In Case You Haven't Heard

I've been so open, I practically feel like I've advertised it on billboards, but in case you haven't heard, I have a little itty bitty case of not-to-panic breast cancer. You can get all the gory and not-so-gory details at A Year in Fromage -- and also see what cheese I've found to pair with it.

Getting Romantic in the City of Romance

I've been horrible -- horrible! -- about posting here, because it's been, well, quite a month. So I hope you've been keeping up over at A Year in Fromage. If not, here are two recent postings on love and romance (and dead fish) in Paris.

All you've ever wanted to know about the love locks popping up -- Whack-a-Mole-style - everywhere in Paris. And in the world.

And a wedding album like no other, mostly because it's a collection taken over the years from my local perspective. And also, because Anthony, the girls, and I just can't resist taking our own.

 

Super Ass Gyros

I'm just not sure: Would I rather have Oriental Pain, or a Super Ass Gyro?

 

 

Just after posting at A Year in Fromage about the signs in France that make me giggle I come across these gems. I've updated the posting over there, but if you've already read it, you can just enjoy these few new additions here. If not, click over and see what other beauties I've found.

And in case you're wondering, what's actually behind the strategically-placed sign in the café sign above is the letter "A".

Sharp Photo

As soon as I hear the bell ringing, I rush to the window to see what this guy is doing. At just a glance, I instinctively know he's an affûteur -- a knife sharpener.

My knives have been dull for a good half year, and just yesterday I finally stopped procrastinating and brought them in to the sharpener. So this morning, when I see him walking on the street below, I'm distressed that I don't have any knives to give him; then I realize we have one old, cheap, chopping knife that came with the apartment that barely cuts butter. So I run down with it (yes, running with knives) in my pajamas, with my camera. It's 5€ to sharpen a knife I don't use or care about, and it's worth every penny just to get the photos. Note that he's powering the wheel with his feet on wooden paddles.

 

I suspect some of these old professions won't be around much longer, so it feels good to get my knife sharpened in the streets while I still can. For more about these old professions dying out in France, check out the story at A Year in Fromage, which I write back in May; however, I've had to update it with this morning's encounter with the knife sharpener. The fact that I catch up with the knife sharpener -- by accident -- in just the right spot to photograph him with Notre Dame in the background just tickles me.

Letters from Camp

Here are some choice excerpts:

"Dear Kazz and Anthony. [Ed note: our children usually call us "Mom and Dad", not by our first names.] I had to right a letter to you! THEY MADE ME!!!!"

Pippa then proceeds to write about her time at camp and closes with:

"I do not miss you, but just pretend I do."

Fabulous.

Her next letter reiterates that point, verbatim, but closes with this:

"...but I do still love you very much!"

Well, thank goodness for small mercies.

Gigi's letter is not much better, frankly:

"Dear Mom and Dad, We are being forced to write to you, even though I don't have a stamp..."

You're imagining our children in an American summer camp: rustic cabins and lake-swimming. Think again. That may exist in France, but it's not where our girls are. They're at a 1000 year old medieval castle, riding ponies bareback (literally). To find out more, check out A Year in Fromage.

An Inconvenient Truth

This convenience store, called 8 to Eight, is open Monday through Saturday, 8am till 7pm, except for from 12:30 till 3:30, and not at all on Wednesday afternoons, or on Sundays. So not when you're generally not working, or hungry, at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Very convenient indeed.



To see more about what I am failing to accomplish because nothing is open when I need it to be, check out A Year in Fromage.

Hula-la in Paris

Perhaps hula's not your thing. And perhaps you're even wondering why I'm talking about it on a blog from Paris. But that's just the way I roll. To find out more, check out Hula-la at A Year in Fromage. And a small bonus for you here, these are photos you won't find over there.