Tag Archives: French bakery

Oranges, fries, and apple tarts

Orange

Orange

I drive down the hill and park in the parking lot, so I can run some errands. Next to the corner of the lot, a young Hispanic boy is sitting next to several bags of oranges he is selling. He is wearing an American flag bandana. A colorful image that reminds me that I should always carry my camera with me. I admire his patience sitting all day in one spot, just to sell a few bags of oranges.

I usually park in this lot and then walk around the block, taking the long way to run my errands, so I can get a little exercise. I decide on a pit-stop at Mickey-Ds today — a place I rarely enter — but the smell of French fries wafting through the air lures me through the door, like a rodent following the Pied Piper. I order some small fries from the young man behind the counter. His name tag says Leonardo — to which I wonder aloud — if he is named for the painter or the Ninja turtle. Grinning back, he says he hopes — the painter.

My French bakery has some small apple tarts today, not only do they smell great, but they look beautiful — the slices are shaped and arranged to resemble a flower. I sit down on the bench outside the bakery for a bit after the apple tart purchase, to soak up some sun. In the other parking lot across the street  I observe a sign that reads” “Make the Dimond glitter, pick up your litter”. Below it are several discarded cups and cans – a memorial to illiteracy it seems. A car drives by, the bass emanating from it causing the nuts and bolts of the vehicle to groan in unison. A car parked at the curb shrieks in distress — its alarm triggered by this unexpected disturbance. I think its time to safely bring my apple tart home.

Have a blessed week, and may an apple tart cross your path.

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Robins and presidents

Penny

After a late morning visit to my favorite French bakery, and one rustic baguette and raspberry-apple tart later, I opt for a stroll since the weather is so nice. Funny enough, I see a street called Pleasant, which aptly describes the day. I decide to walk down Pleasant Street, and it turns out that it is a u-shaped street, making it a quiet walk, as there are no cars around. One of the houses I see is overgrown by ivy and there is loud commotion coming from it. At this time of the year the ivy has berries, and it seems that this is a delicacy for the robins. I observe them, as they perform their landing and take-off maneuvers, devouring all berries in sight. My own attempts at berry picking could be described as clumsy and blunt by comparison. The robins seem oblivious to me. Bon appetit!

Exiting the u-shaped street, I hear church bells ringing. But it is not the usual ding-dong tone one normally hears, but an entire hymn, that resonates over the rooftops filling the air with musical joy.

I come to a crosswalk, and the driver of a light truck that stops, motions for me to proceed. As I walk in front of the truck, the driver grins at me and says “I was waiting for a clean shot”. The sunny day has brought out his sense of humor it seems. I grin back, reaching the other side, thankful that I have not become roadkill.

At home, I find among the bills in the mailbox, an advertisement from a purveyor of musical instruments. Gracing the cover of  the advertisement, President Abraham Lincoln can be seen in quadruplicate, playing bass, drums, guitar, and piano, wearing his customary stovepipe hat, and matching outfit. A virtuoso on many instruments it seems. Not only has Mr. Lincoln long been relegated to the smallest denomination in the form of the copper penny (although ranking higher on bills), but now poor old Abe has to hawk musical instruments as well. The frosting on the cake though is dished out during a commercial break in the evening news, where we see presidents Lincoln, George Washington, and Benjamin Franklin together at a gas station tending to and conversing about the gas mileage benefits of a Honda. God bless America, and may the souls of our dear departed presidents rest in peace.

Have a berry blessed week,

Matthias Leue