A Moveable Feast

On Sunday, the French Market opens up on South Street, in the parking lot north of the train depot.  There are many interesting vendors, bur for me, only two stalls truly evoke memories of my visits to Paris.

One is the antiquarian bookseller, who reminds me of afternoons spent walking along the Seine, and also hours spent hiding from the rain at one of my favorite Paris treasures, located at 37 Rue Bûcherie (5eme).  The other is this one, selling lovely damask linens that make me wish I were spending a morning shopping for fabrics in the 18eme (Montmartre), in the shadow of Sacre Coeur. 

There is something here for everyone, even if it is French in name only.  Maybe you will find your own little bit of Paris here? 

You Can Leave Your Hat On

"I myself have 12 hats, and each one represents a different personality.  Why just be yourself?"  (Margaret Atwood)

I spied this impressive bit of millinery as I waited for the train last week.  This woman, and about a dozen others, were all attired in red hats and purple clothing.  One or two went far enough as to accessorize with red shoes.  It was like Margaret Atwood's collection of bonnets (each with their own unique character) on parade.  Truth be told, one was wearing only a simple red headband in lieu of a flashy chapeau.  My teenager gave her very high marks for her comparatively subtle expression of conformity with her party.