A Come To Jesus Meeting

The first morning I was in Paris this year I awoke to sunshine and the sounds of a big city. I felt at home; we walked to a Patisserie for some croissants and beignets and then to a kiosk for an International Herald Tribune.

I was in the third ring of Healy happiness. I could feel my mood brighten and my step heighten. I felt I was home; I even ignored my wallet lighten.

I have always liked Paris, and each of my many visits here has been enjoyable for different reasons. I was experiencing feelings of real joy for no other reason than I was back in Paris again. It is time to stop thinking of myself as a guy who likes Paris and admit I have become full fledged Paris junkie and mini Francophile.

It has probably surprised me more than my readers; I can be the last to figure things out sometimes. I just feel fortunate to have a place that makes me feel so good. Lord knows there are enough places that make us all feel bad. I was having a personal come to Jesus meeting with myself about my feelings.

Where this revelation takes me is anyone’s guess; my heart is not geographically neutral. The time now is fall in the Sonoma Valley, the rains have come early and all but some stubborn Cabernet grapes have been harvested. The vineyard colors are changing to reds and yellows. It is great to be home; football season is everywhere but memories of summer linger.

Frequently my mind returns to the canals, I suppose Jim and Mary are trying to finish their barge painting project and to get it winterized. In Paris Bill and Nancy are busy being Parisians; I can only be envious.