Tag Archives: life

I’d like to teach the world to sing… the B-52’s?

Posted on by
6

It started out as a typical weekday morning on the subway coming to work. Me, I’m sitting looking all pretty, yet professional, listening to my iPod as I wait for my station to come up. I have various playlist to match my various music moods. The list for this morning was “Move” as in over 200 songs that make me want to get up and boogie. Since I am on a subway in the middle of rush hour, I manage to restrain the urge to dance down to simple head nods and toe taps as I ride to work.

For those unfamiliar with mass transit subways let me give you a short synopsis of the phenomenon of riding in a subway car during rush hour. Think of nearly 200 people, that you don’t know and thus barely acknowledge, in a crowded space. You mostly ignore the existence all the others around you. Some do it by reading, others by snoozing, others still by listening to music and/or any combination thereof. Other than the collective moans and groans that arise when a train is delayed for whatever reason, unless you are with friends to speak with, there is very little interaction between people on a train. Eye contact on a subway is limited to ensuring you’re not walking into someone, or as a quick form of apology if you accidentally make physical contact with someone. Because even if you take the same train at the same time every day for years, there are maybe only a handful of people you will see on a regular basis enough to recognize them on sight. Even then, the most you may do to acknowledge them is a head nod before closing in on the microcosm of your own personal space again. Now, times that one subway car by the average ten cars that comprises each train. Next, times that by the hundred or so trains, which run during the core span, that is the morning rush hour (roughly 5am to 9am). There are other nuances involved, but welcome to my Monday through Friday. Now you’ll have a better understanding of why the following is of note.

I should note that at this point the train is two-thirds empty, as the majority of passengers have exited at the many stations that come before mine. It’s so empty, I can easily count exactly how many people are in the car. Expert commuters know exactly where to stand on the platform and on the train itself for optimal movement, when entering and exiting a train and I am no exception. As the station where I disembark approaches, I rise. I am not thinking much of it as I half walk, half dance my way to the door that I will need to exit.

I didn’t know I was singing out loud (loud enough to be heard well anyway), until I realized someone has joined in on the song at exactly the right part. Remember, I have on my ear buds. I do not blast my music, so there is no way he can hear the song except by standing next to me and hearing snatches of my singing. I looked to my left and a male, not listening to his own music, is nodding his head in a teasing way to mine as again he comes in right on time with his line of the song telling me to knock a little louder baby (I’m guessing some of you, knowing the song, are smiling right now). So, what’s a girl to do? I comply along with him and the song. He is definitely singing with me, and to make things even more spontaneous and amusing, a woman sitting by the door joins to match my part. In the spirit of the more the merrier, by the time the train reaches the station there are five of us dancing, laughing and belting out the ending parts of the B-52’s Love Shack. Dare I add, much to the horror/amusement of the three other people in the car with us? Hell, they probably thought we were a mini flash mob. It was perfect timing as two of us (the guy who initially joined in and I), left the train just as the song ended, waving our byes to the others and then ourselves as we went our separate ways.

You gotta love the power of a good, upbeat (and wacky), song to break even the most steadfast of nonchalant commuters out of their shells on occasion.

You’re WHAT?!

This Room

Posted on by
20

I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair
Tonight Will Be Fine – Leonard Cohen

This room has seen many a thing
All the joy, the pain that a life can bring
The secrets invisibly etched into each wall
That only a select few can claim to recall
And there’s not too many of them left at all
As over time some secrets have come to air
And for each secret in which I took delight
Others I wait hoping they come to light
But that’s on another’s shoulders to bear
I choose the rooms that I live in with care

Decorating has been tried, a different vision
Very few things in this world I find lacking derision
Fresh paint never gave this room much cheer
Too much has simply happened I fear
I don’t pretend laughter is ever found here
Some have asked why, but most no longer dare
To look, you wouldn’t think there’d be much to say
And to be honest, I kind of like it that way
Dimly lit, my room lacks any savior faire
The windows are small and the walls almost bare

My sprees were tidal like the moon and the waves
I farm emotions just enough to seek what I crave
Only my bloody goals to orient
As every life I’ve touched – went
Once their value to me was spent
This life was one always destined for the chair
As my life like these wall crumble within
I know there’s a deep circle for my sin
It’s the bed I’ve made, and it’s too late to care
There’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer

