Not an alien, but a painting of the figure on top of the column in the middle of Bastille. It is a painting that I saw through a window. I like it.
As I am wont to do, I was channel surfing once more looking for something in English. Yes, I know myÂ French will not improve by watching TV shows in my native language, but sometimes I just need it. It’s like a little comfort food, some macaroni and cheese, on a cold winter’s day. I can sit there and totally understand what is being said, what is going on, all the inside little jokes that only Americans can understand. It’s nice after floating around in a sea of French.
Cute and friendly little bulldog living in the lobby of a hotel.
Â Anyway, I came upon a TV series popular several years ago, Third Planet From the Sun, about four aliens who land on earth, take on human forms and then try to figure out what the heck is going on around them. Gee, I identify. Of course, it’s not as bad as when I first came to France. I’ve picked up some French in spite of myself and I’ve come to understand some things that used to be strange to me, such as saying “Bonjour” to everyone when you enter a doctor’s waiting room or having to pay for a chicken that is weighed before the head and legs are cut off-you pay for the part cut off. Wouldn’t you have a fit if they did that in the States?
I don’t have a photo of a chicken in a market, but here is a plane tree in the sun. I like the shawdows.
Â I do feel like an alien as I walk around Paris, never really fitting in, an observer of all that is going on around me. Fortunately, I don’t mind. I’m sort of a sociologist, collecting facts, foder even, for my blog. I’d like to become more a part of it all but I guess it just isn’t going to happen at my age. I don’t mind except at long French meals with everyone blabbing on. Everyone thinks I am a nice quiet girl. Only Maurice knows how far that is from the truth.
Â How things used to be