The only real river action she gets anymore is the gentle rocking, in the wake of a passing barge. Sometimes, during that uncertain moment between dream and reality, my first waking perception is hearing the toilet water slosh back and forth. Weekend mornings I wake to the hiss of a sleek crew shell slicing through the smooth water, the sound punctuated by the cadence of oars breaking the surface. Other times I hear the staccato rhythm of duck bills tapping away, like an aquatic stenographers, at the algae along my waterline.

Monsieur Gauthier, my downstream neighbor, and I lounge on our decks at sunset, drinking in the last light as it sparkles across the rippled water, glinting off drifting bottles, scraps of plastic and other jetsam. The pollution dissuades all swimmers, unless they happen to be ducks, swans or the erstwhile
oarsmen of a recently
capsized crew shell.

Pollution hasn't managed to stunt the growth of fish. I've seen lots of two foot hulks lurking below the green filmy surface. They like to jump out of the water (occasionally scaring an oarsman out of his shell.) My theory is that these poor fish can't breathe and are hurtling up for air. Or "urtling hup for hair" as my neighbor would say the words. The French drop off the leading "haitches" and stick them in front of leading vowels. Never mind that they end with the same combination they couldn't pronounce in the first place. Monsieur Gauthier once asked how to prepare the delicious TV dinner he brought back from Chicago. His daughter simply repeated the instructions from the package. "First heat - then eat" is dangerously ambiguous for the French tongue. It is a wonder Monsieur Gauthier was able to utter another word in either language afterwards.

With all the cottonwoods and foliage flanking the river, the landscape is positively rural. Reverting back to my agricultural roots, I cleared a plot of land and planted a garden. The bank turned out to be too shady for growing tomatoes. So, I decided to

Samaritaine, the huge old department store in the center of Paris, was running a special. They would cut plywood to size for free, or deliver it for free.

"Actually I need both done." (Having neither a truck or a power saw.)

"No, You don't understand," said the salesperson, "We will cut it for free or we will deliver it for free. But not both."

"OK, cut it. And I will pay extra for the delivery."

"Again. We will cut it or we will deliver it. We will not do both."

"Even if I pay?" (For something you do for free.)

"Even if you pay." (This is our policy)

"Oh, of course. Why didn't you say so in the first place? Boolean logic, right? The choices are: 'A and not B' or 'B and not A'. So 'A and 'B' is out and there is no other possibility."

"Si monsieur, 'Not A and not B'."