Hail on V-E Day

Interesting day in Paris in the Spring . . .

Dragged out of the sack about eight of the clock (we'd been up reading last night till midnight), and, stuffing each of our laundry bags into my on-its-last-legs-overnight bag, slogged off to the "Club'Lav" over a couple of blocks.

Yes, I -did- stop to pick up an apple-stuffed flaky pastry for munching during the wash cycle.

Slow morning.

Strolled to the end of the block to discover the Folies Bergère. Paris is a medieval city still. Yes, Hausman's avenues slice straight lines across her, but when you get off those straight lines, the Lord in His wisdom knows where you'll end up and what you'll find. I've passed the rear of that building several times and never had a clue. As well as palaces and museums and historical sites . . . you have to have a destination in mind. Walking the streets in this immediate neighborhood I have found half a dozen five-star hotels on streets that were . . . uh . . . less than appealing.

Back home with clean laundry, Lady K and I went to breakfast, but all the boulangeries we frequent were closed. Stopped, therefore at a Thai place for noodles and fish and a televised explanation of the day's pace. It's Victory in Europe day. France was even more deeply involved than the US was, and we watched the President of the Republic lay a wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown and shake hands with many and many an old one with a suit coat full of faded medals. Both of us commented on the distance from the ceremonies of the crowds and connected it to Forsyth's "Day of the Jackal. (Need to read that again.)

After breakfast we followed a "passage" from Boulevard Hausman back to Rue du Faubourg Montmartre. This passage is a covered walk between buildings lined with exquisite small shops selling everything from antiques to artwork to comic books to Legos . . . and restaurants. We came out of the covered passage at a street I had never seen, and Kathryn asked, "This is our street?" I replied I'd never seen it; let's keep going. Back under roof, past more delightful shops, and we debouched on "our" street, where we knew our way back and forth.

This city constantly delights and amazes.

After a two-hour nap to counter the lack of sleep last night, I was working on this machine when the weather began to roar outside the window, then redouble its voicing. Then the lightning flared, and the thunder rattled the glass, and the weather roared louder as rain sluiced down harder. I opened the window to watch, and green-pea sized hail began drumming on the metal rooves around me. As I surveyed the small world from my elbowed vantage, a curtain moved across the way; mama, the baby, and his yellow-dressed sister stepped to their window to watch. A tier above them an older woman materialized at her window and a grown daughter at the next, and we all watched the hail. When I returned to scan the building, everyone had left except the little girl in yellow. Then even she abandoned me to watch the storm alone.

Daily amazement and delight.

Two hours later the hail has melted. The rooves are dry. There is more blue than cloud.

Life is good.