Here in the 19th, one of the storied arrondissements of Paris, all is calm two days before Christmas under a cold, cloudy sky. At the local street market, which springs up on Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays at the nearby Place des Fêtes (or, as I like to think, Party Place), Christmas carols crackle from portable players. But my mind is never far from my rural Tennessee home.