The Seine from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Rodin's "The Thinker". (31 days in Paris in March-what the hell were WE thinking?) 
Problem solved.
Arc de Triomphe from the Eiffel Tour.Knowing a little French is never really enough when unusual situations arise. Recently, Ellen had gone to the market and forgotten to take her key so she had to ring the bell of the concierge, Mrs. Dovale, to get back into the building. Mr. Dovale let her in, and leading her into the courtyard, he keep saying something in French, pointing to our bedroom window and dropping his head to one side with his eyes closed. The most Ellen could understand was "dead window", which made no sense to either of us. All Ellen could do was apologize and keep saying that she didn't understand.
Yesterday, as I was taking a nap on the couch, the doorbell rang. I answered the bell and found a very nice neighbor from the floor above us who introduced herself and told me she had been asked to pass on a message. She was from Iowa and had been deputized by Mr. Dovale because of her fluency in both French and English. She explained that there was a dead pigeon on the ledge below our bedroom window, off to the right such that we could not see it without opening the window and leaning out. Mr. Dovale wanted us to either retrieve the pigeon and put it in the garbage or flick it off the ledge, down four stories, onto the courtyard so that he could dispose of it. Dumping it into the courtyard seemed a bit indelicate. I couldn't reach it by leaning out the window so Ellen got the Swiffer handle and I leaned out, pulled it closer along the ledge, then reached down and put it in a plastic bag, of course never touching the dead pigeon in the process. I double bagged it and put it out in the garbage can.
We then wrote a note on a piece of paper so we could tell the Dovale's all was well. "l'oiseau morte c'est fini", which I think means "the dead bird is over". I showed it to Mrs. Dovale and she was very thankful. -A.
Yesterday, as I was taking a nap on the couch, the doorbell rang. I answered the bell and found a very nice neighbor from the floor above us who introduced herself and told me she had been asked to pass on a message. She was from Iowa and had been deputized by Mr. Dovale because of her fluency in both French and English. She explained that there was a dead pigeon on the ledge below our bedroom window, off to the right such that we could not see it without opening the window and leaning out. Mr. Dovale wanted us to either retrieve the pigeon and put it in the garbage or flick it off the ledge, down four stories, onto the courtyard so that he could dispose of it. Dumping it into the courtyard seemed a bit indelicate. I couldn't reach it by leaning out the window so Ellen got the Swiffer handle and I leaned out, pulled it closer along the ledge, then reached down and put it in a plastic bag, of course never touching the dead pigeon in the process. I double bagged it and put it out in the garbage can.
We then wrote a note on a piece of paper so we could tell the Dovale's all was well. "l'oiseau morte c'est fini", which I think means "the dead bird is over". I showed it to Mrs. Dovale and she was very thankful. -A.
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