Handsome and I returned from our lovely month-long trip to Atlanta and Washington, D.C. on Sunday, and have lots to report.
We spent four weeks eating local specialties and hard-to-find-in-Paris ethnic food; drinking California, Oregon, South African and Australian wines (not to mention Bulgarian!); visiting museums, zoos and historical sites; and most importantly, spending time with family and friends.
I still marvel, even after three years here, that I live in a place where taking a month off in the springtime is no big deal.
In fact, when we went to pick up the rental car in DC, the guy behind the counter couldn't resist asking,
"So, what do you guys do for a living that you can take a whole month off?"
Handsome and I exchanged smug looks.
"That's normal in France," I answered, smiling.
"Geez, I only get seven days this year," he replied.
"You're in the wrong country," I said.
Being home was fabulous.
But as I watch from my bedroom window the searchlights slowly rotate on the top of the Eiffel Tower, spreading beams of light across the roofs of Paris, I know I am where I want to be.