Les Pompiers

This is one of the sights of Paris you won't find noted in Fodor, Frommer, or The Lonely Planet: the local squad of firemen out for their morning training run. Just because I've been happily attached for almost 25 years doesn't mean that I can't appreciate the view. My husband looks pretty good in tights himself.

Dressed for Success

I think everyone has that image of how Parisians dress -- always just so, heels and lipstick for ladies, crisply ironed shirts for men. And while there are plenty of folks who dress to the nines, come rain or shine, it's probably more accurate to say not that everyone's dressed up but that no one's ever dressed down. You just don't see people doing their errands in their gym clothes and come summer, you really don't see much of anyone in town (except the tourists) in shorts. Well, unless you're 22 and you like to wear really short shorts with tights underneath.

All this is a long way of saying, I've totally bought in. Yesterday, I spent most of the day at home, cooking and prepping for the belated Thanksgiving dinner we're having tonight with French friends. (And some of you will probably be relieved to know that there will not be any marshmallows on my sweet potatoes.) Midway through chopping, stirring, and washing dishes, I needed to go out to pick up a few last minute things. So what did I do? I changed out of my sweat pants and sneakers into cords and loafers, knotted a big scarf around my neck to hide my somewhat questionable top, brushed my hair and yes, even put on earrings. I'm hoping the florist and the vegetable guy appreciated the effort.

But you have to draw the line somewhere: I still don't change to take out the garbage, even daring to go down with my apron on and glasses perched on top of my head. But then, at least one gentlemen in my building thinks I'm my kids' nanny and if that means I don't have to reapply lipstick, so much the better.

Red Sky in Morning, Sailor Take Warning

Or so the saying goes. To be followed by yet another day of gray Parisian skies, plus plenty of wind and rain. Well, it was gorgeous while it lasted.

Giving Thanks

The French word for cranberries is "canneberges" but you're just as likely to see the English term. These dried berries, the perfect addition to a salad or oatmeal, are available in our corner store as well as in bulk at some of the open air markets. The fresh version is much harder to find and sold only in teeny tiny cardboard boxes ("barquettes") for an astounding price. I must thank Polly and Katie for supplying me with the fresh cranberries that will grace our table this Thanksgiving, although our feast will be on Saturday instead of today.

I'm also giving thanks today for my husband who was brave enough to apply for a job which was a bit out of his comfort zone and who is a wonderful partner in everything from making major life decisions to cleaning the bathtub. I am grateful for my two kids who are so very different from each other; for my siblings who, among other things, keep me connected to my parents, now gone; for my brothers and sisters-in-law who take such good care of their mom, and for my many good friends. We're in good health, financially secure, and living in Paris. Amen.

Just Say No

I've walked past this shop before and never had any problem resisting those bagels, particularly since they cost almost three bucks in American terms. But yesterday I had a sick kid on my hands and I thought a toasted bagel, a little bit of warm chewy goodness, might just be the ticket.

Nuff said. The two folks working in the store were quite nice but it was just bagel shaped bread and not even very good bread at that. Sad to say that, although Americans love French food and the French, though deny it they will, love American treats, we don't do a very good job in implementing each other's cuisine.

And yet sick child was happy and perhaps that's enough for any mom. The rest of you: stick with the boulangerie.

The Flood of 1910

There was a horrible flood in Paris in 1910, so bad that the Seine overflowed its banks, bringing the city to a near standstill. At its peak, the Seine was some 20 feet above its normal level. The Zouave who stands below the Pont de l'Alma was literally up to his neck in water. Some 20,000 buildings housing 200,000 people were affected.

Today the Seine sits so low relative to the banks that it's hard to imagine that it ever approached the level of the quais. But there are still reminders of this natural disaster. Last week, I noticed this mark on a building on rue de Bellechasse, just a block or so from the Musee d'Orsay in the 7th arrondissement. During the flood, the Orsay (then a train station) was completely flooded, its tracks under water.



Despite a hundred years of technological progress, the authorities say that it could happen again. Better have your boots ready.

On Ice

We've been eating a bit bizarrely over the past couple of days as I try to clean out the odds and ends to make space in our refrigerator for Thanksgiving goodies. We actually have a refrigerator that's rather large by Parisian standards unlike my neighbor across the street who was forced to do this, a not uncommon sight here:



Most kitchens in the older Haussmanian buildings also have a little cupboard under the window that is ventilated to the outside, the perfect place to store root vegetables and other things that don't mind the cold. The one in our place was boarded up long ago when the kitchen was moved from the back to a more central location but this one is just across our courtyard.