Long ago your malaise took root in my soul
But I never even tried to keep it in control
The news inform folks of my lesser glory
But most things I’ve done are so gory
That only you know the complete story
My hide’s destined only for you to wear
Here in this room I sit each day awaiting fate
Knowing even then hate won’t alleviate
Pray for heaven? We know I’m not going there
I listen all night for your step on the stair

====================

dVerse Poet Pub | Meeting the Bar

and yet…

Posted on by
Reply

It’s summer in the City. One of the many gazillion things to look forward to is the free concerts that occur throughout various venues. From early June to early August the open common area in front of my office building is one of them. Every summer the company that hosts the festival trots out various Rhythm & Blues and/or neo funk and/or (fill in the blank) near has-beens to potential gonna-bes for our perusal and hopeful lunchtime entertainment. Yes, lunchtime. I am sure several of you reading this not so jokingly just asked what’s that?

I have no idea; I ask the same question.  By the time one gathers lunch and gets downstairs to enjoy the music all the good seating is taken up by those who have staked their claim for a least an hour before the event start time. Most attendees for these events either stand for however many minutes they have remaining before returning to their duties or find a seat where all you can do is listen because you surely can’t see anything.

Don’t let my sarcasm fool you.  I have spent my time standing around nodding to some old school or new jack beat when the performing artist was someone of interest to me so, it actually is a very pleasant way to spend one’s truncated time. Ah, but I digress…

All of the above was to get to this…

I run into a colleague a few yards from my building as I am returning to work after running errands during lunch.  (Hey, I told you I had no idea what it was, didn’t I?) The conversation went as such:

C: Hey there, I know you’re out here enjoying your music!
Me: Actually no.
C: Why not? Isn’t this your type of music?
Me: My type of music?
C: Yeah.
Me: Why would you think this would be my type of music?
C: Because…
Me: Because that is just as fucked-up as someone only expecting to hear Dean Martin crooning Volare or That’s Amore in an Italian restaurant and because that’s your type of music?

And that ladies and gents would be about the moment her brains opened and her mouth closed. Either that or the single arched eyebrow that I know appears when I’m faced with the completely ignorant chose to make itself known.  It was pleasant watching her squirm for a moment before I walked away.

So close and yet damn far…

Silence Echoes

Posted on by
3

Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells, of silence
Simon and Garfunkel – Sounds of Silence

The days versus the nights it’s all the same
The players may change, but it’s still game
Chances blown, nothing’s mistaken
Waiting for my soul to be taken
I had that chance, but now it’s through
Still, I‘d like, just one last reach to you
But how can I tell if there’s a chance
When I’m met with your echoes of silence
Are mere words enough to breach through?
Hear my words that I might teach you

How to build the impenetrable wall
One if you don’t climb, then you don’t fall
I learned much too late, by making it my skin
I kept nothing out, but trapped myself within
Marking my soul with each sin’s imbrue
Forced now to pay the devil’s due
For all you learned from my hateful spite
I’ve but one last chance to make it right
A gentle task that I beseech, I do
Take my arms that I might reach you

When your heart opened, I never saw
Now I open mine and you withdraw
Your retreating steps sounding hallow
In the rasping sobs of which I wallow
Architect of my own personal hell
Turning your kind soul into shrapnel
A weapon against that which I most fear
That to my heart, you might grow near
And there’s so much I’ve got left to tell
But my words, like silent raindrops fell

Against the hushed echoes of your voice
Cruel eyes reminding me, this was my choice
So I never learned where love was bound
As you walked away without a sound
Now my heartbeat carries no cadence
Its walls are too filled with your absence
Like moments of time that’s slipped away
Last chances gone and forever gone they’ll stay
All lost within the heart’s distance
And echoed in the wells, of silence

<>==========<>==========<>

Yes, another Glosa.

dVerse Poets Pub| OpenLinkNight – Week 49

 

 

Remember…?

Posted on by
8

Walking the relatively quiet streets (quiet for a rush hour afternoon anyway), of my neighborhood made me realize something…

The streets were relatively quiet.

It’s summer in the City (don’t you dare start singing The Lovin’ Spoonful!). Where are the kids? Other the occasional break out two-hand football or a soccer game, or the always popular open fire hydrant on the oppressive days, you really don’t see young children playing in the streets anymore.

