happy busy February!

Well now, that was an interesting January! And I thought it would be on the quiet side... My predictions have been worthless in recent months. 

Enter February. I know, without doubt that it will be a whopper. But today, once again, I take things slowly. Henry has been waking up earlier than before. He wants to be out by 6:30. That' okay with me. I have to get him out of the house pretty quickly all next week. An earlier wake up only gives us more time to get the day off to a good start. Now if only I would go to sleep earlier as well we would be set!

As I wait with him for the elevator this morning, I find myself wondering if humans pick up their dog's idiosyncrasies.  I know that an owner's temperament can rub off on a dog. I'd like to  believe that my quiet approach to each day has a calming effect on Henry. But is his elevator anxiety rubbing off on me? Am I getting anxious as the elevator door opens, peering to see if anyone is in there, ready to come out at us? Henry, what have you done to my equilibrium?! I should be like Ed. Wild Pancake (the most feral of the feral cats) has no effect on him. His patience is solid. Doesn't bat an eye. I'm positive the elevator would never be anything more than a source of transport for him.

It's cold again, but not Arctic blast cold. Just winter cold. 6F/-14C as we step out.

I have to smile at how different our walks are from those we took in Henry's first weeks here. These days we never even make it up to Squirrel Hill. Just back and forth in front of the apartment building where he knows he has to do his stuff. His exercise never comes from walks. Will that change once we move? I don't know.

Breakfast. With a hug. Before and after.

Henry's feeling more active this morning, so we play ball -- which means I spend a good bit of time crawling under the bed to retrieve his toy. Henry, isn't this supposed to be our quiet couch time?!

I'm now less than two weeks away from adding a new adopted dog to our pack. I text with the new dog's foster mom. I have some more questions (about size, etc). She sends me more pictures.

Perhaps this is the time for me to introduce this new dog here. (I wont send photos. You'll have to wait to see those.)

They named her Sadey, spelled in this unique way. I'm going to stick with it to honor the incredible foster mom who named her. (Sadey, or Sadie are diminutives of Sarah -- a noble woman, so I will have regal Henry and noble Sadey.) 

Sadey was found on the streets of Houston. In a new development where the foster mom lives with her own animals and perhaps partner, though I don't know the details there. It's an all female household -- an important fact to note because Sadey can be less outgoing initially with men. This seems to be a pattern with the Texas rescues. Animal abuse appears to be very gendered there. 

Sadey was living in a ditch with her litter of puppies. (We think this wasn't her first litter, judging by the size of her nipples, so, a practiced mom who is probably not quite two years old right now.) It was hard to see how she could nurse the pups -- she was all skin and bones herself. I've seen the photos. Flea-infested. Heartworm infested. And yet, she cared for those pups as best as she could.

The foster mom took her in and took a couple of the pups as well. I believe some disappeared. Others were taken in by another kind soul. Sadey received the much needed medical care. She stayed with the foster family from October until now. She looks to be fully recovered. 

What drew me to her was her personality. I think it's a good fit for my home. For me. For Henry. For the kids and Goose. For our lifestyle. Henry never had a chance at a foster home. He was shelter bound until I took him in. Sadey had more tumult in her life, but she benefited greatly from the gentle loving care of the foster mom. And importantly, I know a lot more about her than I knew about Henry, who was a bit of a mystery to us all. 

Will Henry and Sadey get along? I've had a lot of worried comments from friends who wonder about this. I'm confident that in the longer term they will be great. Initially? Different dogs react differently to the introduction of another canine. Most who are dog-friendly, get over the initial hesitation. My understanding of Henry is that he is not so much protective of his space, of me. Rather, he is anxious about the unknown. Dogs have never frightened him the way that humans have.  So I would put him in the camp of those who will adapt. But of course, I'll have to see how much help he will need in this. I am not worried about Sadey accepting Henry. I think that one will be easy. 

