I had a déclic—a realization—recently, while riding the 92 bus home from my weekly doubles tennis game: An amazing proportion of my Paris life, and Charlie’s, has happened within eyeshot of this line. My association began in the summer of 1977, when I had a journalism...
Grieving for a departed husband is no walk in the park. But a walk in the park helps. I’d been unsure how I’d feel when I returned to Paris after Charlie’s passing. We’d lived here full-time for 27 years, and only transferred to the U.S. because the advanced cancer...
