Dear Jon,

I am jealous of even your memory! We can absolutely get croissants on this side of the pond, even in French bakeries (where I always buy my birthday cake, because they are the butteriest, creamiest heaven- & Frangelican liquor-filled pleasures), yet…but… the thing is, the quality of soil, the light of the sun, even the flavor of the rain is so different in France, that the croissants here aren’t IT. I have a friend, who in her youth lived in Paris, & tells the tales of true French croissants, so I know. I don’t have the most discriminating or knowledgeable or even discerning palate, still, even I know that there is something intangible that is definitely missing.

I hope your son snuggles you many packages in the New World Republic (sorry, it’s morning here & my brain doesn’t do its best) & may they all be true & authentic croissants of your youth. I will be content, in my premature death, since my heart explodes after eating French cakes for my birthday, knowing that your memory shall be found. I am now feeling incredibly sorry for myself, so I’ll hard-boil an egg & try to do a sit up.

Written by

Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.

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