There is a transport of these Houston canines to Wisconsin coming up in less than two weeks. The exact date depends on the drive, the weather, and the stops along the way. The transport first goes to Nashville, then Louisville, Cincinnati, Indianapolis, and Rockford and finally Portage Wisconsin. (They then continue to Minneapolis.) I have to pick her up in Portage, a little under an hour north of Madison. To me the journey sounds totally traumatic and horrible, but everyone tells me the pups do recover quickly once placed in their new homes. And I should note that this isn't a one time thing: the shelters and agencies looking after strays bring dogs from Houston in this way every two weeks. There are that many that need homes outside of Texas. (A separate shipment goes to the Northeast and another to the Northwest.)

So now I get ready and wait.

 

Henry is eager to go out. He has a very sweet way of standing absolutely still by the door when he wants an outing. Not necessarily to do his stuff. He'll stand there if he wants an adventure as well. A walk, a trip to the daycare. Play time! 

I take him to Prairie Morraine dog park. That park is just heaven on earth for him. 

The dogs, the run, the sniffing, the woods -- it's all fabulous. It takes us just under an hour to circumnavigate the entire park and I read that they are expanding it significantly! This is what being kind to animals looks like.

Today The Chase is in full swing. They chase him, but they can never catch him -- he does a splendid zigzag if they get too close, controlling the direction, claiming the lead. 

Henry is beautiful to watch when he is running. He'll take flying leaps over brush and stretch his body to great lengths to add speed.

 

 

And of course, when we get home, he takes two steps then plunks himself down on the carpet and falls asleep.

 

In the evening I take a dinner over to the young family. Seafood pasta. Out of the six of us, five really love the pasta, three will pick out the shrimp and scallops, and one will devour any scallop in her line of vision. 

Macarons for dessert.

 

 

 

Home again. I have two steady, unrelenting streams of thought: the first concerns Henry. In the dog parks, at the training -- I saw such progress in him! But at the Edge, he is horribly defiant when faced with the elevator situation. He barks his head off if he sees people anywhere near it and tugs to sniff, to back away, to sniff, to back away. Needless to say, I cannot let him approach anyone when he is so loud. They wait for us to go on without them. And of course, this makes him that much more convinced that he has warded off these awful humans. I cannot wait to be done with this! Ten more days. 

My second train of thought is that I'm doing precious little to physically prepare for the move. Too little. Yes, I can blame Henry for it, but am I asking for trouble? When I moved from the farmhouse to the Edge, it didn't really matter if I left some stuff behind. I would pick it up later. But now, I'm handing over the apartment on the day of the move-out. I could keep it longer, but I want to give it the best chance at being taken over by someone else. And, I need the time on the other end to arrange the new place and get ready for Sadey. There's not "leaving stuff behind" option. It all needs to go.

Nevertheless, I worry only in those wakeful moment in the middle of the night. Otherwise -- one day at a time!  And today, that first day of February was just lovely, Henry's elevator woofs notwithstanding! 

with so much love... 

cold, but not North Pole cold

I really lucked out with being away for what turned out to be the coldest week -- one where temperatures were shockingly low even for Wisconsin. Long walks with Henry would have been impossible. Kennels held pop-up classes on how to deal with stir crazy dogs. Henry would surely have gone nuts in the apartment, especially on the weekend, when the doggie daycare is closed. 

Today, it's still well below freezing, but not so bad that we can't plan an outing. Perhaps not an extended one, but something that will give him a chance to run.

Slowly, Henry is returning to normal. He checked on me several times at night, and was up and ready to go at 6:30, but that's within his range of acceptable wake-up times.  We go out, albeit briefly.

 

I stick to our past routines. His breakfast, my breakfast... (things that make me smile: my coffee mug that says "home is where my dog is," and the still unused but oh so pretty candle from the store near the Jardin Luxembourg).

Lots of cuddling in between.

