Our honeymoon has come to its fantastic conclusion. We are at the airport, awaiting take off and hoping the baby who has been screaming for an hour at the gate who has still not run out of air will fall asleep for the 9 hour flight back to Texas. 

Yesterday, we started the day later than all the days before it. Our bodies are aching, our feet are tired and our calves feel as if we've been using a leg machine non stop. We procrastinated on packing a bit and after we forced ourselves to at least get the footwear we bought in our bags, we got the day started.

Our first stop was Sainte-Chapelle. Perhaps because it was a Sunday morning or everyone slept in, the line for non reservations was non existent. What a glorious chapel. I can't imagine how they even clean the amount of stained glass that surrounds you. As we exited, I noticed that after starting off cloudy and cool, the day cruelly reversed course on us. It's almost as if the day made a pact with the sun to relentlessly follow us from arrondissement to arrondissement.

We kept to the shade where we could, amazed that the fall out from the magnitude of the previous night's musical festival was nonexistent. If an event that massive had taken place in the United States, there would have been shootings, looting, fights and trash everywhere. Paris did a magnificent job of cleaning and not one storefront window was damaged. What a pleasure to see that decency at huge events still exists. 

Continuing our decision to find side street cafes, we stopped for our last honeymoon lunch at an inviting bistro with gleaming tables and an inviting green and black interior. The croque madame and monsieur were, of course, delicious.

I wanted to be sure that John's knees were holding up, and was assured they were, but our pace had slowed as we wandered in and out of the 6th's art galleries. We looked at some spectacular pieces, all full of color and scenes that would look perfect in our newly painted home. Something was missing in each though- and we kept moving in and out of establishments. There was one gallery that took pictures of your Irises and the way they were displayed were stunning. it took awhile to figure out that they were a person's eye. We almost tried it but decided it was a bit too freakish. It was then that we stumbled into the Carré d'artistes gallery.

John was flipping through selections when I peered over his shoulder and something pink caught my eye. I lifted it and saw an incredible painting of a Parisian cafe - and then I was frozen in place. Along the awning, in glorious script was its name. The Marie Rose cafe. 

Marie - John's mom.

Rose - my mother. 

"John," I said in amazement, my voice wavering. "Look at this, we need to get it." 

His reaction was a bit subdued as he then noticed all the pink in the piece and reminded me that was his recently passed Aunt, Marie's sister, favorite color. This was the only piece in the gallery - there were no others of any size. It was truly one of a kind. He asked the price and asked if it were painted by a Parisian artist.

"She is from Eastern Europe," replied the curator. "Let me confirm, but I believe she is from Lithuania."

At this point, it was all too much for me. I fumbled in my bag for the tissues that were my mom's favorite here and wiped the tears that were flowing down my face. 

My mom was always proud to be half Sicilian and only later in life did she embrace that she was also half Lithuanian. If you have followed my blogging adventures, you will remember the drama of my mom's childhood growing up in South Boston all because of that heritage. At 17, my mother saw her own disappear from her life - both never knowing how to make a reconciliation work. Pictures of Lillian, my grandmother, were destroyed by her stepmother and my search to find information and any images of my grandmother finally came to a successful end, unfortunately after my mom had passed away. 

How do you explain this piece and its purchase? For two weeks we have looked for art to bring home. Each time, with every piece, there was something not quite right. There was no question that together, our mothers reached out to us on our last afternoon in a city we both took them to and one they loved just as much. I composed myself as best I could, with John filling out our shipping information because - well - my penmanship issues are well known. We decided to walk from the 6 to the 15th where the actual Marie Rose cafe stood.

We've taken the metro only once on this trip, opting to walk everywhere to see parts of the city we both have never experienced. This latest walk was close to an hour. We stuck to shade as much as possible and found that since it was Sunday, that the Marie Rose was closed. In the end it didn't matter, it was a great way to validate its existence. We made a note of the address so we could visit on our next trip.

In desperate need of coffee, we found an open cafe (Paris takes Sunday seriously). Since I felt incredibly bad that I talked John out of ordering the chocolate cake in favor of a tarte tartine, we later found a patisserie to satisfy his craving. After, we continued our walk back to the 3rd, sticking again to the shade where we could, taking a detour to imbibe in two spritzes before we made the final walk back. 

As we neared our hotel there was a massive parade of Hari Krishnas blocking our way. Their singing and dancing and giant float annoyed me as I was still recovering from the massive population of the previous night's music festival. Finally, we moved around them and slowly accomplished the last of our packing. Yes all our shoes fit - we did plan the weight of the valises appropriately for just such purchases. Then, we re-visited our favorite Italian restaurant to have our final honeymoon dinner.

Maybe the wine made me more emotional, maybe it was finding the painting, or maybe it was that this night was the culmination of these past two weeks. Together, John and I reclaimed Paris. We've added to the spectacular memories of past visits and erased other visits laced with drama and lonliness. Together, throughout this trip we shared stories of our moms and the things we love about Paris. And, yes, before any of you can chastise me, there were some I love you statements sprinkled throughout the destinations.

At the end of dinner, we treated ourselves to ice cream, wandering back to the 3rd as the light disappeared from the sky right on time at 10:45 pm. We will miss these long days. Et maintenant, San Antonio John has returned as he's asked the flight attendant if she has non dairy milk and he passed on the pasta. I will miss Parisian John (PJ) , but I'm stuck with SA John. He really is the best of both worlds. We just need to get PJ back more often.

We can't thank all our friends and family enough who have helped bring this Parisian vacation to fruition. And, especially to my friend Sue for adding a love lock for J&J on the bridge for us. I know for some that the fact that I am even on a honeymoon is unbelievable. Believe me, no one is more surprised than I. Creating Limontella was never on my radar, but what an incredible experience it has been. So many things have happened in my life that has brought me to this juncture, and this trip has made me realize that I can contribute in better ways to this brand. It's time to put those wheels in motion. I have lived in a lot of places that I have called home, but this - Limontella - truly is that because as cliche as "Paris is always a good idea" sounds, so does "home is where the heart is." So to my friends, my family and especially to Marie and Rose(marie) - you can rest easy. My heart has found its home.