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It
is a lovely day today, a good day to spend out on our balcony with the geraniums and other
plants. One of our chores is to take care of these "green guests."
There are so many that we use a garden hose, not a watering can. The hose has to be
stretched through the apartment so it can connect with the water spigot in the
kitchen. We generally water at night, as it is getting dark, so that we don't drip
on pedestrians. This chore is a little precarious because the balcony is so narrow
and the pots of plants are so many. But the results are the best balcony plants on
Rue du Théatre. On nice days like this, the hot air balloon at Parc André Citroën takes tourists up for a view of Paris. We get to watch them watching us. Today is Sunday, one of the two days each week that the open air market is in action under the elevated train tracks a couple blocks away from us. I walked up to the market to get flowers for our table (at left) and to buy a copy of Le Parisen Dimanche, the Sunday edition of the French paper we read every day. The market is much too full of people to take pictures there. I wish I could, though. As soon as I finished making my purchases and walking the full length of the market, I came upon this Dixieland jazz group playing at the corner of Commerce and La Motte Piquet. After listening for a while, I decided I had to get Tom. He needed to hear the percussionist play the washboard. Tom's been working every day -- Saturdays and Sundays included. His publisher has given him a deadline for part of the current book project. I think back to what a colleague said to him recently - that he, the colleague, works harder than Tom, that Tom doesn't work very hard, or if he does, one sure can't see the results. The results are plain to everyone outside of OSU, it seems. Tom is well known for his books published by Norton, and the English Department there benefits from his name recognition. If the colleague thought about it, he might realize that he's just envious. If he only knew, he'd probably also realize he doesn't work as hard as Tom does. Who else in that department has a book in its 6th edition, a book that has helped thousands of people? But Tom had to hear this jazz band. So I went home and got him out of his hole. He thoroughly enjoyed it, and he was impressed with the percussionist's talents. We only stayed for about 20 minutes, but it was long enough to put a smile on Tom's face. Yesterday evening, when Tom was done working for the day, we took the Métro all the way up to Montmartre - a favorite place for us on weekends because of its liveliness. The yellow cat graffiti greeted us just as we reached the crowds near the top of the hill. We recognized a silver mime who talks in squeaks (so I guess she/he isn't really a mime). A white mime sat so still that he looked like a statue, but as soon as I walked past (after taking his picture, below) he turned and grinned at me.
A cellist made beautiful musing just down the hill a quarter block away from the crowds.
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