And at 9:30 we have the continuation of the class Henry started before I left -- Intermediate Obedience. 

An interesting hour! The training program is in the same facility as his doggie daycare and my doggie just wants to know why I won't take him off leash so that he can play! Not helped by the fact that one of the training assistants is one of his favorite daycare people! He wants to run, to meet and greet the other dogs and yes, even their owners. The instructor notices that his anxiety with people is significantly reduced. It could be any number of things: he's seeing a repeat of people he'd seen before. Or maybe my vet's medicine. Or his stay at camp. His age maybe? The weather! 

Today he is an extremely clever student with an extremely short attention span. He learns "go to mat" instantly and does it three times, then has enough. I'm glad we're back in training rotation, but I am also glad when the class comes to an end for my frisky boy.

A quick rest at home, and then an outing to the dog park near the farmette.  With Ed.

(on the run)

And it is at the park that I notice the big change in Henry's behavior. In the past, he'd avoid the people there. If someone approached him, he'd bark. If someone stuck out a hand to be sniffed, he would ignore the friendly gesture and bark some more. 

This time, he didn't bark once. And (this was absolutely shocking to see) -- he actually ran up to one or two dog owners and sniffed them of his own volition. 

Is my dear boy finally learning to trust others?

It is true that at the Edge, he is still his old self. He hugs the walls and looks apprehensively at the opening elevator doors. If he sees someone, he barks. I cannot wait for this problem to go away in 12 days. But out in the real world of people and cars and hands and strangers, he may be shedding his panic. Maybe.

In the dog park, he is exuberant! All the dogs are. It's the first reasonably warm day (just below freezing and very sunny) and the dog owners are all thrilled to finally let their pups loose.

Afterwards, the three of us go to the neighborhood coffee shop, Tati's. This Henry knows and understands. We walk in, he immediately goes to the couch and waits for us to join him. 

There is one other couple, sitting at a nearby table and as they watch us (as I do my camera thing...), they smile and comment -- your dog is so well behaved! Ours would be all over this place!

Henry! Your first "good behavior" compliment from strangers! I just beamed and mumbled some inconsequential modest nothings.

When we leave the cafe, I suggest we drive up a couple of blocks to look at the house I'll be moving to in 12 days. Ed is incredulous -- you mean you haven't even seen it?  I smile at that. Ed, tell me, what are the chances of me finding an empty house in this absolutely full neighborhood, available right now, willing to do a 6 month lease, more or less in my price range? It's nothing short of a miracle! Who cares how it looks or feels. Besides, I've seen pictures. 

Driving past it now, I recognize its downsides. It's bigger and more expensive than Steffi's House (where I'll be moving this summer -- just a few blocks away from this one). More rooms, bigger spaces. But I would never buy it, even if I could afford it. Steffi's House is small but sunny, with many big windows facing the south, the east, the west. This house (the Suelo one) has fewer windows and I can see that the living room will not have enough natural light for my taste. It is in very close proximity a neighboring house, and opening up to a construction site on the other side. Across the street, new homes are being built as well. Expect construction noise.

And still, I'm thrilled with it. A house for me and my dogs. A house where the kids can have ample space to play. And all this within walking distance to the farmette!

 

 

 

At home, there's not much I can do now in preparation for the move. I put together a few boxes, but there isn't room to really start in on that project. The kids will be coming here all next week and of course, I dont want to get Henry all nervous again. I look around and pick out things to discard, wishing that I were even braver with tossing out unused items. It's the kitchen that has the bulk of possibly irrelevant items. In cooking, you often don't need a tool for months on end and then suddenly you remember a recipe and boom! You wish you hadn't tossed that potato masher or pastry scraper. Toys are easier to give up. The kids are growing out of many of them rapidly. Books as well. We've carted boxes full to the library. And still, I wish I would just go bare bones on stuff. Well, I have two moves before me this year! An opportunity to really scale back.