Once upon a time when inner city children played outdoors it was not varsity. We played in the schoolyards, on the sidewalks and in the streets! I know this is something damn near unfathomable in this X-Craft Station day and age (see what I did there?), but it happened. I have the scars and wonderful memories to prove it.  In fact, kids pretty much ruled the streets, at least until the street lights came on (don’t act like you don’t know what that means!).

We learned how to get along, even I  couldn’t stand that nasty little Devon from Creston Avenue who had cooties and oh – er – excuse me  – I digress…  We learned how to deal with each other. We learned to play by the rules (whatever they were per game, per moment).

The blocks in front of our apartment buildings were our backyard. We played games such as stick ball (or curve ball, if you didn’t have a stick), ring-a-levio, steal the bacon, Johnny on the Pony and of course Skelly (a.k.a. skully, skilsies, skelsies).

Skelly Board

Colorful Skelly Board

I found this picture of a Skelly board online for reference.

Now this is some fancy/schmancy Skelly board painted here. When we were kids, we’d draw this out with our white chalk. Even if we had some of those big, get dust on everything color chalks, it never looked as good as this, but we got the idea. Once the board was drawn we make loadies, if needed, melting candle or crayon wax or tar into bottle caps to load them (give them weight), then we would scuff them up on the street to make them slick enough to slide.

There was a start line two feet away from the actual square. (That is two feet, as in one child stepping at the edge of the number 1 box and placing one foot directly in front of the other for “two feet”.)  You’d slide your bottle cap from the start line into the square marked number 1 and work your way around until you made it into the center, number 13.  There were a ton of rules, to make it fun and challenging. Above all, you had to remember to grab your loadie out of the street before a car would run it over or you were out the game, because unless you had another one ready to go, odds were the other players were not waiting for you to make another one.

With the advent of video games, sports more organized in schools and kids having an extracurricular activity calendar as jam packed as any executive’s 9 to 5 schedule – being told to just go play, is not the same as it was when I was a child. As a result, some of these street games are dying out and that is a shame.

This morning on my way to work I saw a man rolling what had to be a four foot square Skelly board on a hand truck and it brought back memories. I have seen the occasional Skelly board show up professionally painted on grounds of a schoolyard over the years, but it seems the popular street game is now making its way indoors.  And I have to say, it is an odd comfort to know that kids still play the game, indoors or out.

Wanna Kick the Can anyone…?

<>==========<>==========<>

The Little Things…

Posted on by
6

Thirteen years ago, I became a married woman. It took thirteen years to reach that point and I happily wrote out my newly hyphenated name everywhere. However, partly because of laziness and partly because I wanted something of the original me to be just me, I wound up not changing any of my legal IDs (birth certificate, work, social security, insurance etc.) to my new married name.

Six years ago, I became a widow. Though I have made it through the grieving process, I still sign things with my married name. Partly because it is a habit I have no need to break at this moment, and partly because I like the alliteration of it with my birth name (blame the poet in me for that). I will concede it was something of a convenience not having to change all my documentation back again and thus thought nothing of it, until today…

My trip to England in ’03 was the first international stamp to grace the pages of my very first passport and my trip to Paris last month was the last stamp. After ten years of running amok, I now have to renew it. It’s not exactly news, obviously, I have known for a while that I would have to do so, no big deal.  However, as I am thinking of all the documentation I needed the first go around, versus what I will need now to renew it, is when it dawned on me. I will need to include my late-husband’s death certificate to change my name.  My passport is the only legal document that carried my full first, middle, maiden and married name.

I now find my head at odds with my heart.  My head understands that this must, and certainly will, be done. Still, there is this odd part of my heart that aches. For this feels that this really is the end of it all.  That once I change my passport, nearly all traces of that marriage will be over except for twenty years of photos and memories.

