Tales of Banlieuserdom

When you tell people you live in Paris, a certain image pops into their mind. The image tends to include a charming cobblestone street with a well-stocked fruit stand & a boulangerie where the croissants are always warm. The appartment has hardwood floors, a funky old-fashioned kitchen, and a spectacular view of Parisian rooftops, and the eiffel tower flickering in the distance. And it is true, that I used to have most of these things. Well, everything but the cobblestones & the tower view. In fact, this was my view:


But then reality sets in. You decide to move in with your boyfriend. And as much as a tiny studio on cobblestone street sounds appealing, you must be realistic. First of all, you have a budget. This immediately rules out anything but a shoebox in the center of Paris. Secondly, you need space--he needs a home office, and you a corner for your piano. Thirdly, you need outdoor space, as he smokes, and you can't possibly live with that odor inside your living quarters. You gradually move further away from the romantic banks of the seine, and the funky bobo neighborhoods, and find yourself in a little town called Maisons Alfort. On the plus side, you have space, a large kitchen, and a garden, and you pay less then all of your friends, including those with closet-size studios in the city. On the downside, you can no longer call yourself a Parisienne. This is reality.

So in my new reality, there is a beautiful thing. A garden. I haven't had a garden since moving away from my parents, and never really considered having one again until reaching retirement age. However, the garden looks like this :


See ! even Lucie is fleeing ! the horror !

So I bought these:


and I started to do this:

(I spent 2 hours pulling weeds. and it still looks like this!)

And all I really want to do is sit here and drink a margarita:


and watch these little guys grow:


Stay tuned to watch the garden grow ...