Tomorrow, the winter Snow Moon will shine upon us here, in south-central Wisconsin. I'll look up, then lower my head in gratitude. For all that's still good and noble in this world.

with so much love... 

crazy times

A little more than a week ago, I was thinking that perhaps the trip to France was misplaced. That right now, staying home and reading endless novels (in the spare hours that sometimes pop up inbetween kid care and Henry worries) was what I needed, not an overseas adventure.

I was wrong. The trip did me a world of good. It cleared my head and allowed me to think carefully, without distraction, about what comes next. And, of course, Paris is my balm -- a great one for stormy days. And I think we would all agree that we are all living in crazy times, so for that reason alone, any relief from anxiety or stress should be sought out and applied liberally.

But now, here I am entering my period of self-inflicted chaos. A week and a half more in the apartment, dreading each elevator ride with poor terrified Henry, a week and a half of organizing myself, getting ready for the move (how did I do it in just one week back in September? It seems more daunting now, probably because of the added Henry factor), a week and a half of preparing for the arrival of the new dog, a week and a half to get over jet lag and put the trip behind me. 

Let's start with a quiet morning. Henry isn't here yet so I could linger in bed, just like in France. I had gone to bed so late, surely I could stand a few more hours of sleep! Easier said. I have such a flood of imperatives to write down on my many to-do lists, that it's silly to fret in bed about them. Best to get the day rolling. 

Breakfast. Good old granola once again. 

And then I start in on it. Not packing yet. But everything else. (The balcony cleaning alone will take a lifetime! Those birds! Whose idea was this anyway? In my next home, the feeder is going to stay away from any house surfaces.)

 

 

 

I'm glad that latest findings indicate that carrying heavy things is good for you. That it may preserve your muscle mass. That to a degree, it slows down the aging process. Because I think that in my retirement years, I have done a lot of lifting and carrying. Before, it was the grandkids. And soil and wood chips for the garden. Now? Groceries of course. From car to the apartment -- that's a big walk right there. And also boxes. The package delivery room here is a stroll down long corridors. But the big kahuna is all the moving. As I was lugging ten new bankers boxes (because of course I threw away the old ones), I realized that not only have I moved a lot in the last two decades, but I've also moved my mom a lot in the last half dozen years. All those clumsy heavy boxes of stuff -- hers, mine... My muscle mass must be delighted. Let's hope it doesn't let me down in the next couple of weeks.

 

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop at school. We cant really hang out at the Edge too long...

 

... 
 

 

... because I have to get Henry and it's quite the drive. She is in an especially chatty mood and by the time we reach Camp K9, I feel myself to be fully caught up on her school capers. 

 

Henry. Oh, has he been an interesting pup in his ten days at Camp K9! They wont soon forget him. At first, he destroyed his room furnishings (well, the bed... that's all that was in it). Then he got very nervous with people coming and going. Always though, he was a champ at playtime with other dogs. And eventually he learned to like some staff members enough that he let them nuzzle him. Sometimes. He was to have a bath, but he totally refused to cooperate for that, so they gave up. And now, here I am, ready to take him home.

I watch him come out. They've put a sweater on him. Small wonder -- it's bitter cold outside. He sees me, he sees Snowdrop, but he isn't sure about any of it. As if he can't quite comprehend this. She's back? They're back? Really? 

Within a minute it t sinks in.

He can't stop jumping and nuzzling and licking and being my greatest big pooch. The whole ride back. His nose is on my neck, my ear, my head. 

 (he's our navigator once again)

 

 

All this time I had been wondering -- what is going through his head? Does he think this Camp is his forever future? Does he feel abandoned? When he sees me again, will it fall into place for him? Once back, will the Edge noises and strangers scare him even more? Or maybe less?

Tonight, he is super-glued to me. Almost in a daze. His sad pleading eyes following my every move.

