We climbed into our time machine today to take a picture of Melinda and me crossing a Paris street in the year 2050. As is the case in 2010, Melinda continues to look much better than me. No surprise there. Look at that fur collar. And her hair, wow. I’d like that color now. Geez, I bet I’d like that color in 2050. From the looks of things, I bet I’d like ANY color hair in 2050. At least I’ve got my leather jacket going. My grandfather had one just like it.

Stopping to chat with our 40 years older selves, we learned that Melinda is completely fluent in French. I still babble away in “franglais” to anyone who will listen (and some that don’t). Most people find me endearing, or so I think. Melinda is able to order a Ricard on the first try every time. The servers are always impressed by her. Me, after about 20 years of this I finally made peace with saying, “La même chose.”

Although I look kind of gruff in this picture, I’m really a sweetheart of an old man. My French grandchildren get a big kick out of my inability to pronounce certain words in French and have taken to say to me, “Papi-Andy, dis, ‘La rue est vraiment rouge.'” Then they giggle when I do. I don’t mind. I ask them to say, “I was thoroughly thirsty on Thursday.” We all crack up.

Melinda designed our Paris apartment, a renovated studio with high ceilings that allowed her to put in this really cool circular staircase. Our living room and kitchen are on the main level and the bedroom and bathroom are upstairs. I don’t know how she does it, but the place always smells likes lavender.

Chloe and Ella asked me to not divulge what we learned about them on this blog (other than my reference to French grandchildren). Let me just say that they visit often and are starting to think we should move out of Paris and closer to one of them. Whatever.