This was not an accident. Limoges’ Hôtel de Ville was inaugurated on Bastille Day 1883, built on the site of an ancient Roman forum with funds from a local bequest left by Alfred Fournier. Designed by Charles-Alfred Leclerc (a Grand Prix de Rome architect who also worked on Versailles), the neo-Renaissance building was modeled after Paris’s city hall. It stood for 143 years as a listed historic monument, surviving both world wars. Its 43-meter clock tower and ornate facade were landmarks of the city known more for porcelain than politics. On October 17, during nationwide cost-of-living protests, a group of masked individuals (described by local authorities and Mayor Guillaume Guérin as ultra-left militants) forced entry around 6 p.m. while people were still inside, threatened staff, and set the building on fire. The roof and belfry collapsed in the blaze. Prefects called the damage a “heritage catastrophe,” with the historic front section nearly destroyed. The scenes immediately drew comparisons to the 2019 Notre-Dame fire—except this one was deliberate arson, not accidental. Mayor Guérin, a Republican, called it an attack on “the house of the people,” driven by hatred of institutions, the flag, and authority. He demanded a Notre-Dame-style national reconstruction plan, noting the building serves ordinary residents far more than elites. A 34-year-old man described as an ultra-left militant (already on France’s national security watchlist) was arrested days later, with anti-terror prosecutors involved. What took generations, a community’s generosity, and skilled craftsmanship to create was reduced to a smoking shell in hours. Shared cultural heritage like this doesn’t belong to one political side. Destroying it doesn’t advance a grievance—it erases history that belongs to everyone. France has rebuilt before. Whether the will remains to protect what is left is the harder question.

Thrifty Ice Cream Memories (1970s–80s) 🍦 There was a stretch of years when a trip to the drugstore wasn’t just about prescriptions or shampoo—it ended with that unmistakable cylinder of ice cream. 🥤✨ Thrifty started in 1929 in Los Angeles as a cut-rate drugstore built for everyday families during hard times. By the 1940s they were making their own ice cream, and somewhere along the way they introduced a special metal scoop that pressed the ice cream into a neat, flat-topped cylinder instead of a rounded scoop. It wasn’t just for looks. The shape gave every customer the same consistent portion (roughly 2¾ ounces) without relying on how hard someone pushed or twisted. Kids with pocket change got the same fair serving as everyone else. 🪙👧 Chocolate Malted Krunch, Rocky Road, Mint ’n Chip, and a handful of other flavors became the ones people still talk about. A single cone could cost a nickel or a dime for years. Parents handled errands; kids walked out holding something that felt like a small reward. By the 1970s and early 1980s, those counters were destinations across the West Coast—hundreds of stores where the ice cream was as much a reason to go as the pharmacy. 🍦🏪 Rite Aid bought the parent company in 1996 and the Thrifty drugstore name slowly faded. The ice cream brand itself kept going because the taste and that odd cylinder shape had already locked into people’s memories. One look at the scoop and the whole store comes back: the smell of the fountain, the cold metal, the sound of the register, and the feeling that a little extra money could still buy something simple and good. ❤️ For a lot of West Coast kids in the ’70s and ’80s, that cylinder wasn’t fancy. It was just there—reliable, affordable, and part of the ordinary rhythm of growing up. 🍦✨ #ThriftyIceCream #70sMemories