 

 

 

I've learned with Henry that he needs time before he can fully accept a new situation and mark it as an indisputably safe one. That if he turns away and then comes back, I will be there waiting for him.  For now, he is just seems so incredibly relieved to be home again. We will see how the next one and a half weeks will unfold. (I am not even going to think about what comes after!)

with so much love... 

leaving Paris

There are always two ways for me to leave Paris: either catch the early morning flight out, or the late afternoon one. There are benefits and drawbacks to each: leaving early means that you have to be up and out before breakfast. The benefit -- you arrive earlier and not what is, in effect, the middle of the night for you. The afternoon departure of course gives you a full morning in Paris. A leisurely breakfast. One last walk. The price? That late arrival. Usually the decision is easy: I base it on price. One connection is always cheaper. I take that one.

Today I got the late departure flights. And I'm glad! This trip has been all about an easy pace and the removal of constraints to my day. Not rushing this morning gives me that extra moment to let go, to feel the joy of being here.

Breakfast is relaxed. It takes me a whole hour to work through it:

I come toward the end of the breakfast time and I watch the lingerers, the late comers, and the incredibly efficient staff that is here to bring them the foods they want. If you ever read hotel reviews, complaints abound about the poky service in the morning. Many people are anxious to head out. To them, breakfast is just a meal to check off before they really get going. The Hotel Baume has worked hard over the years to perfect the breakfast experience. They've expanded tables to avoid any waiting. They've upped the staff. The whole operation is run so smoothly, though for me, their pace is irrelevant. I am among the lingerers, slowly easing into the day. The servers smile each time they pass my table. They know.

 *     *     *

I go for a walk. I really wanted to visit the chocolate shop called  Les Trois Chocolats. It's about a half hour walk and they are open only on certain days and today happens to be one of them. (For some reason I seem to be following them on Instagram and their photos are astonishingly good!) I've been meaning to stop there for the past three Parisian visits. And again I give myself a firm no, I show too little restraint when faced with excellent chocolate. My bags are full, my wallet is empty. Besides, I'd have to do a brisk walk. Nothing within me is calling for brisk. 

So I walk, at a leisurely pace really, and I almost get killed but for the Americans that I encounter along the way. Here's what happened: 

I'm in no hurry. I have no particular goal. I am meandering through the 5th district, in the direction of Notre Dame. It makes for a pleasant walk, one that I haven't done this time around.  The funny thing is I think about this very issue: how I should be careful, because I sure wouldn't like to wind up in a hospital today. 

Occasionally I pause to take a photo. I've done dangerous things before to frame a good picture. Remember running on the train station and ramming into a metal post? A hospital visit was required after that one. And once, in Paris, I stepped off the curb to get a better shot, right in the path of a careening bus. He saw me and stopped. And honked his horn very loudly. I deserved that!

Today, though, I wasn't in the mood for danger. I waited patiently while a trash van came down the single lane one-way road. I want him out of the picture. He passes behind me, I then step out and try to get a good angle. And then a group of Americans, standing nearby shouts very loudly, screams really: be careful, be careful!  I look around me. The van hadn't made a good turn so he was backing up to try again. He didn't see me right behind him and it was really only inches that separated his reear from me by the time I jumped out of the way. 

 The Americans then screamed at the driver -- you almost killed her! 

The lawyer in me wonders if it was really the driver's fault. Obviously he was going the wrong way. Obviously he should have looked carefully. But you can't really see what's in back unless you have a new car with all the new bells and whistles and screens. And from my perspective? Well, I couldn't possibly expect a car driving backwards. 

I thanked them profusely for saving my life -- in French so they'd think they had saved a French person, perhaps making them feel better about the way America is treating Europeans right now. 

In thinking about it, I dont know that I necessarily would have been killed. He was going slowly and presumably he would not have kept going once he hit me. But broken bones and a hospital visit were definitely in the cards.

