I’m Still at Home and In Paris

No Excuses, No Apologies, Just Regrets and Regards!

Yes, I know it was September 2024 when I last wrote a post for all who have been such great supporters of my little travel blogs, odd thoughts, art, history, music and archaeology, and especially the photographs, most of which were expertly captured by my photographer/husband.

One might say that I’ve been so busy living life that I’ve had no time to write about my experiences. Many remind me that I was always busy living before, and still managed to publish at least one post per month.

Enjoying the serene ambience of the garden at Resto Apicius in Paris 8ème, surrounded by lush greenery, blooming Hydrangeas and elegant table settings.

So what happened?

For one thing, I have suddenly discovered the writings, posts, and photographs of others, especially on social media. These were distracting, as they are of great interest to me. Almost always, if something catches my eye, if someone else’s stories seem far more interesting than my own, or if another person’s style of writing, their photographs, and POV are more appealing or provocative, it isn’t enough to just tap the heart. I am now compelled to write something candid and relevant in response.

This puts me in contact with, and sometimes even in ongoing conversation with, other writers, photographers, and animal lovers, as well as those in the music and art industries. I have been introduced to the fascinating world of animated artwork, particularly that created through artificial intelligence, more than ever before. It is surprising to me to discover how many people, besides those whose work I comment on, are reading and commenting on my posts and even on my comments! And, of course, like any writer, I enjoy knowing that people are reading me.

Additionally, being an addictive personality at heart, I couldn’t stop interacting on the Web in a way that I had never done before. And the gratification has been almost instantaneous and never fails to appear; Each day is an altogether new experience for me.

I also found it an incredibly easy way to stay in touch with people I like but rarely get a chance to talk to on the phone or via FaceTime, and rarely see in person here in Paris, due to the time difference and the geographic distance. However, I have also discovered a dark side to social media. Not only can there be a malevolent impact upon critical public matters, an undue influence of artificial intelligence in politics and world affairs, but there is also the widespread abuse of free speech-gone-unchecked by any regulatory agency, and rampaging lies, rumours, and untruths about public figures and a certain impact on ordinary folk like me as well.

I have come to realise the existence of untold numbers of impersonators, impostors, predators, scammers, and sociopaths that lie in wait to destroy the faith and trust of those people of the utmost goodwill and kindly intention. Those persons of significant inner or outer beauty, celebrity, fame, or enviable talents often become victims of those who can easily capture their identities and steel the credit for their creative products with full intent to ruin their reputations, or to rob admirers, fans, and followers who dare to come out into the open with their sincere appreciation and respect for those whom they admire.

Please, take care while online and don’t get lulled into thinking, “it can’t happen to me".

These realizations, as well as the unexpected election of Donald Trump for a second term as President of the United States, a position of power over and a platform for the persecution of those who are “not he”, and the distressing awareness that he has neither the integrity, intellect, morality, sense of history, nor any of the other attributes or qualifications for the position as the leader of the free world, has saddened me, and has me mourning for the America into which I was born and grew up, where I was educated, and worked until I was 67 years old. Could it really be that the great experiment of democracy called the United States of America is coming to an inauspicious and tragic end at the executive orders of this loathsome beast?

Is the dream of a Camelot, inspired by the short days of JF Kennedy, or that ‘golden city on the hill’ invoked by Ronald Reagan, no longer even metaphorical or aspirational? Do we now equate the highest seat of government, the seat on which the Trump now sits once again, with his golden toilet seat, occupied with complacency, and a ‘city’ that has been taken over by a pack of predatory oligarchs and their teams of outlaws and incompetents who scheme and manipulate to drain American life of its dreams and its future to fill their pocketbooks with more gold?

Is the approaching total annihilation of all cities —wealthy, poor or middle class, Northern or Southern, Easter or Western—due to the events set in motion by the all too well expected and often denied impact of climate change just the beginning of the end of life as we knew it in America and the rest of the world. Will endless world conflicts take human life on Earth out of the picture before we experience the end of the planet?

