" I was quite happy,
However, I had some recurring attacks of vertigo and had been home bound for two days and wasnt in the mood to tavel. Justine that offered we would have lunch at her place and then on to Fontainebleu. It sounded that it couldnt be half bad. I would eat and then quickly and politely suggest we go to Fontainebleau
She picked me up in one of those small French cars and drove through Moret rather much like some Gran Prix driver. She and I chatted about Ronni , my home exchange as we drove for miles , it seemed, with the black winter Fontainebleau on my right. It reminded me of unhappy times in Germany and I was had on my memory earphones and barely heard her.
On the way, she said she had her own river.
Then, to explain, she said her home was an old mill.
How old? She wasnt sure but a bishop or priest diverted a river so it would go to the mill, but maybe 14th or 15th century. I have a painful memory of going to a B and B Mill House in New Paltz, NY with my ex=wife, Susan. The Mill House was not in the B and B and we argued about who did not ask the right question. You must get the painful image a mill house brings to...to say nothing of the end of the first Frankenstein!
We pulled up to this ten or twelve foot high wallm and she told me to go around to the house.
When I saw it, I literally stopped in my tracks, stood there in awe. The house was large and was their main living quarters and they were in the mill. She has an artists studio in one of the other big brick homes on the estate..
Estate is the word, she had acres and acres of old farm land, tall trees with an elongated diamond limbs. She kept apologizing for the weather since it was drizzling, and dark. I was in such awe that I didn't care. We, she and her bouncy barking dog made a tour of the grounds which were went and as we walked we squished and snapped through bush and fallen twigs. The dog loved it because we were following her,
The interior was open, modern with a huge fireplace which, much to my dismay, did not heat the house enough for me and I had to eat lunch in my dirty down jacket. We made a quck trip to see the old mill inside the house. she opened a trap door on the worn wooden floor and there was running water which was black but I could hear it rushing through under and through the house. There were about two or three pieces of the old mill which they want to adapt so it can generate elecitricity, I really dont know about that!
We had a delightful lunch for which she continually apologized saying it was just thrown together, and in fairness, it might have been since her 16 year old son had injured himself and she was tending to him running up and down the stairs and in and out of the small but efficient kitchen.
We started with a basket of bread, a bagette or two lying on top, and a tray of four different cheeses, and lox with lemon. She offered wine but I drank water.The main course was a spinach baked with hard boiled eggs and topped with a creme sauce. The more I said that it was deliciou, the more she apologized. So, I stopped saying it.
We had coffee by the fireplace. I was happy to get near, it was warmer.
Justine is one of those people who are interested in many facets of living, history, art, modern politics, old politics, theatre and God knows what else. She speaks English, French and is familar with ancient Greek. I changed the subject because I didnt want to get trapped into admitting my Greek is modern and sparse!
She said she had "thrown together" some cheesecake and would I like some. You know my answer and how can you throw together cheese cake?Y ou can throw together Duncan Hynes peanut butter cookies, but cheese cake! No, It was delicious and I knew not to say so.
It was a delightful lunch and the ambience made me feel like a celebrity in a home which was in House and Beautiful. I imaged it in some French Film. The living room was furnited with highly burnish Art Deco furniture and the kitchen were relatively new, the fireplace was replaced recently and she pointed out to a stained glass window with blue branches of a tree and the sun. She said it was new, it was created in 1927! 1927, new! That is, for those who know, my birth year and the first time I heard it being new!
One never knows does one? I expected Fontainbleau to be the main attraction of the visit. Of course, it wasn't. I kept putting off going to it with excuses like I must lie down for a minute and by the way, why did the kings come here? Briefly, they came to hunt. "Kings love to have poweer, hunt an make love." That's all he research I did on Fontainbleau.
Fontainbleau did not hold a candle to her little mill along with a river she called her own. I will not forget it for some time. Of course, I took photographs but they dont do it justice.
This is my next to last posting and I really do appreciate the comments. Here we go, it's a long one....enjoy
Subject : Trip to Fontainebleau. Not the Hotel, dummy
| | | Inbox
After my fiasco of Versailles, I made it a point not to get on the wrong train and it wasnt easy for me to make sure I got to Moret which outside of Fontainbleau where I was going for a luncheon.
I bought tickets and asked many times, and did I got on the right train? Yes it was!