The picture that almost broke the camel's back, with that narrow street clearly visible at the bottom: 

I walk back to the hotel. It's a misty day and the air quality isn't the best so I'm glad I didn't venture out far.

Note the audacity of some cyclists here. Headphones on, coat flying, no head protection, but oh that leg sure looks seductive!

 

From here, I'm just a hop skip to my hotel. 

 

I didn't eat a crepe this time. Maybe on my next visit...

And once more, the Baume, with its cheerful and helpful staff, ready to help, ready to say "see you soon."

 

(one more ride in the elevator...)

I have to cab it to the airport. There is now an elevator at the train station, but I can't count on it being functional. In Paris, if you can't carry something up or down  stairs, you should think twice about taking the metro. I am too old to lift and tote heavy stuff many flight of stairs. So I get a taxi. This is the one unfortunate thing about travel to Paris: the taxi ride is too long, too congested, too unpleasant. Ah well, it gives me the one thing to complain about. And yes, I realize it's my own fault. If I had traveled really lightly and purchased nothing, I could have taken the train.

 

*     *     * 

The flight from Paris is on time, which is good because my layover in Detroit is unusually short. Or at least was supposed to be short. As in the trip out, it's that last leg that turns out to be the troublemaker. Something about missing crew, overbooked flight... all unimportant details now because we did take off eventually and we did land in Madison and not in Marseille, though it was nearing midnight, or were I to think in French -- 7 in the morning.

Ed is waiting at the airport. We drive to the farmette, drop him off and I go home. My temporary home -- for the next 12 days. I try not to think about all that needs to be done in preparation for my move. I need to do it without giving any sign to my dog that anything is out of the ordinary. A challenge indeed! 

Good night, from one who is at the moment living at the Edge.

with so much love... 

one last day

This isn't the first time that I loaded a trip with hefty decisions, and spent time thinking not just about the pleasures of my surroundings. I think if you clear your head of the mundane stuff that keeps you busy at home, you open yourself up for weightier contemplation. Meaning of life (always that)! Should one remain married (thought about and discussed that one on a train ride from Krakow)! Should I respond to a Match.com email from Ed (decided in Vienna)! Should I sign off on a condo (Geneva)! And now -- should I move out and get a second dog. Decided and set in motion in Paris.

But all that notwithstanding, I still live and breathe this city. It is with me, it is within me. I take each moment here casually but seriously too. Every walk has meaning for me. Every encounter is special. When I am home and am waiting for my return visit here, I often think -- how will it feel to wake up in that bed by the window? How much pleasure will that walk down that block bring? Will I feel the serenity that I seem to always find in the Jardin Luxembourg? The souvenirs from Paris are those thoughts, those recollections that add fuel to my everyday back home.

Today, I have yet another perfect wake up. I open my eyes, check the time, smile, sink back into the pillows which always seem that much softer, more luxurious than those back home, and I doze off. Wake up again, doze off again until I feel ready to climb out of bed.

True to predictions, it's gray and a bit damp out there. Not bad. No heavy downpours, like the one a year ago that flooded the metro system. No paralyzing snow like that which grounded my daughter an me here one very cold December. No heat wave that turned the cheeks of my youngest grandchild red as beets one July afternoon. I'm good with clouds. Walking weather!

But first, breakfast. It's more crowded this morning, so I have to retreat to a different table. Same delicious stuff.

I return to my room. Down using stairs, but up in the elevator. It has a mirror which I always have to face, tempting me to do this:

 

 

 

My room: such a happy place. A spot on the couch, next to another window. There's never a reason to rush. I soak in the loveliness of my surroundings. That they always have such a hypnotic effect on me is in large part the work of the management here. Madame Sylvia who runs the place and whom I have known for decades now, is the real motor behind the hotel. Nothing escapes her. Honestly, the place is not in any way less perfect than a five star hotel. She sees to it. All with a warm smile. Every time I see her, it's like running into a very good friend.

