When I hold in my hands, a vintage postcard of Paris at the turn of the 20th century, I get nostalgic. Wish I was there.

In Paris I am always on the move. I will however, happily occupy a vacant garden chair, while nibbling on delectable butter cookies from Boulangerie Poilane.

I love to watch the children, out of school at mid-day on Wednesdays, play at the pond with their boats.

If I lived in Paris I'd have lots of girlfriends to go to lunch with. I would get out my pearls and vintage Chanel jacket.

One of these weekends, somebody is going to invite me to stay at their gite in the country. I'll arrive by train in time for supper on Friday, and ride a bicycle to market Saturday morning.

I know where you can find some crazy stained glass from the Middle Ages.

I know where you can blow a grand on dinner.

Yet I have a passion for simple pleasures.

The thing I fear most in Paris, is acting like an American.

Picasso lived in Paris.

So did Napoleon.

Painters still paint here.

When I move to Paris, this is going to be my bedroom.