She’s delightful:

She’s delicious:

She’s Delilah:

I see from your comments that many of you love Paris, so I thought we’d have ourselves a little quiz.  I don’t think you necessarily need to have ever been to Paris to answer these questions, in this, the age of Wikipedia, but it probably will give you an advantage.

Okay ready?  Let’s begin!

1)When did the French start illuminating the Eiffel Tower each night with this brilliant light display?

a) The day the US House of Reps took the word “french” off its menus on items describing fried potatoes

b)  The day George Bush left the White House for good

c) The day Carla Bruni became first lady

c) The eve of the new millenium

Extra credit:  The photo was taken from a restaurant.  Which one?

2) Who slept in the bedroom below?

3) Who is this character and in which museum can he be found?

4)Where was the following photo taken:

5) Who is this man?  How did he come to be carrying his head in his hands? (Extra credit – how did he manage to keep his hat on his head?)

6) In which part of Paris is this charming street?

And finally, we arrived home last night.  Guess who’s coming home today?

Happy Thanksgiving to you all, dear blog readers.  Today we walked all up and down the streets of Montmartre and through the Latin Quarter.  We had a lovely guide who is American but has lived in Paris for much of her life and is very knowledgeable about French history and by the end of the day I was clutching my throat with both hands and making sure that my head was still securely attached to my neck.  Those French sure knew how to throw a revolution.  Our American revolution was still quite recent when the French gave greedy old King Louis and Marie Antoinette the heave-ho, and it’s clear they meant to upstage us with all their casting about of freshly liberated heads of state (and I mean just the heads)and martyring of nuns and whatnot.

Well, I hate when people show you the photos of their holidays and say, “Oh, this is the so-and-so, where we ate such-and-such.”  So I’ll just post a few photos and you can enjoy the scenery and I’ll be happy to answer and questions.  The internet is VERY slow here and I’ve not been able to catch up on all your comments.  But I will!  Happy Thanksgiving!

Okay, I’ll answer your questions about the above shots now. Yes, the Christmas tree is being decorated in front of the Cathedral of Notre Dame.  And, yes, the guy in the crane is giving the finger to the people below, who were all hooting and jeering. In front of the sacred Cathedral. I absolutely LOVE the French.  Oh, our guide gave us her opinion on why the French are such huge fans of American comedians like Jerry Lewis and Jim Carrey.  It is because they always try to be very dignified and correct (except when decorating trees in front of churches) and the American comedians who are the most outlandish with their facial expressions and general physical movements are the most hilarious, in their opinions.   This made sense to me.  I know many Americans have been puzzled by the French love of Jerry Lewis, because many Americans, especially those of my generation just never thought he was that funny.  According to our American guide that’s because we know a lot of people who act like goofballs.  The French do not know so many.

Remember what I was saying about my posing problem?  Just point a camera my way.

The photo below is of me posing with a certain man of the blog. Does anybody know who this mysterious Francophile is?

Today we visited the Chateau De Versailles.   I have been to Paris on several occasions but have never visited Versailles, so was very enthusiastic about our little excursion.  We had a wonderfully amiable driver and guide named Didier who picked us up at our hotel.  When we arrived, Didier parked the car and hustled about getting us all admitted and the next thing I knew we were walking up some beautiful marble steps and then we entered a vast hall covered with murals.

I must interrupt my story here to explain something.  When my kids were little I read a lot about child development and one thing I learned is that a child goes through certain stages after which the child is able to capably regulate his or her emotions.  I completely skipped these stages.  They’re supposed to happen around 5 or 6, but I think I spent the whole time playing with kittens and watching the Land of the Giants or something and the stages passed me right by.  As a result, I have a hard time, on occasion, with the whole emotional regulation thing.  I tell this now, only because when we entered this first vast, muraled hall at the Palace of Versailles, I began to cry.  I don’t mean that my eyes misted up, or that I had to wipe away a tear.  No, I burst into tears.  I tried to wipe the tears away but they were streaming down my face and my daughter noticed them and grabbed my son, saying, “Don’t look at Mom, it’s too embarrassing, DO NOT look at Mom.”