It’s the little things that sneak up on you…

<>==========<>==========<>

Weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge

Thou Hath Wrought This

Posted on by
3

Do you know what happens when I think of you?
The lessons I’ve managed to learn in this life
On whom I can depend for all that I want
All the rest of the things I have come to know
How they effect the what and who I am now
And what hath thou wrought, Daddy? Thou hath wrought – this

I was my father’s daughter, thou hath wrought – this
Every ounce of hate I learned, first came from you
It’s a bell I strive to un-ring even now
Fully believed when you said ‘this ain’t worth life’
Of course learning ‘this’ meant me, took time to know
Freedom to roam, the only thing you did want

Know what I wished for? What I truly did want?
To be fatherless child, thou hath wrought – this
Circles of your first, back of your palms I know
For it was the most I’d ever see of you
Getting worse as I got to know some of life
Innocence not a card that I could play now

Come sixteen praying – I’m too used for you now
But I was wrong, you still did just what you want
As you had been doing for all my young life
On my knees for more than prayer, thou hath wrought – this
But the boys loved the lessons first learned from you
Just who I learned it from, they never did know

But I found something I never thought to know
A something gallant within, even now
Nearly buried forever from hate of you
Something you thought that I would never stand to want
Faith that somewhere love exists, thou hath wrought – this
And by having such, a renewed urge for life

You can’t jam hate into a soul filled with life
I’m strong in the love that came so late to know
A phoenix from hate’s ashes, thou hath wrought – this
But I am Janus, the reverse of you now
Doing opposite of all you taught to want
For in spite of your grip, I can release you

And there’s a peace to know, there’s worth to my life
I love and am loved, this I’d want to you know
I think of you now, glad thou hath wrought – this

<>==========<>==========<>

A hard form this time: Sestina

A Sestina is a poem consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-line envoy, where the words ending the lines of the first stanza are repeated in a different order at the end of lines in each of the subsequent five stanzas and, two to a line, in the middle and at the end of the three lines in the closing envoy. The patterns of word-repetitions are as follows:

1 2 3 4 5 6
6 1 5 2 4 3
3 6 4 1 2 5
5 3 2 6 1 4
4 5 1 3 6 2
2 4 6 5 3 1
(6 2) (1 4) (5 3)

There is no set meter or rhyme scheme although traditionally most were written in iambic pentameter. The closing envoy also has several variations some of which are:

(2 5)(4 3)(6 1),
(1 2)(3 4)(5 6) or
(1 4)(2 5)(3 6).

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpneLinkNight – Week 99

Not This Morning

Posted on by
19

Dawn first deigns to call me
into the depths of yet another day
before I am ready to do so

I glance at the alarm clock animation
cheerfully chiming me into the day
but I shut it off with surliness

The coffee maker is already at work
as the second sentry to my rising
sending its call via olfactory orifice

My television, next in line of pretense
to claim its place in my morning
makes its presence known

Knowing the coffee will turn itself off
I reach and remotely silence the banalities
of the morning news broadcast

I lay there for moments more wondering,
how did my ancestors rise without the assistance
of such mundane mechanics

Surely more than the cock’s crow
or the edicts of early to bed, early to rise
were needed for timely awakenings.

Would they laugh most loudly at me,
the latest devotee of the daily grind,
unable do the same even with such help?

I wanted to rise, really, I wanted to,
but somehow the Blackberry magically
sends out a mental health day message

Perhaps tomorrow morning
will find me ready to rattle and roll
but no, not this morning

As clouds  roll in to dull the dawn
it is the bed that beckons loudest
for good old-fashioned slumber

<>==========<>==========<>

dVerse Poets Pub | FormForAll – TRIVERSEN 

Of No Account

Posted on by
3

I saw an ad online which had this fabulous dress for plus sized women. The blurb offered special sales and bargain prices. Hey, I’m woman, I’m plus sized, I like a bargain and I am always on the lookout for some place new, so I click.

I get about five seconds of what could be promising items when a dark overly obscures the screen and prompts me to not just sign up for their free email specials, but to create an account. Uh, what? Why is it nearly every online merchant I want to simply browse through these days insists that I first sign up for their email list before I can see anything?  There should at least be one or two preview pages that offer a taste of what’s available first before forcing potential buyers to a commitment.

This new method is especially annoying when after haven taken the plunge by creating the account and browsing around for fifteen minutes realize I’ve been sold a bill of goods  even if it was for free. For instance, that dress in the ad which captured my attention in the first place? Oh they had it, just not plus sizes. The merchant had the dress in several colors and not one came in plus size. I played around with the available options just to see more. Let’s just say, no matter how I played with it, if there were fifty items available, perhaps five were in my size. What few items they did have in my size were not worth the commitment of having an account with them.

