Home again jiggety jig

In the end, a last gift from Paris … by the time I was ready to go out yesterday, the rain was reduced to a drizzle, and eventually the sun even came out for a bit. So I walked and walked, one last time around the 5th. Went into my favourite church, St. Etienne-du-Mont behind the Panthéon, which though smaller of course than Notre Dame is still magnificent inside, ornate and soaring, and as a bonus, the organist was practicing on the fabulous organ, including some Bach. I sat for a long time. A truly spiritual moment.

A final lunch at a café, the only person outside as the weather cleared, then I picked up my stuff stored at the hotel; the hotel owner, whom I know well by now, explained about the single room, that apparently the changes have been mandated, and that next time I will have to book a double if I want a window on the street. All righty then. A 20-minute walk in the sun to the metro to the airport. When I bought the ticket to CDG, I bought another for my return. I’m ready.

As soon as the train pulled out of the station, the heavens opened, and it poured.

So farewell to this magnificent country. 45 minutes on the metro and into the tunnel of travel. My suitcase was so heavy — including two tablecloths — I had to check it. The flight was painless, just long. For the entire trip, except when I tried to sleep, I read a novel Lynn had lent me, Middle England by Jonathan Coe, a very entertaining exploration of pre- and post-Brexit Britain told from the POV of several linked and marvellously drawn characters. Had nearly finished when we landed.

Waited ages for my bag, those anxious moments as scores of bags tumble out and yours is not among them. And then it was. Home, James! From the cab window, the city was unrecognizable, terrifyingly huge, acres of high-rises, and I wondered why and how I live here.

And then I remembered — that moment of putting the key in the door — my key, my door. The forsythia was out, the house looked wonderful, Tiggy stared at me and stalked off, tail in the air. But she came round. It was after 10.30 p.m. when I got home — 4.30 a.m. my time

Read the second last chapter of the novel when I woke at 4 a.m. Toronto time. Gave up and rose at 6, to the sound of happy Toronto birds. And walked smack into a small nightmare. Opened two letters from a company that spends its time trolling websites looking for copyright violations. It accused me of violating copyright on my blog and asked for a lot of money for a Beatle image I posted over 15 years ago, and thousands for two New Yorker cartoons, also posted many years ago.

It’s horrifying. I’ve been posting cartoons and images for the pleasure of my readers since the blog started in 2007 and had no idea I should not have been. I Googled; this company is a “bounty hunter,” hunting down supposed infringements for companies like Associated Press. I called my tech helper who came over, and we spent hours going through the blog, finding images that might be in contravention, hours deleting them. I mean, honestly — my little blog! I have so much to do, there’s nothing in my fridge, and instead I’ve spent the day deleting cartoons. It hurts.

Beware, my blogger friends. The bounty hunters are out there.

However, it’s a heavenly warm day. I got out the cushions for the deck furniture and put out my new tablecloth. Despite today’s stress, I’m carrying all I’ve seen and done — and eaten and drunk — in my heart. Feeling profoundly blessed.

Despite the stress.

Today in the paper it says Toronto is the fastest growing city in North America. I believe it.

Below: St. Etienne-du-Mont, its ornate organ, its intricate staircases. Lunch alone on la terrasse. La rue Mouffetard after the rain.

I miss it already. But there’s an election to think about, and a great deal to do.