Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

I’m obsessed with the idea of Sunday today. One of my goals in coming to Paris was to embrace leisurely Sundays. It’s not an easy thing for me. One of the two precious weekend days is meant to be filled with fun, activity, exploring and adventure! Life’s too short to be “leisurely”! Leisure is for losers! Just kidding. But I am one of those fast-paced, full-agenda people who has a hard time sitting still.

But today (I’m grinning as I type), was a most leisurely—and lovely—day. When I woke up, it was nearly 10 o’clock—pure decadence. But Lionel and Sylvia had another one of their marathon dinner parties last night: six hours of eating, drinking and trying to follow French conversation. I was exhausted when I fell into bed at 2:30. So l slept in, knowing my only potential plan was to go to the flea markets with Jo.

In the end, we bagged. Blamed it on the weather. So then I tormented myself for a couple more hours, thinking I should go to a café and study French (last night made me realize just how pathetic my skills are), or go to another matinee (dying to see An Education and Nine), or take a walk or go for a bike ride (gotta burn some of those pastry calories). Get outside and do something. And in the end, I bagged again. Happily so. I have a fire going, I’ve been reading, Skyping and just spending time in my treehouse, literally looking at my things and enjoying them. I am doing nothing, and I am loving it. (So is Milo.)

I did make it out of the apartment in the morning—I needed firewood and veggies for My Vegan Monday. And it was the perfect reminder of why leisurely Sundays in Paris are so sublime.

Everyone goes out to the farmers markets or neighborhood boulangeries, fromageries, boucheries and epiceries, stopping at cafes for espressos, beers and/or oysters along the way.

It’s all so visually beautiful and decadent. It’s pure pleasure to look.


And the fresh bread and cheese and fish and flowers are always worth waiting in line for.



Because Sunday is a day for eating and loafing. For indulging your senses. For being leisurely.