Another place advertising plus sized clothing turned out to cater to women who had young children. The adult clothing section was merely a subset to the clothing for tots and the plus sizes and even smaller subset to that.

And it’s not just clothing.

A furniture / home decor seller had a table that caught my eye. All I wanted know were the dimensions and the price. Again, before I could browse I had to create an account only to find out it was a designer place where even their “bargain” prices were out of my price range and the table in the ad could not be found.

So now for the third time this week, I had to figure out how to unsubscribe /opt out of these accounts because the merchant had nothing else of interest to me.   These places are forcing a commitment of receiving, at minimum, weekly emails from them when I don’t know if they are even worth the energy of a weekly delete yet. I have more than enough emails flooding my inbox from places where I do make the occasional purchase.  I do not need any more. I prefer it when a merchant does not offer the option to create an account until after I actually have a shopping cart and want to make a purchase. After all, if I make a purchase now I may want to come back again; then it makes sense. There are merchants that may have lost a potential sale from me because this practice of sign up now – look later, annoys me so. When I shop brick and mortar stores I do not have to give them any information just to look around, so what is with this nonsense online?

/mini vent

The Chick In Paris – Part IV – Fini

Posted on by
2

Bon soir!

In Part I of my post on Paris I spoke a little about the people, Part Deux covered food and in Part III – the Sites. This is a little of everything else and a wrap up.

The City that Never Sleeps versus The City of Lights –

Advice for getting around Paris for the first timers (especially us New Yorkers).

Subways —

Not all train doors open automatically. Depending on the subway line, you may need to push a button on the door to exit or even enter the train car.

If on the RER (commuter line equivalent to NYC’s Metro North or LIRR), go topside in the morning to be a little warmer on a cool weather. If the weather is warmer, ride in the lower level, especially in the afternoon. Because hot air does what…?– rise. The top section warms up considerably on a sunny day in warmer weather. Unless you are right by an open window capturing a breeze, it can become unbearable even with air conditioning.

Oh, and you know that nasty little habit some of us have of holding subway doors open to wait for someone? Yeah, that nonsense is not going to work in Paris – because you cannot hold open those doors for anyone. My friends and I learned this the hard way when we were separated on the way back to our hotel after a day of site seeing. Their subway doors do not bounce open at the least little resistance the way ours do. Trust me, when you feel the serious pressure of those doors closing on your hands, your body will protect itself and get the hell out of its way. That train needs to be at the next station by XYZ time and by golly it will be there! And speaking of on time…

Lastly, when the public announcement in the station states that a train is the last train for the night, they are not playing. They do not mean the last train will leave its start point at 1 AM. They mean the last train will arrive at its endpoint by that time. All passengers using the stations before that endpoint must adjust their time accordingly. At 12:50 AM we missed the train with that announcement. We were caught off guard to realize the next one was not until 5AM. They literally shut down the stations. Trains cars are emptied, gates are pulled closed and locked shut until 5 AM. What would have been a fifteen-minute ride on the subway, was now a long wait and a long ride on a crowded bus in the middle of the night that taught us not to let that happen again.

Buses —

The cool thing about Parisian bus lines, similar to their subways, they have an automated system in place that informs passengers which bus is coming and how many minutes until it arrives. In the middle of the night that is very helpful. The bad thing is in the middle of night and the subways have just closed, it is the only means of mass transit. When the bus finally arrived, it was packed. It felt very much like rush hour at home. Unfortunately, very much like home, a woman risks that some ass wipe will take advantage of the situation. If you read Part I of my posts on Paris then you know about young American women as targets. This is the bus ride I spoke of then.

So why didn’t we take a taxi? Glad you asked. It is not as if we did not try to …

Taxis —

It was our first night in Paris, after the non-stop plane ride and a day of running around, my right knee decided I had pushed it enough and had given out a good hour and a half before around 11:30. It was now one-something in morning and I was officially in pain. When we missed the train, it was partially because we were taking so much time for photos and partially because I could not move fast enough to catch it. It was a lovely night; I would I have happily agreed with the initial idea to walk home, were I not already limping in pain.

