THE PARIS DREAM BASTILLE DAY AND IOWA

I am a débutant blogger, an unpublished writer, and a persistent down-and-out-famous painter. A fellow  artist  not so-down and out remarked, "Mary, you don't SELL  your work. You place them."

SO the the joy of blogging is that it can go anywhere. Anywhere. Even Iowa.  Now that I have a counter, I learned that My biggest following  is in Iowa, USA. I do not understand why. But I say thank you. 

I have a new neighbor, Vincent,  in my building   and in the "welcome-wagon-American- style", I invited him and his pretty girlfriend into my dumpy studio for a glass of wine.

He looked at the mess of paints and brushes  and said " Wow. The Paris dream."

"Ask my landlord." I replied. 

Vincent said that his mother  had always dreamed of having a life like this.

"Ask my landlord." I sighed.

So for the most celebrated  night in France.   I was in Paris .  In Montmartre.

I, slept in the bath tub with my dog, Nina, who was  trembling from the boom-boom  of fire crackers. Certainly she  would have  preferred Iowa or maybe even Kansas.

I would have preferred to dance. So,  for all my readers who wish they were here...

a night in the tub is no picnic.