The train was fairly empty, I opened my Coca Cola light and began to read my trusty recycled Reader's Digest when I was tapped on the shoulder, not tapped but pushed. Being the good American Tourist I did not say "What the Hell Are You Doing?" or something like that in French. I turned around and it was a good thing since she was blind. She was searching for the seat with her metal white cane and hit but no apology.
She was about fifty,short,.round face slighty cartoonish with rosy round cheeks, her eyes were small, and her pupils opaque and dead looking,she was wearing a ligh blue scarf. She pulled a Braille book out of a huge blue bag same color as her shawl. It's fitting since Braille was a Frenchman who created it. And for another reason, an odd one for me as luck would have it.
Some of you may remember that I was a film producer for the American Foundation For the Blind, and learned a great deal abou blindness, and I wanted to speak to her but, of course, I couldnt. She knew that there were empty seats but she chose a seat across from a person who knows about blindness.
Immediately as she began to read, I knew she must have been blind for some time because she read rapidly, many who have been sighted for some time and lose thier vision, find it difficult to read Braille. I have seen many blind people reading braille but not as swiftly and without making mistakes. She was very good.
She also had no blindisms,i.e., symptoms of being blind at birth, e.g.head bobbin, eyes rollinglling from side to side. I can only thinks that means she was probably went blind at about six or seven maybe later. She did not look at her book but stared at where I was sitting. I knew she couldnt see me and her staring at me wasn't meant to be rude. She brought to mind either a photograph or a Dutch painting of a blind woman in a shawl who epitomised the sadness connected with being blind,
As the train picked up speed, and this really surprized me, she began to read faster, keeping some sort of inner timing to the rapidity of the train. I have never seen a blind person read as fast. Along the way, she reached into her blue bag, pulled out an aluminum wrapped sandwich and a banana and tucked them next her hip, to secure them. Maybe she thought I would steal them since she was aware of me because when I swallowed my Cocacola light it was with a gulping sound. (the train engineer could have heard it)
It is what I call a "bread and butter" obligation. I met Justine, a friend of my niece, Ronni, and she spent the night at my place. However, I remember her vaguely, but Ronni kept emailing me that I should go. (Especially after the post Xmas email) I could her saying, "It will cheer you up, Unkie" I was quite happy,
However, I had some recurring attacks of vertigo and had been home bound for two days and wasnt in the mood to tavel. Justine that offered we would have lunch at her place and then on to Fontainebleu. It sounded that it couldnt be half bad. I would eat and then quickly and politely suggest we go to Fontainebleau
She picked me up in one of those small French cars and drove through Moret rather much like some Gran Prix driver. She and I chatted about Ronni , my home exchange as we drove for miles , it seemed, with the black winter Fontainebleau on my right. It reminded me of unhappy times in Germany and I was had on my memory earphones and barely heard her.
On the way, she said she had her own river.
Then, to explain, she said her home was an old mill.
How old? She wasnt sure but a bishop or priest diverted a river so it would go to the mill, but maybe 14th or 15th century. I have a painful memory of going to a B and B Mill House in New Paltz, NY with my ex=wife, Susan. The Mill House was not in the B and B and we argued about who did not ask the right question. You must get the painful image a mill house brings to...to say nothing of the end of the first Frankenstein!
We pulled up to this ten or twelve foot high wallm and she told me to go around to the house.
When I saw it, I literally stopped in my tracks, stood there in awe. The house was large and was their main living quarters and they were in the mill. She has an artists studio in one of the other big brick homes on the estate..
Estate is the word, she had acres and acres of old farm land, tall trees with an elongated diamond limbs. She kept apologizing for the weather since it was drizzling, and dark. I was in such awe that I didn't care. We, she and her bouncy barking dog made a tour of the grounds which were went and as we walked we squished and snapped through bush and fallen twigs. The dog loved it because we were following her,
The interior was open, modern with a huge fireplace which, much to my dismay, did not heat the house enough for me and I had to eat lunch in my dirty down jacket. We made a quck trip to see the old mill inside the house. she opened a trap door on the worn wooden floor and there was running water which was black but I could hear it rushing through under and through the house. There were about two or three pieces of the old mill which they want to adapt so it can generate elecitricity, I really dont know about that!
We had a delightful lunch for which she continually apologized saying it was just thrown together, and in fairness, it might have been since her 16 year old son had injured himself and she was tending to him running up and down the stairs and in and out of the small but efficient kitchen.
We started with a basket of bread, a bagette or two lying on top, and a tray of four different cheeses, and lox with lemon. She offered wine but I drank water.The main course was a spinach baked with hard boiled eggs and topped with a creme sauce. The more I said that it was deliciou, the more she apologized. So, I stopped saying it.
