The new issue of The New Yorker arrived in our mailbox the other day. While shuffling through the bills, political flyers, bills, junk mail and bills along I noticed that the cover seemed to be a mirror. It was the strangest thing. I was still alive so it wasn’t an obit, hadn’t done anything particularly notable of late and yet…and yet…there I was. Look Ma, I’m on the cover of the New Yorker! Well, okay, it isn’t really me but the shock is still palpable in seeing myself as I look to myself on a magazine cover. I mean, down to the last detail. Well, maybe my nose is somewhat, just a smidge…what is the word I am grasping for here?...okay, okay…bigger… but that is me. How often does this happen to people? I wonder. This is certainly a first for me.

I don’t remember a time when I was not a Francofile. From my first tutu, I was hooked. French class in middle school and high school produced groans from my fellow students but I loved it so much that my teacher kept moving my seat as she was convinced that I was cheating instead of the boring reality that I was like, doing the work and grooving on it, man. I guess that’s my shout out to secondary educational motivation strategies. You can then imagine my excitement when I finally, in the not too distant past, actually made it to the land of lait and miel. The scene was perfect; we found a bistro on a cobbled street. As we sat at a little table in the warm summer night, beads on condensation forming on the wineglasses, succulent aromas emanating from the open kitchen door, not one but two pigeons pooped on my head. No one else, just me. I could have taken it as a sign but even that greeting could not dampen my mood. In fact, I would probably have been disappointed had the trip been without a few minor mishaps. I guess part of the reason for that approach was that, among the things that spurred my Napoleon-like longing to see France, was Our Hearts Were Young and Gay, a book that I read over and over a period of many years. A tale of two pals in the 20s who set off for their grand tour, this story screamed romance, independence and adventure in my adolescent ear. In fact, I think it should be required reading. I know that I will be rereading it this summer.