A Valentine to Kit

During the month of January 2026, I revisited the pages of a journal that I kept in late October 1992 while traveling with Kit on my first trip to Paris.

I have finally arrived in Monet’s world on the pages of my 1992 Paris Journal.

Reopening my 1992 Paris Journal, I turn to the events of my 47^th birthday on October 21.10.92—a trip by train from Paris to Vernon and the 6 K walk that followed to the village of  Giverny.

On the third day of our Paris adventure in October 1992, Kit and I walked from our apartment on Rue de Saintonge down Rue St. Martin near the Pompidou Center that we had visited the prior day.

19 Octobre, 1992.  Returning to my journal of our first trip to Paris, I am reminded that our second day in the city was one of walking and learning with a map of the city in hand. 

Bonne année mes amis!  For the month of January 2026, I will be in Paris again, albeit pas exactement.

The end of December is a good time to reflect on the year past. 

I’ve been a very good kitty this year. I’m now a year and a half old with my second Christmas coming up soon.

In 1977, the world was introduced to a long-hidden treasure that Publisher’s Weekly described as “A charmer of a book….A paean to the miracles of nature, a visual delight.” 

The final week of November, I found myself thinking about some of the simple things for which I am grateful.

My youngest sister Kelly celebrated her 70^th birthday ten days ago, a month after I turned 80.

In early November,  Liquid Amber (American Sweetgum) leaves provided a display of glorious colors around Nevada City, rivaling the maple trees that were exceptional this year.

Five years ago, the literary world lost a great friend.

For the past week, November’s calendar has been filled with a spectacular series of events.

As October 2025 comes to an end, I’m up early on Halloween, warmed by our fireplace and a vintage wool lap blanket. 

For my 50^th birthday, my mother Alice gave me an extraordinary gift—a history she compiled and annotated called “Travels with Cathy: 1945-1995.”

In 1945, my father William E. Riggs and the B-29 crew he commanded were attempting to return to their base in Guam after a nighttime bombing run over Japan.

My recent remembrances of explorations in Provence in  2002 began with an outing to Arles—a city whose role in history appears to have been predestined by its geographic location.

Midway through September, an abundance of figs, pears, peaches, and plums arrayed in assorted bowls had taken over half of the surface of our nine-foot-long harvest table.