The week between Christmas and New Years Eve has held a certain fascination for about as long as I can remember. Particularly in Paris while sitting in the back seat of our car with my nose pressed up against the cold window watching the colored lights rush by. The blinking and blurring in the steaminess created by my warm breath on the glass intensifies those feelings. I wonder about the parties and all the beautifully dressed, glamorous people attending those parties. At eleven years old it all seems so wonderfully magical.