Wednesday, November 18, 2015


     When I turned on the news at 6:00 a.m., I was once again struck by the insanity of the continuing nightmare of the Paris terrorist attacks. My “to do” list seems so insignificant, almost banal, as I hear the recorded explosions on television. My beloved Paris whose streets I’ve walked, whose monuments I have photographed, whose cafés have embraced me from the time I was a young student at the Sorbonne to the two hours Mr. Wonderful and I spent at “Les Deux Magots” just watching people two years ago—“je pleure dans mon coeur.”

     This morning, I will tutor a French student who has never had the joy of jogging by the
 Seine like me. He has never felt the wonder looking up at the Eiffel Tower. He will never see the Paris I loved. All has changed. But because of it’s history, I know deep in my heart that Paris will recover, and she will come out of this darkness and once again be the City of Light. Her brightness is dimmed for a time, but her energy cannot be quelled, her spirit cannot be broken. She is my role model. She says to me in my dark moments, “Tout ira bien, très bien.”