Paris, Day 12: Where Paris Chews Me Up and Spits Me Out

It started out decent. Slept in a little, got some groceries, had a bit of an emotional breakdown, then Ed sent me out to spend a day exploring on my own. Bought a couple scarves, got some great Lebanese food, and heard some great jazz in the Place de la Contrescarpe.

Then I went to the Pantheon, and learned some French history and saw the sarcophagi of Rousseau, Descartes, Victor Hugo, Marie Curie, and most movingly for me, Louis Braille, inventor of the Braille alphabet. (For those who don't know, my youngest brother was born blind.)

This is the small dome.

The big dome.

There is usually a Foucault's Pendulum hanging from the big dome, but it was being repaired. 

Even though there were many famous Frenchmen (only a few women) buried in the Pantheon, Descrates, Voltaire, and Louis Braille were the only ones honored with busts or statues. 

But things went bad from here. I left the Pantheon and walked around the corner to a bike station where I discovered that my wallet was missing. I retraced my steps, searched the Pantheon, talked to the security there, and couldn't find it anywhere. I thought I was being careful all day, but someone just picked it out of my bag. Moral of the story: always use a bag with a zipper--a flap and a zipper is even better.

I walked an hour home because, of course, not only did I lose my money but also my credit cards and train tickets and ID. By the time I got home the self-pity and tears had worn off, and I was mostly just angry and spent. The kids were appropriately sad for me, and Joe and Abby gave me cute pictures they had drawn of them and me, decorated with lots of hearts. Isaac drew me a weightlifting alien. Ed didn't blame me for being having my wallet stolen, but I was worried that I had been careless, so I wondered if I should blame myself, thus worried that maybe Ed did actually blame me deep down. Sometimes I really talk myself into a bad spiral.

I made dinner, during which time Ed got an email about work that was upsetting and frustrating. He had to take a walk around the block, which didn't help much. After dinner, we left the kids and went out to see the collections at the Pompidou center. It was open until 10, but the ticket office closed at 8, and it was after that, so we couldn't get in. We wandered for awhile and got gelato and a macaroon, then came home to a screaming match between Linda and Isaac, more than an hour after they were supposed to be asleep.

There were definitely bright spots in the day: the jazz band was terrific. And remember the "it's a bad day to be a Stratford," when the kids spent hours on their beds? Well, it has been giving good returns. The kids have had sufficient practice now that I'm not doing any dishes or laundry. Granted, I have to remind them, but rarely do I nag them, and they do a decent job. I can't believe all the free time that gives me. Also, it's only money, right? I would much rather be the person that is stolen from than to have the sad soul of the one who needs to steal. Most importantly, our mutual bad day has reminded me of how much Ed loves me. Even though I lost hundreds of dollars, he never once said anything unkind or judgmental, and was only supportive.

And at least we can still laugh together. After we ate our gelato and were on our way home, we saw a great fountain that had been vandalized in such a way that it seemed a perfect representation of our day: