Once again we count the hours--and the jobs still to do: pay bills, gather passports and other documents, clean out the fridge, empty the garbage, pack. I keep running down my checklist. We leave for France tomorrow night for an extended period. We leave home. To Paris first, then Nice, our other home. We've been in America since mid-May. Lots of family here, almost no family left there. Having two homes feels a bit awkward, even a bit unsavory. Like having two wives. I'm not sure where home really is anymore. But Nice is where we started life together. Two kids from opposite sides of the world. Young, innocent, penniless, hopeful. I wanted to become a writer, and that worked out--30 books. Many are set in France, some even in Nice. I wanted to marry this young woman, and that seems to have worked out too--63 years. At least so far.
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