I've only known Paris through film, print, imagination, art, and Colette.
When I was a kid, I loved
Gigot w/Jackie Gleason as a bullied, mute janitor and the classic,
The Red Balloon and I wanted to live in Paris. We’d moved to Washington where I was landlocked, homesick and heartbroken, so I often escaped through fantasy. On Saturday mornings I’d pack a lunch of cheese, olives, and bread and duck through the fence of a nearby estate to wander the grounds, pretending I was in France.
Not too long ago I heard on a weekly cooking podcast that some non-McDonald-like restaurants Americans (must be some very wealthy ex-pats) are now opening in Paris are being well reviewed and patronized.
Also, it's become acceptable for diners to drink wine with ice cubes (Parisian Warming?).
Due to life’s circumstances, Paris (or anywhere in France) has long been off my bucket list. The closest I got was Paris Virginia, when I would drive past its highway sign en route to a cabin my family once owned on the Shenandoah River. I was especially interested in the town because a MPDC detective had told me that the suspected killer of a member of my family was from Paris (Va). Strangely, the green highway sign with the arrow read “Paris -- No Exit”. I was curious about the town and wanted to drive through but saw the sign as an omen; maybe I’d enter a
Twilight Zone episode I’d never be able to exit. So I always drove by.
The greatest sin is to be unconscious. ~ Carl Jung
We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'
