It felt like some kind of omen to see the larger-than-life, yellow sign reading "40" in enormous print with its daunting curving arrow pointing around the next corner. It was so huge-- so much bigger than normal-- we had to comment.

It was so ominous, it made me shiver.

The Paris pop-up book, the CD of romantic French classics, Julian Barnes' book of essays on France-- B picked a definitely french-flavored valentine theme. So I didn't think anything of it when Ann asked me if I was actually going to Paris for the weekend. I laughed and said no-- that was two years ago.

But as Erika and I drove our convertible down the Las Vegas strip last night, she spilled the beans-- it seemed I was going to Paris for my birthday-- a surprise stay at the Paris Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.

Here la Tour Eiffel may only be half as tall-- but my squeals were 100% giddy and excited!

One of B's valentine's day tokens of affection for me was Alain de Botton's The Art of Travel-- the perfect gift for a girl on a journey. Once I boarded Continental Airlines Flight 159 with service from Washington National to Houston Intercontinental, I opened it up and began to read.

The author, one of my immeasurable favorites, wrote of the inspiration travel provides-- that little burst of kinetic energy necessary to give birth to thoughts that otherwise may remain gestating in the comfort of inertia.

"Journeys are the midwives of thought. Few places are more conducive to internal conversations than moving planes, ships, or trains. There is an almost quaint correlation between what is before our eyes and the thoughts we are able to have in our heads: large thoughts at times requiring large views, and new thoughts, new places. Introspective reflections that might otherwise be liable to stall are helped along by the flow of the landscape. The mind may be reluctant to think properly when thinking is all it is supposed to do."

With that very thought I closed the book-- and when the pilot permitted the use of approved portable electronic devices, I opened my laptop and began to write. I had some thoughts stirring-- and needed a wide-open sky to write them in.

I appreciate the gentle push and the perfect inspiration. I hope your valentine was just as insightful-- and just as sweet.

I'm all about last minute packing and errands and cleaning and picking out CDs and turning on the dishwasher and changing this outgoing voice mail greeting and turning on that out-of-office auto email reply.

You see my friends, the desert awaits... but not for too much longer.

I dream of sailing high above the clouds and giving whirlygirl fans a proper update. Fastened into my seat and locked into the inspiration and anticipation of a long journey. It is there that I am most confident we will meet again.

I spent an hour in a bookstore today. I popped in to buy a map of Paris-- but got distracted. I miss the daily luxury of being swallowed by books that working at the bookstore used to afford me. That feeling of bounding down the steps to the restock room to see what new treasures had been delivered. These days I rarely make it into bookstores, but when I do I saunter slowly, surveying the wares.

I found lots of new travel lit books, including one by Alain de Botton which was so very hard not to buy on impulse. And for the fourth or fifth time in as many bookstore visits, I handled the Julian Barnes book of Paris essays called Something to Declare, not understanding why it disintegrates from my memory every time I'm at the library wondering what to borrow. I invested a great deal of will power in order not to begin reading the postcards in Nick Bantock's Alexandria, the continuation of the Griffin and Sabine series. I looked and looked for Love and Other Games of Chance, so enchanted by its Chutes and Ladders premise, but then remembered that it won't be released until the 10th. And then I walked upstairs to the photography section, found myself a squat stepstool, and just flipped and flipped and flipped.

In the end I had a map of Paris. And a very long list. Tonight I perused the virtual shelves of Amazon to find that lost author name or that pesky title that I can never ever remember. And then I searched a long lost name, looking for that miracle new book by an all-time favorite.

And finally, here it is.