Michael and Ruthie's adventure in Paris
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Ruth Anne's Musings
We are in Paris - or at least I think we are. When I am in our cozy, warm - even hot - apartment ( no, Putin's threat does not reach these radiators: we have the windows open a crack, sometimes more than a crack, especially after we have walked up the eight flights of circular staircase because our elevator - 'deux personnes seulement ou un person avec bagage, s'il vous plait' - has a bit of a crowd queued up), I could be anywhere. However, my gut knows perfectly well that I am not at home. As always, when I leave my door for foreign parts, be it LA (very foreign) or Paris, my mechanism shuts way down. Il ne budge pas!
There was a time when I thought we would never leave the 20th - BELLEVILLE. And, really, why should we. Everything is here: a boulangerie every twenty feet, ditto with full gamut of cheeses, pastries, du vin, des viandes, des roast chickens - we help ourselves to the 'cardiac special' every day, and I'm counting on that statistic concerning the French, wine, fat, and low cholesterol.
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"Obama, c'est lui la! The child in front of me is pointing, to my horror and everyone else's astonishment, at me! I'm in line at the Boulangerie around the corner and wearing my Obama pin (of course), the one of his face - reddish , blueish - looking presidential, if a little off-color. The child (five, or so) is now clapping her hands, and her papa explains that whenever Obama appears on the TV, everyone in the family starts clapping. So, we begin to clap, and now the line behind me starts to clap. I give my order to the girl behind the counter (Pain de Grain ), and she cries out "I love Obama". Cheers from the crowd. I cry out ,"D'accord, j'aime Obama". What a great 'hood, what a great city.
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