The real irony here is that trees in France are mounted in little squares of wood, instead of buckets of water, and thus last a whopping two weeks before pine needle Hell sets in. So it goes.
The other night I met Betsey at a café near Saint Sulpice (like the good old days) and on the way home, I noticed yet again the lonely yellow chair. I sing "One of these things is not like the other ones" every. single. time. Sesame Street?
Today the boys had drawing classes. While I waited for Maxime to finish his projects, I wandered around the little studio and happened to observe this lamp. Are you seeing that? That's right, your eyes deceive you not - 'tis a Polly Pocket, circa 1990-sometime-when-I-was-playing-with-these. You know, back when she was made of (lead-incrusted?) plastic and could, in fact, fit in your pocket. Made my day.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which is up there with Halloween on the list of 'Reasons I can never stay in France.' What kind of country doesn't take the time to celebrate the successful (?) installation of the colonists it sent over, before selling off the majority of the colonies for almost nothing to finance silly wars (cough *NAPOLEON* cough)?! You'd think they'd take any excuse they could get ... Unfortunately, they do nothing - so instead of buying cranberry sauce and a roasted chicken and faking my way through it, I will be in orchestra rehearsal from 7-10pm.
FAIL.
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