Beach Red Reading about winter clothes in Vogue, in the depths of a Midwest summer, has presented me with a challenge. It turns out I’m supposed to wear red this winter and love it. Oh, and by winter, Vogue means this fall. Just so I’m clear. This fall I’ll be in Paris. In Paris, as all us American tourists have emblazoned on our brains like permanent dye, one wears black. Not red. Just ask me about the time I got caught wearing my red Beijing baseball cap in Pere La

Queen Anne's Lace I just read the name of a recipe. Pear Tart with Stilton Cheese and Cranberry Rash. Cranberry Rash? Ghastly. Maybe they mean rasher, as in rasher of bacon. Anything’s possible, just off the plane, train and automobile, getting from California to Illinois. My head clears. I look again. Cranberry Relish. The recipe is for Cranberry relish. I hope the rest of my stay here goes like that. My world upside down, but upside right if I read sideways and fro

Chess Players My father was chess champion of Pittsfield, Massachusetts when I was nine years old. This was a defining event in my childhood. Because I was the only kid in the house (and there were five others) who wouldn’t play chess with Dad. Oh, he tried to teach me, but beyond the bait of the pieces being called fairy tale things like queen and knight, the overriding issue was the fact that at the end, there would be a loser. I don’t do loser. I am a terrible loser.

I just saw “Midnight in Paris”, Woody Allen’s latest, less than wonderful movie, and could barely get passed the shoes the fiancee and her mother wore throughout. High heeled, wedges, stilettos–none of which would be possible to wear in Paris, unless you were either born and bred in Paris, or you were carried around by large henchmen. Furthermore, these two ladies obviously never got that famous tourist syndrome–the blister-that-never-goes-away. The last trip I took to Pari

Couldn’t upload my photo of the Obamas shining in London, so this beacon will have to do. One day WordPress and I will be friends… But this is all about those handsome Obamas! And how happy Europe is to see them! I was in Paris when Obama was elected. I cast my vote for him from there. In fact, that day at the busy Parisian post office, my reason for being there got me to the front of the line. I had explained what I was there to mail, and added that I was voting for Ob