TRADING A BEAUTIFUL STORY FOR A TRUE ONE
Now, anyone who knows me knows how much I adore Paris. French culture has always felt like home—especially the champagne and butter.
Now, anyone who knows me knows how much I adore Paris. French culture has always felt like home—especially the champagne and butter.
I’m usually up before the sun, easing into my day while the world is still quiet. From my perch on the 18th floor, I begin most mornings by pulling open the shades and welcoming whatever the day has in store. And every morning, without fail, I catch sight of a fully lit Christmas tree glowing from an apartment window across the street. Yes, it’s April—and yes, it’s still up.
I came across this photo of The Heffron Kids—my brother, sister, and me—standing in the sun on Easter morning, 1967. We’re each holding our little baskets, filled with the eggs we had carefully dyed the night before at our kitchen table.