Denis caught a glimpse of me and then started studying the ceiling mural very seriously.

Because my family were all suddenly facing away from us, Didier had only me to begin his tour with, but after saying a few words and having me answer with heaving sobs, he had to ask if I was okay and I sputtered, tears springing from my eyes, “It’s …just ..so …beautiful.”

By the time we reached the second or third hall, I was used to all the gilded beauty and the musculature of the painted horses and warriors, and all the Gods of mythology, the cherubs,  the vastness of the space, the tapestries, the sparkling chandeliers, the multitude of arches and the leaded windows leading out to the  manicured gardens, and I was able to listen to Didier and focus on the lifestyles of the Kings Louis, XIV, XV and XVI.

My favorite thing (and really what little I have every known) about the French court life was all the fooling around that was going on.  All the lovers and mistresses.  All the illegitimate heirs.  So, when Didier pointed out Louis XIV’s bedchamber and mentioned that a small door led to a back chamber, I chirped, “That’s where he’d meet his mistress, right?”

“Well, perhaps.  But there were many chambers back there….”

“Would his mistresses sometimes sneak into his room?” I asked, breathlessly.

“No, not even his wife would visit him in his room.  He would go to her.”

“Interesting!” I’d say, my head spinning with all the romantic possibilities, the kids walking, fast, into the next chamber.

I did the same thing when I was shown the brothels in Pompeii and the Roman baths. Teenagers were able to listen to their guides explain about the sex menus on the walls of the Pompeii brothels, while I was snickering into my hand, my cheeks flaming.  It’s another stage that passed me by.  Maturity in general.

So it was a glorious tour, not too crowded and Dev took all the pictures, except this one, that I took of two delightful young Americans:

Some of you know my camera travails of recent months. Well, at the airport on Sunday, as I reached into my giant carry-on satchel for passports, etc. my new-ish camera leapt from the bottom of the bag in an apparent last bid for freedom before we boarded, and it landed on the hard floor, spinning crazily beneath the feet of our annoyed fellow travelers.  The flash was destroyed.  So now, all the indoor and nighttime photos you see will either, a)suck or, b) have been taken by my daughter Dev.

Yesterday, we walked and shopped.  It was raining but just a little and very mild.

Then last night, we went out to dinner.  Devin and I got a little dressed up.  The guys, not so much

We ate here:

Sorry, no flash.  It was called Le Bistroit St. Honore, and oh my dear Lord, it was delicious!  The family wouldn’t allow me to take photos of the escargots, salads, steak frites and lamb stew that we devoured.

On the way home we saw these interesting wigs displayed in a window:

This, of course, was my favorite:

Yes, the pony bouffant was made completely our of human hair!  Tres chic!

Yes, we have arrived safely in Paris.  But, on our way here, we stopped in New York to attend the annual benefit for the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research. I’m too exhausted right now to go into detail about two of the most inspirational, intelligent, funny and truly beautiful people I know – Tracy Pollan and Michael Fox, but one day I will devote a blog to the work that these two have done toward finding a cure for Parkinson’s Disease.  If you’ve read either of Michael’s books, you know he’s a true optimist and he believes that a cure will be found but also believes you must work hard for what you want, so, to date, his foundation has raised 170 million dollars toward that goal.  Last night he raised a little bit more with the help of some friends.

Who can name each rock and roll legend in the above photo?

Thanks to those who complimented me on my skirt in the comments of previous entry.  I need to take posing lessons or something.  Just what am I doing with my hand on my bum?

Au revoir, le temps pour faire l’amour à mon mari

Guess who stopped by again? This guy (warning, it’s Bonehead).  Steve knew that if he buried it, the dogs would dig it up again so I guess he hung it high in a tree, deep in the woods.  Today, it was back on our front lawn, being tossed back and forth between the two dogs.  How did it come out of the woods? My guess is that it used its fangs and sort of dragged itself along, grinning and leering, teeth clacking, all the way down our driveway to where the dogs awaited

So, the dogs have had another bath and Steve has tried once again to get rid of the THING THAT WOULDN”T LEAVE.  But it you click on the link you will see that it’s mostly bone.  Steve pasted a bear skull next to it and we’re pretty certain that’s what it is now.

