Transition Day – Moving to the 6^th

“It is forbidden to find oneself in a manifestly drunken state in public places”

Literal translation of government posting above our table at Café Bonaparte.

It is raining, positively storming outside, and we are nestled, side by side, at a very tiny table directly in front of a window, with our hot chocolate, watching the unfortunate, rain soaked people with their parapluies blowing inside out, straight up in the air.  Even the hardy Parisians seem a bit ruffled.

We are sitting close to a Parisian wedding party, (I’d love to take their picture for you, but that would be just too gauche.)  I will attempt to describe them for you.  There are about six of them, plus a small child, with the most adorable, round framed glasses, covering almost half of his darling face.  His mother is petite, petite, petite; like a ballerina, with a shimmery ivory dress, spaghetti straps, plunging back, tight waist and full taffeta skirt.  She weighs about 90 pounds.  How do the French do it?

And how do these women walk on the wet cobblestone streets, with four inch spike heels, striding confidently like they were in a pair of boots? 

Ah . .. I love it here!

He gave me the last bite of the raspberry tart, generous, generous man!

The Monoprix

This is the French equivalent to Target.  It was decided that the Drostes were exhausted and would be taking dinner in their room.  We stopped at a boulangerie and bought a lovely pain et céréale, two beautiful apples at the legume stand across the street, and a big, burly farmer type guy cut us off a slab of triple cream cheese right off a giant cheese round.  We’re happy.  We’re set.

No we’re not.

Forgot the cream for the coffee.  (We have a little refrigerator in our new room.)  “No worries, no worries”, said I, “you go on back to the room and I will easily find my way back.”  Two and one half hours later a very bedraggled Karla returned to the Hotel Bonaparte. 

It took me approximately one hour to purchase the cream for the coffee, chocolate, cookies and Diet Coke, covering the four food groups.  The remaining one and one half hour was spent wandering in and out of stores and getting just a little bit lost.  It got a little grinding towards the end, requiring much spiritual discipline not to sit down in the middle of Boulevard Saint-Germain and cry.  (How could I have ever liked Paris?)

Then I remembered; I’M IN PARIS!  And I was actually able to call up a verse in the Bible,

For I have learned that whatever state I’m in therein to be content. Philippians 4:11 and Helen Keller

I also employed the good Julian of Norwich,

And all shall will be well and all manner of things shall be well.

Can I even tell you how happy I was to see my good husband back in Room 17 at the Hotel Bonaparte?