Cookie monster

The weather has been surprisingly good for the past four days, though not warm enough to make one think about spring. Some courageous spring worshipper bravely wore t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops. But today, it's back to the usual: grey sky, cold wind and drizzling rain.

My suitcase is packed with books and DVD's that I have been buying and ordering here in Chicago. I had tried to control myself but the temptation was too strong. This little second-hand bookstore that Brent showed me in Boystown was my temple of perdition.

I’m now devouring Alec Guiness’ diary - My Name Escapes Me, which he wrote when aged 82. It only covers one year of his life (from 1995 to 1996). It’s sad. He never indulges in self-pity, but the account of a man who sees himself waning is poignant. Neverthless this youthful twinkle of his is very much present in his words. 

Great reading.

Now it's time to fly back to Paris. I made sure to bring a big box of those delicious cookies - the best triple chocolate cookies in the world, from Karen's favourite shop aptly named The Goddess, accross the hotel.

Of course, I was stopped at the custom. Too many luggage. But the bag with the cookies...? Still considered as hand luggage. The girl at the customs looked and then added:

"But if you find some willing hand to carry that for you..."

A woman who accompanied a group of teenager came to me. 

"Give that to me", she said. I handed her the bag. "What is it?"

"Cookies"

She grinned. "I may run away with it..."

The girl at the customs winked at me when she saw that I found a solution. 

"Think of me when you eat them! They look delicious!" she said.

The next step was to get in the plane unnoticed. This time no friendly face around me. There was a French woman and her husband who had just one bag with them. But when I catch bits of their conversation, I knew they wouldn't do.

Then I found the trick: I took off my winter coat and carried it over my arm, so that it would hide the bag. 

I had made it! The cookies were safe!