We had coffee by the fireplace. I was happy to get near, it was warmer.
Justine is one of those people who are interested in many facets of living, history, art, modern politics, old politics, theatre and God knows what else. She speaks English, French and is familar with ancient Greek. I changed the subject because I didnt want to get trapped into admitting my Greek is modern and sparse!
She said she had "thrown together" some cheesecake and would I like some. You know my answer and how can you throw together cheese cake?Y ou can throw together Duncan Hynes peanut butter cookies, but cheese cake! No, It was delicious and I knew not to say so.
It was a delightful lunch and the ambience made me feel like a celebrity in a home which was in House and Beautiful. I imaged it in some French Film. The living room was furnited with highly burnish Art Deco furniture and the kitchen were relatively new, the fireplace was replaced recently and she pointed out to a stained glass window with blue branches of a tree and the sun. She said it was new, it was created in 1927! 1927, new! That is, for those who know, my birth year and the first time I heard it being new!
One never knows does one? I expected Fontainbleau to be the main attraction of the visit. Of course, it wasn't. I kept putting off going to it with excuses like I must lie down for a minute and by the way, why did the kings come here? Briefly, they came to hunt. "Kings love to have poweer, hunt an make love." That's all he research I did on Fontainbleau.
Fontainbleau did not hold a candle to her little mill along with a river she called her own. I will not forget it for some time. Of course, I took photographs but they dont do it justice.
Jan 6th, 2005, 10:28 AM
#89
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Hello, I am Art, I am a MMA Mixed Metaphor Anonymous and I haven't mixed a metaphor for 16 years until December 26, 2005 when I mixed one or two but I was in Paris and drunk on absinthe and you know absinthe makes the heart grow flounder, it makes your style and your hair atrocious!! I promise not to mix any metaphors in my upcoming and last post. I hope you will let me back into MMA (Gentle and kind applause)
Jan 6th, 2005, 11:17 AM
#91
Dear "Fam", this has been such fun, I hate for it to end! I have thoroughly enjoyed your style, and eagerly awaited the next installments. Pay no mind to the green-eyed monster! That, unfortunately, is, and has been, <i>his</i> style!
Carry on...
"O"
Carry on...
"O"
Jan 6th, 2005, 11:28 AM
#93
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Art I'm enjoying this. Keep writing.
Stay in Paris! Write a novel. Many of your fans want you to...and it would be fun to make the critic shudder.
So you had an ex-wife named Susan, eh? Shame that.
Stay in Paris! Write a novel. Many of your fans want you to...and it would be fun to make the critic shudder.
So you had an ex-wife named Susan, eh? Shame that.
Jan 6th, 2005, 12:33 PM
#94
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I am one person who is happy that the journals are ending because it means Art is coming home!!!! He is really cool for someone almost 78!
If you want I can tell you where his earlier journals of Amsterdam, London and Sweden are.
SuzieC I am sure you are a much nicer Susan
Arts Daughter,
Connie
If you want I can tell you where his earlier journals of Amsterdam, London and Sweden are.
SuzieC I am sure you are a much nicer Susan
Arts Daughter,
Connie
Jan 6th, 2005, 09:12 PM
#95
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Hiya Gang,
This is the of my soujourn to Paris, not in any order, just fragments of fragmented thoughts,
Im sitting here drinking Bodum coffee out of a large white cup without a handle, I've seen these kind of cups in many a French film in which a couple are discussing their affairs or politics or some obscure philosophical factor. Moi, I am simply going to run through some odds and ends of observations made during my Parisien home exchange.
Here's one, an unscientific one made after waiting in line at ShopI, a small local supermarket, actually a 7 eleven with check out cashiers. When women in Manhattan check out at my local Dagastino's, they wait until the total is made, they check it and pick up their bag, open it, find their purse, open it, reach in, get their wallet, dig into it to find the correct dollar bills and the exact change down to the penny while me and twenty people wait and wait.
In Paris, the women do the same but after looking at the check they will argue with the cashier about the total. Its not a gentle discussion but a heated no holds barred fight. And I wait and wait.....
Many of the stations in the Metro are named after battles, generals and war heroes or war, DeGualle, FDR, Bolivar, Jarez, 8 Mai 1945 (A date which I remember clearly) Champs de Mars etc. Personally, I think it makes the name of heroes live longer.Or the French love lost wars and lost colonies. Of course, they have stops for Picasso but not Moliere or Bernhadt.