This ominous sense of futility drives me to live each day as if it were my last. And thus I find it hard to look back and try to pick up where I left off last year, touching on some highlights of the last days of 2024 and perhaps the first half of 2025.

It is difficult looking back to realise that I have not written since we returned from Iceland towards the end of summer 2024. We did achieve our goal of visiting ‘another planet’ to be as far

away from the madding crowd of the 2024 Olympics in Paris. I know that these events must’ve been stimulating for all who visited Paris and took part in one way or another. Still, for us, the front row seat watching on the television from time to time during our Arctic adventure was just the perfect and most welcome cup of tea for the two of us.

It seems to me that the remainder of the summer was spent in hiding, self-quarantined in our apartment with an occasional drive out into the countryside on a nice day just outside the boundaries of greater Paris. But there was one memory that will stick with me for the rest of my days and which says something about why I love living in Paris.

About a week after we returned home from Iceland, we made a reservation to have dinner at one of our favourite restaurants, where we occasionally treated ourselves. It was still warm enough to take advantage of the beautiful garden that adjoins Élysée Park and offers outdoor diners a view of one of the most stunning fountains in the park. However, since Restaurant Laurent is so close to the Presidential Palace, and just across the park from the temporary stadium that was built in my beloved Place de la Concorde, where the opening event was taking place for the Paralympics, we

Ground Zero for the opening night of the Olympics and the Paralympics in a transformed Place de la Concorde in Paris

encountered numerous detours and road blockades that led us to the belief that this ten-minute drive from our apartment was increasingly turning into an impossible maze in our attempt to make it in time for our reservation.

We continued to be forced further west and north of our destination. Finally, in frustration, I began to ask the police if they wouldn’t let us through the barricades so we could reach our destination, which was getting farther and farther away, rather than getting closer. When they saw my handicapped placard in the windshield, the Paris Police became more than cooperative, and in their willingness to help us get going in the right direction, they removed the barriers or the trucks that stood in our path, and little by little, we were able to resume our trek, now in a south easterly direction to rue Gabriel, until we finally reached the last roadblock, which was guarded by a young policeman with a small police car and no barriers.

This young law enforcement officer stood his ground, and no matter what I said in my best French or what documents I showed him -- our reservation at the restaurant, and my handicapped credentials -- he demanded that we head in another direction. This occurred at the point of a roundabout, which allows for various options for detours at the beginning of that one block of rue Faubourg Saint-Honoré that houses President Macron’s residence and that is always off limits to

automobile traffic, and at the head of which stood the black wrought-iron and brightly gilded gates of the Department of the Interior of France. As if a lightbulb had lit up in my mind's eye, I looked over my shoulder and suddenly noticed three other policemen standing by the curb in front of those imposing gates. I decided it was sink or swim. I took my handicapped credentials, climbed out of our car, marched across the roundabout in my elegant cocktail dress, and began to initiate my Hail Mary plea in French to the policeman who looked like he might be the most senior and the wisest of the three.

I told him the story of our long journey, which was less than a kilometre and a half from our home, located behind the Place de La Madeleine, to the restaurant on rue Gabriel. The officer smiled at me and winked. He proudly said, “I understand your story, Madame, and I speak English very well. Here is what you will do. You will back your car up to the curb over there, and I will have my car brought around to drive you to your destination.

Astonished at the idea that a policeman would tell me to park illegally in a very delicate roundabout, I did as I was told, and before I could even get out of the car, a late-model station wagon, plainly marked ‘POLICE ’ pulled up, and the young handsome policeman who was driving it invited my husband and I to sit in the backseat. When the vehicle arrived and pulled into the

restaurant's driveway, the Voiturier (in the States, we would call him a parking attendant) greeted us by name, grinning from ear to ear. He first opened my door and, still with a look of surprise on his face, welcomed us to enter the restaurant.As it turned out, we were joined by only two other couples in the entire restaurant, including the garden terrace, where we were pleased to be treated to gentle, warm breezes, beautiful birdsong, and the fragrance of the garden flora, all the pleasures of being seated outside.

