Paris In My Pocket

travel is hard to come by these days. and when it does come (RARE. RARE. RARE.), it comes with small children attached. when it was just one child (my girl), it was still doable. she was actually great in Mexico, and in Paris and the south of France.

but now, my own personal WILD THING (my crazy boy) is in the picture. it's another reality entirely.

i am convinced that i will find a way to be that lady who glides through life unfazed by the circus that engulfs her.

i'll chop herbs in the kitchen for my famous pesto, whilst sipping a gin martini, laughing with a dinner guest and pouring juice for the throng of little ones pulling on my vintage Missoni skirt.

i'll embrace travel the same way. the children will run wild in Luxembourg Gardens while my husband and i share a bottle of Chateau Neuf De Pape, a baguette and fabulous stinky cheese.

in Rome, the kids will eat gelato and play near the Trivi Fountain. il mio amore and i will try to spot locals to photograph while practicing our italian on each other.

but my favorite thing about traveling is living in another place for a while. living the way the locals do. renting an apartment, shopping at the grocery store and the open air markets, preparing meals at home.

and i do love long, lazy days at a cafe.

a while back, dreaming of travel, missing it terribly, i thought it would be fun to dedicate each week to a different place i longed to be. pretend, right here at home, that i was in...

Paris...

yes, here i am Jane Birkin. so shoot me.

but, really, i could visit the wonderful little French cafes right here at home. some are fabulous. not Paris, but really lovely.

(and could just be mama Jane in my head. no one else has to know.)

a little outdoor entertaining, gorgeous Italian cuisine... and i'm in Tuscany.

not sure yet how to fake Buenos Aires...

watch some German cinema...

and i'm in Berlin.

okay, so it's not as simple as all of that, but it does feel good to dress like a French gamine, cook like an Italian mama and lose myself in the languages of far away places.

yes, it's just pretend...

but the joy is real.