I have a dream. A recurring vision. Of myself at age 85.
This is normal, right?
In this vision, I am a completely adorable shrunken version of myself. I happen to be living in one of my three favorite cities. New York, Paris or Rome. (Leaving my options open.)
Every morning while John rests in 'his' chair drinking tea and reading one of his many newspaper subscriptions, I prepare for the highlight of my day. I pick out one of my loveliest and most elegant outfits from the tiny closet, dress, put on my pearls and small heels, pack my tiny and devoted dog into my bag and leave our apartment for our daily adventure.
I walk, of course. This is my daily exercise. I love to breathe the city air. My little dog is content to look around at strangers from his perch. We are happy.
I walk to the market down the street. Each day, the same one, at roughly the same time. All of the guys in the stalls love me of course, because I am sweet and adorable.
I look at everything and buy very little. I pick up fruit and smell the bottom. I caress the vegetables when no one is looking. I buy some radishes, a tomato, maybe a lemon or two. I pick up a fresh baguette (the Paris version of the dream) and throw it in the bag, alongside the produce and the dog. It is fine, I am old, I have no fear of germs anymore.
I watch myself in the glass in store fronts as I return home. I see myself as a vibrant young woman. My dog yips a little bit as his reflection. We both return home happy. John greets us, "Hi dear. How's mommy? What did we find at the market today?"
And this is a little sliver of my vision of our life at 85. I can dream.
Flash forward to present, or the not so distant past. Another overcast late Sunday morning in Paris. I am lucky to be staying in Le Marais where things are actually open on Sundays. I decide to hang in my neighborhood and wander around when I ran directly into the Richard Lenoir market. Truth be told, I was actually following a set of google directions that were to take me to one of the most loved creperie's in the city when I discovered this little gem.
This is just like the market in my dreams, although, much bigger than I envision, but same concept.
It was incredibly crowded but the diversity of it all was fantastic. Young, old, every possible thing you could imagine buying at a market, stuff everywhere. Crazy place, but awesome. So much fun.
But I was hungry and crepes were on my mind so I eventually went back to my trail. You can imagine my disappointment when the place was closed. Sundays are so confusing here. I should have checked before I left. I have to say, it was definitely worth it though ... sometimes the best things in life are the unexpected stops along the way.
If you'd like to visit the market, it is open Sundays and Thursdays from 9am to 1pm on Boulevard Richard Lenoir in the 11th. Right near the Bastille. You won't miss it. Enjoy!