We planned very little to do in Paris except eat and drink. Ducks confit and magritte, wine, pastries, chocolate, steaks and more pastries. More wine. The occasional sliced fruit or glazed berry that came glistening atop whatever tarts caught my eye. It was Paris. Even if we died from heart attacks, they would be the most delicious heart attacks in the world.
Continue reading “Before Christmas, In Paris”
“Oh, no, I’m not saying she isn’t a nut — she is — but I’ve noticed before that sometimes someone like that behaves quite ordinarily with everybody, manages everything, you’d never think she was a nut, but there’s just one person, with that person, she’s out of control. It makes you wonder.”
― Doris Lessing, The Good Terrorist
…entails posting photographs your brother takes of Paris because you are:
a. too lazy to write a substantive post
b. not in Paris.
c. thinking about moving to that other city, close to Paris but vastly different in temperament (gloomier, but no less romantic).
d. All of the above.
*à mon frère chéri,
Cela frise le plagiat, mais je suis ta sœur. Ainsi, je ne m’inquiète pas.
|Every tourist is required to take a photograph of this tower. But not every tourist does it well. My brother is not every tourist.|
|A view from the Seine. La Vie en Antique Filter.|
*To my darling brother,
This borders on plagiarism, but I am your sister. I do not care.