Musicians are much more tolerated in the metro than the subways in Manhattan. Yesterday, New Year's Saturday, I rode about twenty minutes with a small Italian band playing bright, catchy tunes with an accordian and some horns. It sounded like the wedding ceremony in Godfather and the riders, all hung over, loved it,sang along of coures we had gone through
porte d'Italiie.
If you are color blind as I am, the Metro maps might be a bit confusing, so pay more attention to the number of the line rather than the color. I've made more mistakes by trying to trace a line when it runs parallel to similar (to me) colors.
I learned why its called a flea market. It came about when servants would sell thrown away garments of royalty. They were called puce (flea) color since many of the garments were colored like fleas, puce, to hide them. To me, its worth a trip to find out such things.
I think this home exchange is a good one, with some exceptions. There are bare light bulbs in the kitchen and the bathroom. The one in the bathroom is about 100 watts, the kitchen, 60 and they are the only artificial illumation. The dimness makes it difficult to wash dishes clean (Oh yeah?!),
There are nude sketches of women in the bathroom, they have those hand held shower heads and there is no curtain, so, there I am, taking a shower and staring at those sketches with fond memories, just memories.
To light that kitchen light you must reach behind a lovely new aluminum refrigerator and click it. Usually your hand touches the back of this monster frig which makes Freddy sounds.and you can feel the back of the refrigerator, the grid which keeps it away from the wall. I KNOW its not dangerous but it feels like it. So, I leave that solitary bulb on all the time.
And never, ever, walk over old, really worn wooden floors. They might add a rustic flavor to your stay but barefooted,they add splinters galore, and taking out a splinter at the bottom of dirty feet by yourself isnt easy. So, if you see old tourists limping, you'll know why.
I keep forgetting here and other European city that when you are travelling by train you usually have to have your ticket punched before you get on the train. Someday, Ill get caught and fined.
This keyboard is a French or I guess a European one but you can select to type in English, and as usual I always forget to change until something like this comes out I zill qdd zo,e nu,bersçç&
""à ç see what I mean!
So far, I think the digital camera, its new for me, is best for tourists. Mine is a Pentax Optia, small and easy to use. I say that but it took days of study reading the manual to get it right. I love to take a lot of pictures and it saves me time and money. However, I wont know about the quality till I get home and put it into my albums on Webshots.com. When I do, if you guys want, I will notify you....those who dont already get them.
For home eschangers only, be sure you know the routine with trash and garbage. It varies from city to city and the exchangers seem to forget to tell you.
Thats about it. I finished my coffee and must clean up before I leave. Oh yes, I had their cleaning lady do what cleaning ladies do best...clean. It was like a French farce, she didnt understand English and you all know I dont understand French. Until it came to paying, she grabbed a pencil and a post it and wrote 30!
Bonne Annne to all and to all....remember we'll always have Paris
This is the of my soujourn to Paris, not in any order, just fragments of fragmented thoughts,
Im sitting here drinking Bodum coffee out of a large white cup without a handle, I've seen these kind of cups in many a French film in which a couple are discussing their affairs or politics or some obscure philosophical factor. Moi, I am simply going to run through some odds and ends of observations made during my Parisien home exchange.
Here's one, an unscientific one made after waiting in line at ShopI, a small local supermarket, actually a 7 eleven with check out cashiers. When women in Manhattan check out at my local Dagastino's, they wait until the total is made, they check it and pick up their bag, open it, find their purse, open it, reach in, get their wallet, dig into it to find the correct dollar bills and the exact change down to the penny while me and twenty people wait and wait.
In Paris, the women do the same but after looking at the check they will argue with the cashier about the total. Its not a gentle discussion but a heated no holds barred fight. And I wait and wait.....
Many of the stations in the Metro are named after battles, generals and war heroes or war, DeGualle, FDR, Bolivar, Jarez, 8 Mai 1945 (A date which I remember clearly) Champs de Mars etc. Personally, I think it makes the name of heroes live longer.Or the French love lost wars and lost colonies. Of course, they have stops for Picasso but not Moliere or Bernhadt.
Musicians are much more tolerated in the metro than the subways in Manhattan. Yesterday, New Year's Saturday, I rode about twenty minutes with a small Italian band playing bright, catchy tunes with an accordian and some horns. It sounded like the wedding ceremony in Godfather and the riders, all hung over, loved it,sang along of coures we had gone through
porte d'Italiie.
