When I arrived in France there were a few things that I wouldn’t eat. If I saw foie gras-goose liver-on the menu I just kept on going until I got to something “safe” that I liked, such as shrimp or chicken. Then one day I ordered a salad and it arrived with the dreaded foie gras on top. My mother used to eat calf liver with onions about once a week. It always smelled so fabulous that I would try to eat some but the taste just made me gag. So, here was some liver. I tried to eat around it but eventually some of it reached my mouth. It was one of those moments of revelation. I finally got it! This is why it is so famous in the food world. It was sweet and creamy and so tasty spread on bread. I had some just the other day with onion confit, crusty bread and a glass of sweet white wine. It was fabulous. I was humming “Heaven, I’m in heaven” the whole time I was eating it. Who knew?

One of the delights of living in France is the cheese. There are hundreds of varieties to choose from. We often just by the pre-packaged cheese in the grocery stores as they are cheaper but it is really fun to either buy some at a market or in a fromagerie. You can be half a block away and smell that cheese is somewhere further on. It isn’t the most pleasant smell but I love the taste of many of them.

I’ve had the rather runny Banon cheese which is wrapped in dry chestnut leaves and then tied with twine. It is strong but great spread on bread. Compte has a wonderful nutty flavor. Simple goat cheese is fun to mix with other things such as a sweet fruit confit. I’ve come to love cheese with a glass of wine which really adds to the flavor. Is any of it low fat? No, unfortunately. I try to have just a small slice after dinner. It is a part of France which I’ve come to love.

 I guess before I moved to Paris that I was somewhat of a picky eater. There were many things I wouldn’t even try. My world opened up, as I like to say, when I moved here as I was trying all sorts of things new to me. I still won’t have anything with the word “tete” in it-which means head in French-and I’m not big on things made of “parts” as Maurice likes to say. I still haven’t had rabbit or horse and I probably won’t. So I don’t think I am a picky eater anymore.

 Maurice, however, has turned out to be one to my surprise. He will scarf down veal head, rabbit and very barn-yard like in smell sausages but will almost turn pale if I want to make a tuna fish sandwich. The meat has to be very well cooked and cinnamon is a no no. He never had tropical fruit growing up so doesn’t like bananas, coconut or pineapple. Luckily there are still many things I can cook but it does limit me a little and I love everything he doesn’t. Compromise, the name of the game.

There are some sounds that even with your eyes closed will tell you where you are, such as the sound of a siren. I have heard the European sirens for long enough now that the sound of American police cars or ambulances racing by strike me as odd. I don’t feel quite at home in the States anymore.

 There are the sounds of people talking around me that my brain is taking in unconsciously. I hardly notice that French is being spoken where ever I go, although I do hear German and Italian quite a bit in tourist areas, especially at the Eiffel Tower. It is a shock when I land at an American airport and first hear that American accent all around. It sounds especially strange if I am in New York City as I’ve never been used to that accent. I get a smile when I land in Dallas and hear all of those Texas accents twanging around, entering my consciousness. After returning to France hearing French seems strange for a few days.

 Once, the last time I was in the States, Maurice and I were walking at night in a city. Suddenly a train went by in the night not too far away and it gave out its long low whistle. It rather pierced my heart, that sound, and I realized that it was one of those uniquely American things that my heart had stored up somehow that I didn’t even know that I missed.

I am always on the outlook for angels

The much visited tomb of Chopin

 Flowers left from some official consul in Poland at Chopin’s grave

Look at all the flowers and candles left as well. There were also many on the tomb of Jim Morrison and the tombs of actors and musicians who died recently.

Someone spelled out something on one of the tombs with some small rocks. I can’t make out what it says. I liked the outline of a leaf left above it.

 The tomb of two ancient lovers, Abelaird and Heloise, reunited after death.

 I had over one hundred photos from my stroll around Pere Lachaise. It’s hard to pick out just a few, but fun to go through them.

A cross that I liked

This one was new to me. I went to feel it and it was metal but it had a funny looking texture, almost like spray-on plaster.

It looked like this man was trying to peek over all of the flowers his relatives had brought

Someone had placed a flower in hand of this sculpture

This sad goddess got painted golden for some reason