So it's the end of 2015 and I'm sitting outside on a terrrance of a café in Paris. It's 60 degrees and I'm enjoying a cigarette with a cup of hot coffee.
Simple yet extraordinary given the times.
I hadn't had a cigarette since spring of 2014 when I found out I was pregnant and since my daughter's birth drinking coffee, hot, has become a luxury.
The trickle of warm coffee down my throat followed by a puff of nicotine afterwards helps me to relax as I consider how sitting outside in a terrance can cost you your life. And 60 degrees outside?
It's freaking end of December.
Has the world always been this f-ed up or do I simply pay attention more because I'm responsible for another life?
My parents recently came to Paris. They're retired now, the house paid off, children married.
They seemed different to me, almost like runners who have crossed the finish line of a marathon: happy to have done it; fatigued from the effort; serene that the hard part is past them.
I recently saw that 2016 when upside down and backwards looks like joie, the french word for joy.
Here's to hoping.
Simple yet extraordinary given the times.
I hadn't had a cigarette since spring of 2014 when I found out I was pregnant and since my daughter's birth drinking coffee, hot, has become a luxury.
The trickle of warm coffee down my throat followed by a puff of nicotine afterwards helps me to relax as I consider how sitting outside in a terrance can cost you your life. And 60 degrees outside?
It's freaking end of December.
Has the world always been this f-ed up or do I simply pay attention more because I'm responsible for another life?
My parents recently came to Paris. They're retired now, the house paid off, children married.
They seemed different to me, almost like runners who have crossed the finish line of a marathon: happy to have done it; fatigued from the effort; serene that the hard part is past them.
I recently saw that 2016 when upside down and backwards looks like joie, the french word for joy.
Here's to hoping.
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