We spotted a taxi stand. Several people like us had missed the train and were waiting in front of us. Oddly enough though we saw empty taxis passing by, none were pulling up to pick up passengers. Naturally, being New Yorkers (with me trying hard to not lose it), split into teams and tried flagging cabs away from the stand and from across the street. We were attempting to flag down taxis for at least fifteen minutes when a taxi pulled up across the street from us to let a passenger out. One of us ran across, grabbed the door and tried to explain the situation (me). The driver refused to let us in explaining the rules. Taxi’s are only allowed to pick up passengers from designated stands. Those caught picking up passengers elsewhere risk such nasty fines that they do not take the chance. This at least explained why some passers-by (obviously locals), were looking at us as though we were crazy standing in the street trying to flag one down. I honestly cannot say if it was that we were obviously tourists, that there were nine us, because we were black or any combination there of, but no one was stopping. Only two people of the few in front of us were able to get rides. After another fifteen minutes or so of this, we gave up and got on the bus.

On the plus side, coming back from a dinner cruise, it was no more or less crazy/organized than some of our taxi stands here in NYC, but we were able to get taxis within a few minutes.

Note: If you call for a taxi service to meet you at a certain time, all in your party better be ready to leave at that designated time. A ride that should have cost less than ten Euros, cost us nearly triple the amount because of those who (granted unknowingly of the cost of waiting) dawdled. Their clock starts the moment you say be there in a minute. They will happily tell you it is not a problem. They do not tell you it is because they are going back to the taxi to start the clock and that you will literally pay for each minute idling away. Tourists – 0 / Taxis – 1.

Walking —

Most of us living in a tourist city are very familiar with that annoying tourist with a map and a Duh, where do I go? Where do I go? expression, standing at the edge of curb, blocking the path to cross. It’s a very different thing when that tourist is you. Still, I was very conscious of not doing the things I have seen some tourists do that tend to annoy the locals. If I had to stop someone and ask for directions, I made sure I was not out of the flow of foot traffic and apologized profusely for any names of places I butchered in the process (ex. Pontoise is pronounced pon-TWA, not PON-toys).

We were brilliantly located in the Châtelet – Les Halles area of Paris on the East Bank of the Seine River. Châtelet – Les Halles and the Latin Quarter on the Left Bank are within walking distance of several major attractions and/or a quick train ride to most others. Like any metropolis, the key to walking around Paris is to stay with the general flow and watch the traffic lights. NYC has pedestrian crossing signals of a white walking figure for cross and a red hand for don’t walk. Paris has, what we dubbed Green Guy (walk) and Red Guy (don’t walk). Let me tell you when you see that Green Guy – you better hustle (no not the dance from the 70s). The lights change quickly in some areas and I do mean quickly. Luckily, they do have the countdown to let you know how many seconds you have before the light changes, so you know whether you have time to stroll or run to the other side before the cars come zooming.

Cars —

Speaking of the cars, do not even think about jaywalking, especially in a heavy traffic area. They are tiny cars, but they move. When you have the light, they stop – completely, but when they have the light – they haul ass. Unless you are on a side street or at a turning corner, then it is different. It must be rendered a considerable lack of grace (or have one heck of a fine), to use your car horn in Paris. I saw one driver wait, what a New Yorker would consider, a ridiculous amount of time for pedestrians watching street performers to note he was there and move out of the way. The performers themselves finally saw the car and had to tell the people to move. So always check behind you; otherwise, you may be surprised how quickly and quietly a car can be up on you.

To paraphrase  Gump – and that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

Three weeks ago today (three weeks!), this chick landed in Paris and had a marvelous few days there. I may have spent the first night in pain and the last night fighting off a nasty cold, but everything in between was simply splendid! Met some wonderful people, ate some fabulous food, finally saw in person some places I once only dreamed of and learned even in a foreign country, if they have mass transit and I have the map, I can get around pretty damn well.  I have to say other than the history and architecture, it felt very much like home — just at a more relaxed pace.

Finally, let me send so much love and many, many, many thanks to Destinations by Danielle. D-Fab (the fabulous tour de force who organized this jaunt, one of my fellow travelers on this trip and a person I am happy to call friend), ma chérie, this first trip to Paris was magnifique. And I easily say the first because after this tiny but delectable taste of France, I know there are several more trips in my future. I’ll follow you anywhere my wallet will allow.

I loved visiting Paris and very much look forward to having another taste of it, but as the adage goes – there’s no place like home – and I am glad to be back.

Now to take most of what I’ve written in these four entries about Paris and post it to Trip Advisor. 😉

C’est fini!