My mother...

• In the fall, she went to French millinery school (link to style of the times).  She learned to make amazing hats, with papier mache fruits, mushrooms, and all sorts of interesting objects on them.  Often the hats were large.  I remember the head she used to shape the wet straw on.  Her hats were quite spectacular on her and I remember that she attracted very positive comment whenever she wore one.  She even made a hat for my stuffed donkey, Eeyore.
• In the winter she began to go to the Cordon Bleu school of cooking, in their professional program.  This beginning was to lead her to an eventual "Grand Diplome" and an amazing career in food in the United States.
• Many years after our stay in Paris, my mother noted that she (and my father) had been observing and reporting what they saw in post-war Europe to US government officials.  Apparently, I offered convenient opportunity to do so.  Thus, I remember on a number of occasions enjoying banana splits and other American ice cream treats (made with real cream--not the watered-down French ice cream) with my mother as she apparently observed the activities of remaning troops in the PX at the American Embassy in Paris.  Photo of the times...
  

My father...

• He held one of the early Fulbright awards.  He spent some part of each day in the Bibliotheque Nationale, following his interests in research on Asia in the eyes of Europe.
• Often, he would take me for walks, to look at old bookstores, or to museums.  Sometimes, we would go to an American movie on the Champs Elysees.  Then we would sit in a cafe and observe the passing pedestrian traffic.  My favorite museum was the Louvre:  particularly the Mona Lisa and the Winged Victory of Samothrace.  Once when I was standing transfixed in front of the Mona Lisa for awhile, a guard came over and said something to the effect of "I'm keeping an eye on you...I don't want you stealing that painting!"  Of course he was joking, but I was frightened and started crying (the guard was upset)...I was a very small child, physically and so no doubt appeared quite advanced for my years; many adults seemed to find that dissonance intriguing.  I did not like the Venus de Milo; it upset me and I tried to avoid walking anywhere near it.
  

Stories of life in Paris, with my parents.

• Shortly after we arrived we went to the American Embassy.  From there, at my mother's request, we went to a restaurant where she wanted to eat snails.  The restaurant was upstairs somewhere; that location struck me as quite peculiar.  Anyway, neither my mother nor I spoke any French.  My father had studied a bit of French in the classroom only and clearly was not adept with food words.  No one knew the word "Escargots" for "Snails."  I remember my parents drawing pictures in the air of spirals.  The waiter was quite distressed.  I thought the whole thing was hilarious (although others did not).  First, we wound up with "cervelles" on our plates ("brains").  That wasn't it.  Next, he tried "ris de veau" and we wound up with sweetbreads.  The waiter was quite helpful but also frustrated.  After awhile, we all laughed and my father turned this into a learning experience for me on the importance of learning vocabulary in studying foreign languages.  It was my first venture into life in France.
• I very much enjoyed walking along the Champs Elysees with both my parents.  I wore gloves, always, as was the custom of the time.  Mine had tan leather palms and a woven string back.  Usually, one parent was on either side of me, each holding one hand; I liked to swing back and forth (picked up my feet).  Sometimes we went to the Guignol (puppet show); I liked it some, but it scared me some, too.  I preferred to ride on the carousel near Guignol.  Sometimes my parents rented one of the folding chairs to sit on.  What I really liked, though, were the occasions when my parents bought me a balloon from the balloon vendor with his huge bunch of helium-filled balloons.  The balloons were encased in a woven string based with little French flags (reminiscent of the strong French tradition with hot air balloons).  I felt as if both my hands, in their string gloves, and the balloon in its string "glove", were a good fit.  I felt very strong and powerful strolling along with my safe hands and a safe balloon that could not escape.
• Occasionally we went to the Jardin d'Alimentation (in the Bois de Boulogne), an amusement park.  I was intimidated by most of the rides, but did enjoy some little boats to ride around in.  I liked games where one could win prizes.
• We rode the Metro sometimes but rode buses more often.
  
• Often I would go in the afternoon to the Parc Monceau.  I learned to roll a hoop and had a lot of fun with that.  The fencing along the sidewalk edge there fascinated me:  heavy wire/metal semicircles, just overlapping, formed a fence a few inches high--easy the step over, but enough to suggest "keep off the grass."
• Afternoon snacks, "goutee," was usually a pastry--mille feuille (napoleon) or eclair au chocolat (chocolate eclair).
• Visits to other sites around Paris:
• Top of the Arc de Triomphe
• Place de la Concorde
• Arc de Triomphe de Carousel
  
• Jardin de Tuilleries
• Notre Dame (cathedral, Ile de la Cite)--rose windows were great...recently restored following the war.
  
• Palais de Versailles and gardens
  
• Petit Trianon
  

Living in Paris, and in particular living with a French family, again opened many varied and broad opportunities, especially in regard to the remarkable set of Americans who lived and worked in Paris during this post-WWII time period.