We'll Always Have Paris

Hellody, Darkness, my old friend, how's ba you? I've come to talk to you again about my latest obsession. Paris. Why am I obsessed with Paris? I'll tell you why. Because soon we're going there, at least, that's the plan. We're all, the mishpocha that is, flapping our wings and heading in a Frenchly direction. But, Darkness, are you still listening? Have you had your hearing checked? Pay attention, you. There's a little problem. The City of Lights has gone dark. Everything is shut down. Paris is in lock down, but only for the fourth weekend in a row. There are people in yellow vests protesting pretty much everything. Can you blame them? There are police in riot gear. Tear gas. Water canons. Does this sound like a dream vacay to you, Darkness? Or do you just sit there and ponder what the heck happened to the world? If so, stop that, Darkness. No good can come from that. I refer you to myself. The last time I saw Paris was, what, 40 years ago. I was a student abroad, Darkness. I've been so many places in my life and times. These days, I mostly circle Sherman Oaks in a continuous loop. Gelson's. Club Schvitz. Gelson's. Club... oh, you get the idea. But now I have a French daughter-in-law, a glamorous, wonderful human who can't wait to show us the sights and her hometown and the place where she got her fancy degree. It's my time to branch out, dammit. So of course, my destination should be in turmoil. And yet, longtime hubby, who's never received Optimist of the Year, is shockingly optimistic about the whole situation. "It'll be fine," he tells me. "How do you know?" "It's just a feeling." "Okay, let's go with that." But just between us, Darkness, I reserve the right to worry and obsess. In summation, as the Jewish proverb says: