The Little Words Mean the Most

 

 

WE give away well over US$30,000 a year to various charities. That's gone on for a long time.

WE have no kids, so our entire estate goes to charity, after expenses. [Pssst: whomever it turns out to be {Nicole?} who probates our will, PLEASE: treat yourself very, very kindly. It's a tough job. You deserve luxury. Get the job over with and indulge yourself.]

SO, anyway, Sim One and I decided to conduct a survey, of those few charities in our will currently.

FORECAST: Stats show that we will do one more adjustment of our will before we/me/whomever's left pass/es.

Our new survey of those beneficiaries listed in our will asked just TWO simple questions:

(1) Who are you?

(2) Why should we continue supporting you?

 

 

Where I've spoken & when I return, the BBQ I prefer

 

Yesterday, March 30, 2019, was opening day for smoked ribs season at Gut Busta's, in Danielson, CT. The best BBQ east of the Mississippi and west of the Azores, IMHO. The clean-food palace of Mike & Jen; no hormones, no antibiotics in the meat; sea-caught, not farmed, shrimp. They were exhausted. Think of it as something like opening day for trout season, when pent-up avid fly fishers line the banks. The patient crowds kept coming. Around 3:30 PM I nabbed Gut Busta's last 2 orders of ribs plus an on-the-house half order of their final handcut fries for the day. "You've run out of potatoes? What kind of Irish people are you?" I ate one order of ribs for my Saturday night dinner. I ate the other order for Sunday brunch.

Our last night in Paris: on the trail of cassoulet

What the walls and windows had to say: Paris Sunday morning

 

What the Bastille Sunday marché had to offer beginning with a new coat for Marci

and scarves and fresh oysters and coffee from around the world, ground onsite and tasted onsite

breakfast with cold, hard cider in the Marais @ the Breizh café

 

 

a.k.a. Bill's favorite crepe house

Our room with a view, a short walk from Notre Dame

They call it Cherry.

Rented from Guest Apartment Services, Paris.

Retro Tour, Paris: motorcycling with experts

The RETRO TOUR began at our front door. It rained the whole way ... and then THE SUN! Went uphill to Montmartre. Visited the wall painted with "I love you" in all languages. Ended just beyond the Eiffel Tower, in time for a good lunch. We adored everything about this: the sidecars with warm blankets, the vintage clothing of our guides and drivers, being outside not inside, the frequent stops for photos, and the excellent company of these Parisian entrepreneurs who used to all do something else and were advised, "Find something to do with tourism." This is their bright idea.

A lighter lunch Saturday, at Clover Green, Paris

A well-regarded chef with several establishments, each different.

The blessedly brief lunch menu offered certain items, either with or without scallops or chicken: small portions of well-prepared and beautifully presented vegetables. And a dessert.

Drunk with a Collioure white, very floral. The coffee came in bathtubs. Sim One's plate had cheese-flavored ice cream and magenta clovers. One of our best meals so far.

Remains of the day: Paris

This was the same brasserie where in 2016 these two, lower right, Marci and Jonathan, mourned the loss of the US presidency to a court jester, ushering in an era of "I don't know and I certainly didn't vote for him." For the camera, they reproduced their visages that day. The other night, for dinner, we sat next to a jolly table of Parisians. Sim One mentioned, in French, "We're Americans." The man replied, "Well, no one's perfect." He meant "you have a court jester as president." We apologized for the current state of affairs. He accepted, on behalf of France. ¶ Jonathan and I went to the Galeries Lafayette, to try to replace his winter coat. We were exactly one week too late for the sales. All the winter stuff was gone. The ceiling, however, remains sublime.