If you are color blind as I am, the Metro maps might be a bit confusing, so pay more attention to the number of the line rather than the color. I've made more mistakes by trying to trace a line when it runs parallel to similar (to me) colors.
I learned why its called a flea market. It came about when servants would sell thrown away garments of royalty. They were called puce (flea) color since many of the garments were colored like fleas, puce, to hide them. To me, its worth a trip to find out such things.
I think this home exchange is a good one, with some exceptions. There are bare light bulbs in the kitchen and the bathroom. The one in the bathroom is about 100 watts, the kitchen, 60 and they are the only artificial illumation. The dimness makes it difficult to wash dishes clean (Oh yeah?!),
There are nude sketches of women in the bathroom, they have those hand held shower heads and there is no curtain, so, there I am, taking a shower and staring at those sketches with fond memories, just memories.
To light that kitchen light you must reach behind a lovely new aluminum refrigerator and click it. Usually your hand touches the back of this monster frig which makes Freddy sounds.and you can feel the back of the refrigerator, the grid which keeps it away from the wall. I KNOW its not dangerous but it feels like it. So, I leave that solitary bulb on all the time.
And never, ever, walk over old, really worn wooden floors. They might add a rustic flavor to your stay but barefooted,they add splinters galore, and taking out a splinter at the bottom of dirty feet by yourself isnt easy. So, if you see old tourists limping, you'll know why.
I keep forgetting here and other European city that when you are travelling by train you usually have to have your ticket punched before you get on the train. Someday, Ill get caught and fined.
This keyboard is a French or I guess a European one but you can select to type in English, and as usual I always forget to change until something like this comes out I zill qdd zo,e nu,bersçç&
""à ç see what I mean!So far, I think the digital camera, its new for me, is best for tourists. Mine is a Pentax Optia, small and easy to use. I say that but it took days of study reading the manual to get it right. I love to take a lot of pictures and it saves me time and money. However, I wont know about the quality till I get home and put it into my albums on Webshots.com. When I do, if you guys want, I will notify you....those who dont already get them.
For home eschangers only, be sure you know the routine with trash and garbage. It varies from city to city and the exchangers seem to forget to tell you.
Thats about it. I finished my coffee and must clean up before I leave. Oh yes, I had their cleaning lady do what cleaning ladies do best...clean. It was like a French farce, she didnt understand English and you all know I dont understand French. Until it came to paying, she grabbed a pencil and a post it and wrote 30!
Bonne Annne to all and to all....remember we'll always have Paris
Jan 6th, 2005, 11:17 PM
#96
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Dear Uncle Art,
I have enjoyed reading your journal so very much. I love your style of writing. It is almost like being there with you. You also had me laughing out loud many times!
I have also been to your website - address provided by your lovely daughter - am starting to work through all the photos and stories.
Best Wishes, Ann.
I have enjoyed reading your journal so very much. I love your style of writing. It is almost like being there with you. You also had me laughing out loud many times!
I have also been to your website - address provided by your lovely daughter - am starting to work through all the photos and stories.
Best Wishes, Ann.
Jan 7th, 2005, 12:12 AM
#97
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Well, I certainly hope I've still got the energy, gumption and openness to experience to get as much enjoyment from home exchanges when I'm 78. But, then a cousin of my mother's was able to get a 15-year mortgage at the age of 92, so there's hope for us all. Keep up the good work!
Jan 7th, 2005, 03:55 AM
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Have a safe trip home, Unc.
>In Paris, the women do the same but after looking at the check they will argue with the cashier about the total. Its not a gentle discussion but a heated no holds barred fight.<
Next stop Italy. The women do the same thing, but it sounds more operatic.
>In Paris, the women do the same but after looking at the check they will argue with the cashier about the total. Its not a gentle discussion but a heated no holds barred fight.<
Next stop Italy. The women do the same thing, but it sounds more operatic.
Jan 7th, 2005, 04:36 AM
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FAMOUSUNCLEART
What makes your writing special to me is the little details like the difference of women paying for their shopping.
Perhaps I understand a little better those people who are addicted to a t.v. soap opera becauseI am guilty of being addicted to your travel Paris journal. I will miss it. Thanks so much.
Best wishes for a safe trip home.
Sandy
What makes your writing special to me is the little details like the difference of women paying for their shopping.
Perhaps I understand a little better those people who are addicted to a t.v. soap opera becauseI am guilty of being addicted to your travel Paris journal. I will miss it. Thanks so much.
Best wishes for a safe trip home.
Sandy
