From Paris.

I actually had to keep reminding myself today that it was the Fourth of July. And it was a Frenchie, who first reminded me, at that!

I know I’ve only been here three full days, but to me, it might as well be three full months. It seemed I immediately fell back into step with la vie française.

From navigating street crossing {which truly is an art here} to ordering my baguettes and pain au chocolat, to food shopping, to locating Maman’s lost bag {in French, on the phone, is no small feat} and adventurously trying new things — like renting a bike! — I seriously feel like I’ve been returned home.

I’m amazed at how quickly the language is coming to me, within these few days. Just to be here, immersed, and using it. My accent is better, I’m faster and last night, my dreams were in French.

I could so live here. Easily.

Each day I am in awe and wonder and feel blessed and so thankful. This is where I get to be. This is my day — the Luxembourg Gardens, the narrow, winding, charming streets. The bookstores and boutiques. The sights and sounds and smells. Hell, even the second hand smoke — I’ll take it.

I wake up giddy and excited. That this city is literally at my doorstep. What new things I will see and do and experience. Because I am trying something new every day.

I might have been a bit overzealous with the bike thing today. I made it a block and then was like, “Let’s see. No helmet. Crazy traffic. And holy shit, I’m expected to ride in the street.” Yeah. Maybe I’ll have the nerve to try that another day. Definitely was not ready for it. Taurus practicality, I tell you.

So. To be honest … this whole Fourth of July thing … never really has been my holiday. Maybe because most of my memories are of me drenched in sweat from the lovely D.C. humidity. The kind where you feel like you can’t even take a full breath.

I never got into fireworks. Don’t get me wrong — they’re beautiful to see, but I could care less about having some to call my own. What’s up with boys and their fireworks anyway? Must be something about shooting anything off that turns them on.

Now. What I really don’t get are the fireworks stores … those ones you especially see and notice on road trips, that typically claim to be something like the Eighth Wonder of the world {seriously, there’s one in Indiana that says this — on multiple signs}.

First, advertising anything indicating a wonder of the world at large is big stuff. Secondly, the fact that it’s fireworks is just downright … ridiculous? Pathetic? A joke? Or am I being too uptight of a Taurus here?

What I’m really trying to get at is this: celebrating July 4th doesn’t do anything for me. I mean, yeah, I have some fond memories that mainly involve food … like the delicious red, white and blue flag cake Maman used to bake. Coolwhip, strawberries and blueberries. But any holiday where you’re meant to be outside in stifling heat isn’t going to get my vote.

And in all honesty, when I think of the Fourth, I think about the summer I was 17, about to leave for French Governor’s School {a month long French immersion program I did where you literally were not allowed to speak English – 60 high school students throughout Virginia were chosen — more on that sometime later, if I remember, or someone reminds me, please}.

We went and did the firework thing and then later that night, Brother #2 and my parents both had friends over and my boyfriend at the time, who I will refer to as KM, stopped by. TC busted us, with a flashlight, as we were making out up against the car.

Talk about embarrassing. Now TC isn’t exactly quiet in his movements. You can hear him coming from miles away. So him going all stealth on my ass was definitely a shock. I’ll never forget him shining the flashlight on us and then mumbling an apology.

At the time, I felt très scandalous. But it wasn’t. Scandalous, that is. When I say “making out”, I literally just mean kissing.

Oh, the navieté.

We also never had any strong family fourth traditions. That might have made a difference, because I’m definitely a traditional kind of girl. Those things get etched early on in our, or, my psyche at least. I already went through the whole traumatic Christmas were Maman decided to get everyone their own damn chicken {Cornish game hens} and I was completely horrified. That was the end of that — back to turkey.

Any Fourth traditions you have? Anything about the Fourth you look forward to, or don’t? The cookouts do rock. See, back to food. So far I think all things Fourth of July for me revolve around eating. There’s a theme for ya.

Last Fourth I was also here in Paris. It was our second to the last night here. And I never would have thought, that one year later, we’d be back. Yet, here I am.

This is just one of the great things about life that absolutely thrills me : not knowing what might and can happen. The possibilities. Which are endless.

May we all go Fourth. In safety and in fun.