I certainly couldn't go out my front door and walk over the the Louvre to get in my daily dose of culture. The Mona Lisa and the Last Supper and the many masterpiece's housed there would not be at arms length away.Breakfast will not be croissant and melted chocolate served hot, with a side of rich, whipped cream and chocolate crepes.
I couldn't take a leisurely stroll on the banks of the Sine and watch the artists while they worked.
Today I will not be taking a 3 hour bike tour of the city where I would find hidden gardens and tiny villages in the streets of Paris I would have never been able to find on my own.
Sunday's mass will not be at Notre Dame, where the actual nail hammered into Christ's hand on the crucifix and the crown of thorns worn on his head were on display.I won't be having a lazy glass of wine and a plate of cheese at a fabulous outdoor cafe, where I could soak in the local culture and talk with an English speaking Parisian about life in the great city.
I can't go have a nightcap in the famous Hemmingway bar in the Ritz Paris, where a shrine has been erected to the elusive author of so many important literary works. It was rumored to be his favorite stop when in the city, spending countless hours there doing his favorite work; drinking.
Diana slept here.
Instead I am at home with my family where I belong. Of course, there is laundry to do, cooking and cleaning and work that sits waiting for me to attend to it.
I don't mind, really. I consider myself so fortunate to have had the opportunity to have gone and experienced it and I am so glad to be home.
But between you and I, and for a moment today.... I dream about yesterday.