I sit up in bed, stretch, check the clock at my bedside and look out my window to my roof garden beyond. It's a bit hazy outside, this morning. Most likely the low clouds will dissipate as the day progresses.

I cannot believe that the remodel is finally at an end. My flat, the flat below, gutted and brought together to produce my city dream home. As icing on the cake, my garden on the roof of the flat below, but just beyond my bedroom window, is the dream of a lifetime, come true. I supervised every bit of its design. My husband and I planted every little plant ourselves. When we sit in our garden now, looking down onto this amazing city, we realize that we finally made it happen.

I look out onto my roof-garden and see the little solarium beyond the greenery; it looks so inviting this morning. Maybe I will take my morning coffee there, as I begin to plan my day. I always write my journal first. It gets the juices flowing. Long before my assistant arrives to handle the business end of things, I will have written in my morning journal, showered, and checked my email. I will have stretched, out on the roof-garden, and performed the yoga poses that keep my body toned and limber.

It's time to get to work.

I love this part of the morning. I slip down the single flight of stairs, into my living room. Off to the side, through the French doors is my office. This is what I call a commute! I enter my office, look out through the windows beyond my desk, and stop for a moment, putting my hands on my hips. Damn, I can hardly believe it! Pinch me; is that really Paris outside my office window?

I have loved this city for as far back as I can remember. I love the cafe life, the appreciation of the arts, and the beauty of the architecture; there isn't anything about this city that I don't love. When I leave to go back to California, I miss this place. It's like homesickness for a place that isn't exactly home, but it's worked its way into your heart.

When I'm in Paris, I write and write and write. Every day is a new inspiration. Every day, I can't wait to get to my office. I don't always write in my office, however. Some days I write out on the roof-garden, some afternoons, I find a table at one of my favorite cafes, order an espresso, and somehow, the words begin to flow onto paper. There are days when my office, overlooking Boulevard St. Germain, is all the inspiration I need.

Some days, my laptop and I prefer to stay in

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