Disappearing Shops

Each time I lose one of my favourite shops in Paris, I never know if it's because it's closed or I simply can't find it. I've learned that if I see something at a one-of-a-kind boutique, I better grab it. Because chances are, I am never going to find that boutique again. 
(On the other hand, whenever I've followed my own advice, that identical scarf is just down the street for a fraction of the price.)
I always assumed that the Samaritaine was such an integral part of the Parisian landscape, that it would always be there. The panoramic view from the rooftop was as breathtaking as that from the Eiffel tower and the store always stood as my landmark for navigating between the Left Bank and the Right. So imagine my dismay when it closed. The windows were still adorned, with only the tiniest sign to indicate anything was amiss. The concierge at my hotel commiserated with me but the Galeries Lafayette, even with a food hall as magnificent as Harrods, was hardly consolation. Although the free gift from the welcome desk helped somewhat, the discount card from the competing Printemps was a bit more of a comfort.
Paris has a number of quirky little cafe/postcard shops, all of which I've stumbled on by accident. The first, Les Petits Plus,  was originally located in the heart of the Marais. It had a selection of cool toys (and was where I discovered the wonderfully weird art of Michael Sowa). Then one year, it disappeared. I walked back and forth from street to street, looking over my notes from my previous year's travel journal. But I was lucky; it had merely relocated to another street. A trip later, not so lucky. It really had disappeared.
I took refuge in Images de Demain to escape the all pervading Parisian mist they call rain. On the main floor it appeared to just be a shop for postcards and posters but upstairs, where I'd gone just to search out their 'toilette', was a delightful hodgepodge of everything, including a charming cafe with a tastily erratic menu. So it cost 7 euros for a perilously thin slice of lemon poppy seed cake...it was delicious cake served up with a view of the Centre Georges Pompidou. But that pleasure too was only fleeting.
Brentanos was the American Bookstore that had been around for more than 100 years. I always popped in on my way to the Opera. But the shop that had survived the depression and two World Wars was done in by the present economy. Luckily there are two other shops to take its place, both of them on the rue Rivoli, which is handily by the Jardins Tuilleries so when I'm loaded down with books from Galignani's and W.H. Smith, I can grab an ice cream or churro and pull up a bench and read. Or head into Angelina's for a hot chocolate and eclair.  Which is my idea of a paradise  that never disappears.