Home sweet home.

I awoke early, of course – after having been awake for 24 hours or more.

Thomas and Anastasiya had prepared quite a « Welcome Home » spread of treats for me. So unexpected! So lovely.

Fruits, and chocolate-covered pretzels, and roses, a card, PROSECCO, of course. (Always the bubbly!)

I stayed for awhile visiting their new apartment and meeting their new kitten, GOMEZ! OH what a sweet boy!

Thank you two for everything — above and beyond!

Thomas drove me home. He gave my car (Carmella) a test spin to make sure it was ok. Asked if I needed groceries. Anastasiya had sent me home with the fruit and chocolate, so I assured him I was all set.

And Lulu. My sweet Lulu greeted me without hesitation. Purring.

She looked so large to both Thomas and me – lol! – and I don’t yet know if she was just well-fed in my absence, or if Luigi and Gomez are just that small. I mean, I know Luigi is super tiny. And Gomez is a kitten. But Lulu seemed…extra. So much fluff. And so much more. lol!

I unpacked some souvenirs for Thomas to take home, and he went on his way.

I left everything out and went to bed and slept immediately. Lulu visited a lot. So much purring and love!

She’s very forgiving. Snd I’m very grateful.

And this morning I enjoyed fruit, a small pack of cashews I found in the cabinet, and American (!) coffee, as I read the first 10 pages of a book, my neighbor and cat-sitter left for me on my kitchen table as a welcome home gift.

The book?

I have to stop – and unpack! And out away. And, and, and… have another cup of coffee.

I forgot to mention this part of my return story…

Upon landing in New York (beautiful flight and landing – thank you, JetBlue!), I went through Customs, of course. A little wary from having tested positive for explosives in Paris, I half-wondered if I’d be scrutinized or something. Like, did they talk about – were they told to expect me to

I felt a little like Jason Bourne.

My turn. Nice enough. Then, he asks.. « Do you purchase any alcohol or tobacco? »

O. M. G.

I actually do have a pack of cigarettes, I confessed. I was ready to launch into the whole – look Officer, I don’t really smoke, I merely pose when I hang out with Les français, you know?

I thought better of saying anything more. I prepared to be arrested.

Didn’t happen. Whew. Ok, he said. They was all.

Then, getting my bags off the carousel was another Herculean feat. (I need a new Greek reference here to be French – something female.) I digress.

Wheeling along like a pro – I pass four armed guards. I smile. Big mistake. The big guy steps forward. Motions me to stop. What? OMG, Paris contacted them, I thought. This is it. I’m going to jail. For explosives or too many suitcases – not sure which.

He asked me for my passport. He flips through it. Where are you coming from? Paris, I answer – thinking, you already knew that. You want to see if I am going to lie, don’t you? It’s a trap!

Did you buy any souvenirs or gifts?

I resisted the word « duh. »

Yes, I said.

How much did you spend?

I threw out a number, to which, he said, « Is that all? I mean, you have a lot of bags. »

I replied, well, I was there all summer.

Oh, he says, returning my passport, and sending me in my way.

Whew!