It is Mme. Sylvia who suggested that I check out a fairly new shop on rue Madame. It's called Marin Montagut. How to describe it! You might get more of a sense if you click on the website. Hand crafted artifacts and souvenirs from this area of Paris? Maybe that.

It's a short stroll to the store. Familiar blocks for me, but as usual, the people, mostly Parisians, are what makes the walk so interesting. Here's something that I find curious: women and men, but especially women wrap themselves in thick scarves the minute the temperatures drop to autumnal cool. As if their throats would suffer without layers of wool around them. But come winter, they ignore caps and hats. Today is a mildly cold day -- just above freezing. Very few are wearing any head cover. Here, I'll show you:

 

 

Naturally, I have to shed mine as well. I'm not going to stand out!

On my way I pass something I never noticed before: right across the street from the Jardin Luxembourg there is a dog park. A real Parisian dog park. I'm not sure Henry would get the exercise he needs here, but at least he'd make friends. (Mme Sylvia suggested that I teach my dogs French commands. Great idea!)

 

  

 

The Marin Montagut store itself  is beautiful. 

 

 

 

Your perfect spot for browsing. For admiring all that is French. 

I limit myself, really I do. But wouldn't a second pillow cover be just the perfect thing?  Or maybe this plate?

 

 

 

From there, I meander along the streets of Paris. Less familiar ones, and some of the same ones I seem always to get to. 

(always the tight seating... you have to like the proximity of your neighbor)

(beautiful bouquets)

 

 (you know fruit pastries always catch my eye; these are especially original...)

 

 

I'm carrying stuff that's a bit awkward -- that's the excuse. But really, why should I even look for an excuse. As I reach Rue du Bac, I want to hop on the metro. The line here doesn't really take me any closer to the hotel, so I transfer to the next one.

And then I am where I want to be -- in my room. But not for long. I decided I would eat lunch, at Treize au Jardin. It's a funky place, right across the street from the Jardin Luxembourg, and I have always really liked their healthy food choices. A veggie soup and a kale salad today. As always, totally delicious.

But for coffee, I go elsewhere. To this place, L'Arbre a Cafe, on the other side of my hotel. I've always thought that espressos at cafe-bars here are worse than the average espressos you'll now find in the U.S. On the other hand, in these emerging real coffee shops here, their coffee is much lovelier, with a good selection of coffees with notes that don't get lost even for a latte drinker like myself.

Back at the Baume, I run into Mme Sylvia again. I tell her that her shopping suggestion lead me now to worry if I even have room in my suitcase for added items. That I added a bag, just in case. There's a lot of laughter among staff here. Mme Sylvia brings it out of me, of others. She, of course, knows all too well about Henry, and the new-about-to-arrive dog. She asks if I have checked out Moustaches, a pet store right on the Boulevard St Germain, maybe a five minute walk from where we are?

I have not! But I will now! 

(on the way there, I see this  woman, who does wear a cap, though I dont think it's for reasons of warmth)

 

 

 

I dont need any more sweaters for Henry and I figure that he can share the ones I have for him with his new sib, but what I find absolutely irresistible  are the toys and treats.Macarons? For dogs? (These are made with salmon...)

Ha! Even the poop bags here are pretty!

I return to the hotel with one more bag, and one big smile.

 

In the evening, I'm not really hungry for a big dinner. And so I go to Les Editeurs. I like the place for its atmosphere (full of bookish people!) and for its almost impersonal service. No one cares what you order. I dont feel I should be loading myself with food just because it's the dinner hour.

 

 

Te place is always full, for breakfast and for dinner. I think of it as a meet up place: colleagues, friends, parents with an older son maybe...

 

 

 

 

I order fish again. I'm really in the mood for it on this trip!

 

And now I am back in my room, in this lovely hotel...

 

 

... for one last evening of contemplation, reading, writing of course, and, unfortunately packing for my trip tomorrow.

My next post should be from the Edge.

with so much love...