has the magic worn off? the sad truth and some non-food pictures

For years I could travel and eat and drink and drink and eat and drink and travel with no ill effects. I drank tap water in Rajastan (thinking, what's the worst that could happen, so I'll lose 5 pounds?) -- I was fine. I ate fat and starch in Eastern Europe - I was fine. I ate salads in Cambodia, street food in China - I was fine. I downed glass after glass of beverages (what's the worst that can happen, I'll need to call a car?) - I was fine. Foie gras, butter, scallops, potatoes cooked in goose fat, chocolate -- I concluded that one didn't gain weight travelling because of the state of heightened alertness, because I was almost always in motion when not sitting at a table, dodging traffic, darting in and out of stores, climbing stairs, etc etc etc. And of course when you're doing that kind of stuff between meals, you're not eating.

And then it caught up with me.

The first sign of trouble: Certain once-loved jeans that were comfortable when setting off, could not be worn on the plane home. Well, they could only I wanted to wear them closed. And anyone who's worked on airplanes knows that the time comes when you blow up like a balloon on takeoff and do not immediately deflate upon landing. So, OK, a week or 10 days to de-puff. Salt is not my friend (but I knew that).

And then the de-puffing, well, didn't.

I've been a dark gray mood ring, as Dani once described the state of things, since I got back from France, apparently the magical property of travel that prevents weight gain because you're always on the go - has worn off without warning, and I've been living in my sad fat clothes while I try to reverse the awful truth. Sigh. So even though there are lovely restaurant pictures in my iPhone, I'll continue to defer the food posts.



However, that doesn't mean I didn't take other pictures. One of the things I love about being in Paris is that no matter how modern and commercial the area, there are almost always alleys and courtyards that remind you you're really in Paris. Above are some random shots I grabbed as we were going up the external escalator of the Pompidou Museum.

and here are some glimpses of the more amusing art on exhibit indoors:

So while I was bemused to see a Theory store on the Rue St-Honoré,

just across the street from Colette,

I was glad to see that Colette continues to feature whimsy and irony.

a block or two further on, clinging to the side of the Eglise St. Roch 

(St Rocco's Church), is a street that suggests Parisian life in another era.

In many large cities, my own included, people pay lip service to the treasures of the past and build towering stacks of investment properties that will never be lived in, glass ice cubes of offices that deal in imaginary or imagined assets... and the sandwich shop, the hardware store, the independent  druggist - well, you're away for two or three weeks and they've vanished and still more overpriced shoe stores have moved in. I love me some cute shoes, but still...  I'm not particularly nostalgic for the times in which I grew up, except sometimes for the prices of stuff. And for the home-made potato salad at a long-gone neighborhood store.

But is there a word for nostalgia about times further past, about houses one couldn't possibly have lived in, about a grace and elegance one couldn't possibly have achieved, about sights and smells that were already vanishing in Nana's day? Kind of a weird déja vu, maybe. And a rather selective sentimental wish list, especially about the aromas, come to think of it.

you mean I haven't lost weight? sighing over size tags

 This past spring an article that appeared in the New York Times considered the sizing of women's clothing. This chart (shamelessly copied from the article and slightly imperfectly joined where the technology here at Flintstone Towers didn't quite - well, you know) - this chart, as I say, sums up the reporter's findings. The conclusions will come as no surprise to anyone who shops on the web, or who wanders from store to store on Madison Avenue. Here is a link to the article itself, which is worth reading.

What the article doesn't discuss is the variation in sizes at the same merchant where items are produced in different countries, or in the same country but at different manufacturers. I have come home from Lord and Taylor, a perfectly respectable department store, with 3 pairs of Ralph Lauren Collection pants (not known for cost-cutting, but still) to try with a jacket, each pair in a different size. And with yet another size for the Calvin Klein pants that might work with that jacket. I think they cut costs at the factory by putting the size tags on in the dark. Or it could be another example of that old saying, "First you pick the order, then you put the size tags." 

Thoughts? Has your size changed "effortlessly" in the past few years?