Did I mention that we’re leaving for a trip to a beautiful place this weekend?  It’s a city.  A place without skulls that get hung in trees (I thought Steve had buried it – I didn’t know he got all Blair Witch Project on us) and then mysteriously show up at our doorstep.  Honestly, if I woke up tomorrow morning and the thing was grinning at me from the other side of the bed, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Why do we live in the country again?

Oh yeah, now I remember:

Photo by Andrew Sullivan for the NY Times

I was in the city today and had plans to meet a friend for lunch.  I noticed that the stores on Fifth Avenue already have their holiday decorations up.  Seemed odd on such a mild day.  But beautiful.

I drove past this little park on East 51st street that I had never seen before:

After I parked, I walked past it and saw people enjoying themselves in the area.  I don’t know if you can see it in the photo, but there’s a lovely waterfall in the back.  There was a big sign explaining that it was a “private space open to the public” and there was a long list of things you could and could not do.  You could eat this, but not that, drink this, not that, etc. Well, with the beautiful trees and the waterfall, I decided it was the nicest private space open to the public I have ever seen, so I took a few photos and was careful to eat and drink nothing.

After lunch I brought my friend back to look at the space.  All the people had gone, but I noticed a sign that I hadn’t see when I took the other pictures.

Still can’t read it?  It said this:

Okay, Private Space Open To The Public, get over yourself!  I mean you’re beautiful and everything, but no photos?  You’re too important to be photographed?

I now am going to make it my mission to mark the seasons by the changes in the Private Space Open To The Public. I am now officially its paparazzi stalker.

I arrived home a couple of hours ago and was met by Steve, our caretaker.  He was holding, at the end of a stick, a skull.

Believe it or not, it’s not at all unusual to be greeted by somebody carrying a skull when you arrive at our house, especially during this time of year.  Usually, it’s a dog carrying the skull and the skull almost always once belonged to a deer.  Unfortunately there are hunters who hunt without permits in the woods near our house.  I have nothing against real sportsmen who hunt deer with permits, but these are just shooters who kill for fun and then leave the dead deer in the woods.  Eventually, the deer are carried, piece-by-piece to us by our dogs who are astonished when we won’t allow them to bring the skull or the leg (complete with hoof) into the house with them.

But today, it was Steve carrying the skull.  He had just managed to wrestle it from Daphne’s mouth, and I could see, before I even got out of my car, that it was no deer. This was the skull of a predator.  We have many coyotes here, but this skull was the size of a large dog and its upper canine teeth were double the size of Daphne’s.  And, unlike the dogs, the lower canines (I guess that’s what they’re called – the fangs) were even longer and larger than the upper.  I took some photos but they’re disgusting because the skull had not completely decomposed.  If you think you can take it and want to see it, click here. See what I mean about the size of the teeth?  We have had a lot of bear sightings in this area. I’m wondering if this could be a bear.  If any of you know any zoologists or wild animal experts, I’d love to hear what they think.  Here’s another.  Really, really gross, don’t say I didn’t warn you, but if you must, click here.  Scary stuff, huh?  But really, if you’re not squeamish, click here.  And finally, a photo taken by Steve which should give you a better sense of the scale of the thing.

This hidden photo thing is very useful.  I haven’t had to use it much, because I try to post things that are suitable for all audiences.  I did use it once before to show something, but really, folks, don’t open the file if you’re eating.  Also, consult your doctor if you experience  dizziness, outbursts of rage,  distorted thinking, weak joints, hearing loss, erectile disfunction, or thoughts of suicide after viewing this.

But back to the skull. The girls had been playing with it, and you can’t imagine the stench, so I had to give them a bath in the wash stall. Here’s Daphne thinking about what a bad girl she has been. She has spent the evening trying to communicate her vast shame and remorse to me.

And here’s Lulu, thinking, as usual, nothing at all: