The Return of the SJG

I know, I know. I said I'd be back in early January, but voila, here I am, ahead of schedule, semi-coherent après last night's return to LAX, where Immigrations, not the friendliest of folks, only detained my lovely daughter-in-law for some two hours, for no reason other than this is their idea of fun. Did we panic while waiting? Not as much as you'd think. We were just too exhausted from our très fab family trip to France. So before the major jet lag sets in only hours from now, allow me to regale you with a few Parisian moments. God forbid you should forget me altogether. Without my blog, who am I? A non-blogger, that's who. And so, I now present the French version of moi, so relaxed, so up for adventure, on that famous bridge with the locks overlooking the Seine. The big discovery of the trip, in fact, was our collective French doppelgangers, a group of super chill types who never stopped eating and drinking and now that we're home, will pay the price. Let's just say I'm so glad I packed the SJG Expandable Waist Stretchy-Wear. 

Well, who's this guy? I'm so glad you asked. This is Paris Scott, calmly experiencing some umbrella issues. But he's Paris Scott, so he rolled with it. 'Cuz that's how it works in the City of Lights. 

Oh, speaking of lights, here's my artsy shot of the Eiffel Tower. 

And another award-winner of Place Vendôme. Not bad for a short gal with very limited photographic skills. 

French-speaking Billy, the newly appointed Ambassador de Fromage, and his wife, the très jolie French-born Chloé, who guided us and patiently interpreted for us. It's highly possible we drove her more-or-less crazy, but she never let on, because she's far too discreet. 

Okay, fine, I didn't take this photo. Paris Scott captured the pretty red lights.

Here are some nice people I adore at the Musée d'Orsay, where we spent hours bonding with Picasso, Van Gogh and Monet. 

Hmm. My umbrella seemed to work just fine. 

French SJG and Scott a few glasses in. 

And here he is, French Hubby looking so debonair and, dare I say, the most relaxed I've seen him in decades. Just between us, I think it may have had something to do with the vast and on-going consumption of wine. 

What, you didn't think I'd leave out the Yellow Vests, did you? They tracked us down and yelled French things at us, or maybe it was directed at the French guy in charge. A small and lively group of pent-up window smashers. 

Tomorrow, I bring you Charleville-Mézières. Can you stand the suspense?