At home, my family eats waffles every Sunday morning. In Paris there are traditions like this too. Sunday mornings au bord de la Seine are for pancake making chez George.
George passed away three weeks before I came to stay, and even though he's not here to stir the batter, shout down at people out the window, or give unpredictable advice to his resident tumbleweeds, he lives on through (more edible) pancake breakfasts, stories reminisced, and maybe even as the bookstore ghost.
Thank you George, it's lovely to be back.
