We spent the first morning of Courtney's visit at Les Puces flea market. Here's a shot of her wearing one of the old frisbee tee shirts that Micah sleeps in. Lost luggage, remember? One of the few things I'd do differently, on my trip, is buy more stuff. I can't stop thinking of the cute cast iron winged piglet that I didn't buy. We'd only gotten a couple of hours sleep the night before, so I was a little off my game. I did manage a couple of good purchases, though. When my dad was in the Navy, and I was younger than seven years, he used to go on Navy cruises for months at a time. He'd come back and bring me small dolls dressed in the costume of the region the ship had visited. I have five or six of them. At the flea market, I found a Buckingham Palace guard doll, about 6" tall, exactly like a doll my dad had given me. Then, I found a girl dressed in simple peasant-like clothing, wearing a crucifix. I bought them and sent them to my dad and his new wife. It seemed like a loving, sentimental idea, at the time, but now I'm a little worried they might think it weird. I sent an accompanying explanation, but I'm sure he's forgotten all about those dolls and wonders why the heck I sent such a thing. Oh, well. My other coup was several letters, including the one pictured and described below. I have another that's four pages long, written in 1829. Danielle thinks it was written to a brother, from his sister, after a visit they shared. We're going to fully decipher them over a glass of French wine some day soon. I love them so much that I wish that I'd asked how much the vendor would take for a shoebox full of letters. Micah bought several old maps and, Courtney, a old stock certificates to make a collage. Many of the vendors were antique dealers and junk dealers, but there were also booths selling tee shirts and knock-off designer purses, sold by black (African-American doesn't apply, I don't suppose.) guys who were "sagging" and blaring French rap. It was the part of Paris that most felt like home and I really liked it. It was nice to see some French people imitate part of our culture, rather than the opposite, for a change.
We spent the first morning of Courtney's visit at Les Puces flea market. Here's a shot of her wearing one of the old frisbee tee shirts that Micah sleeps in. Lost luggage, remember? One of the few things I'd do differently, on my trip, is buy more stuff. I can't stop thinking of the cute cast iron winged piglet that I didn't buy. We'd only gotten a couple of hours sleep the night before, so I was a little off my game. I did manage a couple of good purchases, though. When my dad was in the Navy, and I was younger than seven years, he used to go on Navy cruises for months at a time. He'd come back and bring me small dolls dressed in the costume of the region the ship had visited. I have five or six of them. At the flea market, I found a Buckingham Palace guard doll, about 6" tall, exactly like a doll my dad had given me. Then, I found a girl dressed in simple peasant-like clothing, wearing a crucifix. I bought them and sent them to my dad and his new wife. It seemed like a loving, sentimental idea, at the time, but now I'm a little worried they might think it weird. I sent an accompanying explanation, but I'm sure he's forgotten all about those dolls and wonders why the heck I sent such a thing. Oh, well. My other coup was several letters, including the one pictured and described below. I have another that's four pages long, written in 1829. Danielle thinks it was written to a brother, from his sister, after a visit they shared. We're going to fully decipher them over a glass of French wine some day soon. I love them so much that I wish that I'd asked how much the vendor would take for a shoebox full of letters. Micah bought several old maps and, Courtney, a old stock certificates to make a collage. Many of the vendors were antique dealers and junk dealers, but there were also booths selling tee shirts and knock-off designer purses, sold by black (African-American doesn't apply, I don't suppose.) guys who were "sagging" and blaring French rap. It was the part of Paris that most felt like home and I really liked it. It was nice to see some French people imitate part of our culture, rather than the opposite, for a change.
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