Waiting for the children.

The clouds and cold linger. As the trees are stripped of their garments, we retreat into the folds of our dark coats and woolen socks. With one coat, two pairs of pants and my favorite boots—worn every day since I gritted my teeth and bought them—choosing what to wear in the morning has never been simpler and I leave the apartment just as happy (maybe more) as if I’d chosen my outfit from the overstocked closet awaiting my return to Dallas. Consumerism has not invaded the Parisian lifestyle. In the States, we are no longer conscious of the tyrant shoving stuff, often in bulk, down our throats, into our homes, through our minds, even into storage. I rarely see people reading the gossip magazines that appeared in France only 5 or 6 years ago. While consumerism strives to take hold of the people, another dictator has occupied the hearts and minds of some who can afford it.

Angelina's in the 1e
Said to be the best chocolate in Paris (I haven't tried it yet)

Yesterday, my History of Fashion in Paris class visited the area just north of the Louvre. Professor Constant said it is almost impossible to walk through the streets on a Saturday because of the number of people and the height of their heels. With much pomp and scorn, an acquaintance living in the same area told him indignantly that she has never crossed over the Seine to the left bank. Unfortunately, such people typically ignore opportunities to break the stereotype. Maybe it is what they strive for.