Restaurant Laurent 41 avenue Gabriel Paris 8e.

The two other couples had managed to find their way to the restaurant by walking across the park on an eastbound approach on foot. It was a miracle to have this garden and such extraordinary peace practically all to ourselves for the entire evening on a very long summer night when the air was unusually cool, the breeze was gentle, and the only sounds that interfered with the bird song were an occasional hoot and holler that came from the far-off make-shift stadium set up in the middle of the Place de la Concorde.

We also had the pleasure of plenty of time to engage in conversation and to learn all about each of the waiters, waitresses, host and hostesses at Laurent. It was a delightful time, a delicious meal, and it felt like we were in our own private garden amongst friends who catered to our wishes.

The feeling of being the luckiest residents in Paris continued into the Fall, as we entertained our friend Caroline at home for dinner on the eve of her retreat back to Los Angeles. We would miss her until her return for the Christmas holidays as well as her birthday at the beginning of January, to spend time in both her apartment in Paris and her beautiful home in the south of France;we attended a Soirée introducing arias from the many operas offered for the ‘24-25 Season at The Royale l' Opera de la Chateau de Versailles, after which we delighted in the festive display of

fireworks in the gardens of the chateau; we visited the Musée Jacquemart Andre for the special exhibition from the Borguesse Palace in Rome; we attended an unusual evening exhibition of contemporary artist’s paintings displayed alongside their classical inspiration at the Musée D’Orsay; we walked the stunning and varied gardens of the Chateau de Dampierre in Yvelines (one of our favorite departments just outside greater Paris), and enjoyed a delicious luncheon at the Auberge; we spent the latter part of November celebrating our anniversary and Ted’s 76th birthday Florence, Italy, where we took day trips to visit the Leaning Tower of Pisa, San Gimignano, and Sienna.

We returned home from Italy to find that Christmas would never be the same on our little street. It had become extraordinarily different since Covid had put many of the quaint shops and nice restaurants out of business, which had been replaced by numerous fast food places, mostly of an Oriental nature.

Word has it that these new proprietors of fast food restaurants didn’t feel that they needed to spend money on the Christmas decorations that were strung from one side of the street to the other in diagonal for the two blocks of rue Vignon, so they refused to pay the city for the service of installing the lights, the patterns of which had changed each year, and were a great delight for us, especially as they hung on the level of our windows across the front of our apartment.

Our beautiful Paris, which some call a museum, will and has from time to time changed 'exhibitions', and when that happens, we miss what we lived with and visited frequently, but not thoroughly or quite long enough. Nevertheless, our Christmas holidays were merrily spent with some wonderful new friends at our apartment for a home-cooked dinner, as well as the lighting of the first Hanukkah candle.

It is owing to such new experiences that I look forward to the future in many ways, still planning short-term and long-term, and always feeling fortunate that we have come to live a life that others can only dream of. But I now also have more mixed feelings than I can remember ever having before, and working to acclimate myself to this to-and-fro of mixed feelings takes up much of the time that I used to spend with cheerfully colourful, illustrated blog posts.

I don’t know if this is the end of my blogging, but it certainly is the end of the regularity with which I felt compelled to share the story of my life from week to week and month to month. But I do promise that my next post will give you a sense of the highlights of this year.

For now, it seems much more important to me to live, save my memories, and contemplate every experience, before, during, and after each one of them. I hope that those who have faithfully followed me regularly over the last few years will forgive me if I have become irregular and not nearly as jolly as I used to be, even though I am still At Home and in Paris, and thankful to be here. You might also find me sharing my "Mixed Feelings" on Substack when and if I can wrap my mind around them.

A bientôt!