May 1st is the twenty-second anniversary of my moving to Paris.  It’s hard to believe I’ve been here so long and how many things have changed—especially me. No matter how long anyone remains in a new country, no one assimilates one hundred percent. Scratch the surface, and invariably you’ll unearth a raw nerve.

How many times have I heard the words, “It’s vacances scolaires.” And why does France appear to come to yet another halt? Perhaps that’s an intrinsic difference between the French and Americans. The French defend their right to take vacations and don’t appear to get bent out of shape.

Many people ask how I spend my time and it’s hard to answer concretely as I work from wherever there’s a computer. I have a good enough idea, so I’m not really stumped, but no two days in Paris are the same. Even though I may have a careful agenda and a head full of plans, invariably I end up doing something that wasn’t scheduled.

It’s common knowledge that France has one of the best health care systems anywhere.  In 2009, the World Health Organization (WHO) declared it the best in the world. So, why did I fall apart over having cataract surgery last week?

To really enjoy the city, all you have to do is open your eyes and allow sufficient time to get lost, because when you do, you’ll discover something new. This past week has been a testimonial to that premise. I kept finding myself in places I didn’t expect to be and I’m continually amazed there are so many areas I barely know, even though they’re within minutes of my apartment.

People mean well, but if one more person asks me how I’m spending my time in Paris, I’m going to scream. It’s wonderful to be home. But it catapults me into a different reality zone. I am not complaining; it’s a statement of fact. For many, Paris signifies a vacation. But when I'm here, I'm working. And guess what, it's not all bad!

There are so many wonderful places to live. In reality, I could move anywhere and have considered many options. I had been thinking about Buenos Aires. Bonjour Paris readers might find this surprising. But, I had my reasons. After my visit, I concluded Buenos Aires may be the Paris of South America but it's not Paris.

Returning home to Paris makes me realize how good life is.  Perhaps it's because France is reputed to have best quality of life in the world. As soon as I landed at CDG Airport, albeit the snow, I immediately assumed a new persona. Of course I've yet to deal with some of the mail that's waiting because I'm too jet-lagged. Who wants to open an envelope from the French government unless you're feeling your best?

After spending the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays in the U.S., I’m really looking forward to returning home. The the first thing I’m going to do (after unpacking my suitcase and shuffling through the mail) is run to the Maison Kayser Bakery at the corner and buy a croissant and a pain au chocolat and hightail it to the Luxembourg Garden.