The Final Days Of Paris

Still in Paris and still walking. 

I would love, love, LOVE to live in this city for a few years. 

To get to really know the neighborhoods. 

To become one with it's cafés and museums. 

But, since we had a limited amount of time we had to see it all. 

And at a quick pace. 

With a few leisurely strolls mixed in. 

Actually, my quick paces all turned to leisurely strolls on this trip. 

Seeing that I was hauling around a growing human within my abdomen. 

Norte-Dame. 

The cathedral in the heart of Paris. 

I believe it's very near the center of the city. 

The one made famous by Victor Hugo and the hunchbacked boy he wrote about who lived within it's towers. 

The church that began being constructed in 1163. 

That's 500 years before Pilgrims decided to get on a boat and head out into the saltwater for a new life. 

The church that is protected by gargoyles who live atop it's towers. 

Who put that sign up saying *not recommended pregnant women climb the stairs?

Move out of the way people, this pregnant lady is climbing to the top of Notre-Dame!

And I did. 

All 387 steps up. 

Or was it 433?

It was a lot. 

Thank goodness there's a gift shop halfway up. 

With some seats. 

The few from up there was literally magical. 

It was the most breathtaking view I had seen in a long time. 

Was it what I had hoped it would be?

Yes. 

And more. 

The River Seine and Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe and Sacre Couer. 

All seen from the top of Notre-Dame Cathedral. 

A postcard view from my dreams. 

Once we meandered leisurely back down the steps we stopped for a crepe. 

There's a great crepe shoppe with a red awning right at the feet of the Cathedral. 

If you're ever in Paris, get one of those crepes, okay?

When Chad and I travel to a new city, we visit a zoo. 

Paris was no exception. 

We started out one morning to the oldest zoological park in Paris. 

The Ménagerie.  

Not realizing how far away it really was, it took us a very, very long time to get there. 

And we may have been going in the wrong direction for maybe an hour before it was realized. 

And I may have been the one in the lead. 

When we finally arrived it wasn't that interesting. 

All I remember are flamingos and meerkats. 

And my feet hurt. 

It was nearing the end of our trip and we had one thing left to see. 

And we were having trouble finding it. 

Why we wanted to see this particular sight is odd enough. 

We were on a quest to see the tunnel that Princess Diana was in when she was killed in a car accident in 1997. 

I had read that there was a memorial near the tunnel, but it wasn't in many guidebooks at that time. 

The Liberty Flame that commemorates French Resistance fighters. 

And it was supposed to be near our apartment. 

We had looked and looked and decided to look one last time during the evening of our last day there. 

OH, it was on the other side of the Seine!

We had been looking on the wrong side of the river the whole time. 

It was dark when we found it. 

A sculpture of an oversized golden flame sits over the tunnel on the street above. 

But I wanted to see that tunnel.

And take a picture. 

Why?

Who knows why really.

To document a piece of history, I guess. 

In my lifetime, her death was headline news. 

A tragic end to a beautiful life. 

So, I was going to get a picture. 

There's a median between the two traffic lanes leading into the tunnel. 

I thought I would just walk down that. 

Geesh, there's a lot of traffic going through that tunnel. 

My plan was to walk down the median, getting as close as I could without actually going into the dark. 

I ignored my husband's numerous requests that sounded like... "you're not going into the traffic! you're going to get killed!" 

And snapped a picture. 

And another when I got back to the side of the road. 

Both were a bit too dark. 

Of course I didn't know this at the time because this was before the popularity of digital cameras. 

I had to wait until I got home to see what had been captured on the film. 

Once we saw that tunnel, we were assured that we had seen everything. 

We had eaten dinner near the Arc de Triumphe. 

We had taken a batobus ride down the River Seine taking in all of the sights from the water. 

We had climbed the curving walkway and stairs up to Sacré-Coeur in Montmartre. 

We had eaten a prosciutto and cheese sandwich on a bench on the Ile de la Cité.

I ate the largest cotton candy I've ever seen under the glittering lights of the Eiffel Tower. 

We had meandered through Rue Cler. 

The street market that was around the corner from our apartment. 

We bought fresh food there that we took back to our kitchen. 

In our Parisian kitchen Chad whipped up dinner for us a few times. 

It was a grande street market and I loved it a lot.

Except for that one afternoon at the fromagerie. 

And the cheese shop owner began yelling at Chad in French. 

Was she yelling that she wanted us to try a free sample?

Oh. 

We were being told to leave. 

Because he had touched the cheese. 

Apparently, that was a big no-no. 

We said goodbye to our Paris apartment in the 7th Arrondisement and headed back to the airport. 

Since we were flying standby, we had to wait for all revenue ticket holders to check in before we would know if we would get a seat. 

Two seats, remember.

As we chewed our nails and looked around we noticed two other people waiting. 

And then it was announced that there were two seats left on the jet back to Chicago. 

Two seats and four people. 

Please, please, please give those seats to the pregnant lady and her husband!

Luck was on our side that day and we got the seats. 

We said a bittersweet au revoir to Paris. 

And have been dreaming of a trip back ever since. 

With our two daughters who have a love for all things French that they have inherited from their mère.

Our daughter Gigi will fit right in. 

Creme Brûlée

When I arrive in a new city I get all jittery to get out and about. 

My time is limited and so I need to start seeing the sights. 

Like now. 

And Paris was no exception. 

Irregardless to the fact that I was lugging around twenty extra pounds.

Twenty extra pounds that made me very top/front heavy.

We decided, in our overly frugal way, to walk everywhere that we could. 

We took the subway to farther off neighborhoods. 

But once there we hoofed it. 

Up steep inclines. 

Around mysterious corners. 

Is that a cafe?

Let's get a creme brûlée. 

Berets were bought. 

Postcards were sent back to the States. 

We bought a collar for our dog from a sweet French woman who owned a shop that sold petite puppies. 

She spoke no English. 

We spoke no French.

We pointed our way to a purchase. 

We meandered near the banks of the River Seine. 

Past tea houses. 

Do they have desserts?

Let's get a creme brûlée. 

We tried to see it all. 

The Louvre Museum that houses the infamous Mona Lisa. 

She was hard to see really. 

People were twenty deep to gaze at her amused face. 

I preferred the large portraits that adorned the halls that took us to her. 

The Rodin Museum. 

Where The Thinker contemplates near The Gates of Hell. 

The Moulin Rouge with it's red windmill. 

Everything in that city is mesmerizing. 

Everything. 

The bridges have gilded flying horses atop them. 

The parks are immaculately maintained. 

I don't remember seeing much garbage. 

Dogs and death are everywhere. 

Dogs ride the subway.

Sit in shops. 

Frolic in parks. 

And there are cemeteries. 

And tombs. 

Napoleon's Tomb. 

He was encased within six coffins before entering his crypt. 

To keep everyone away. 

They have an underground cemetery. 

The catacombs. 

Where people were deposited under the streets of Paris in 1786. 

Piles and piles and piles of bones under the feet and homes of the people of this city. 

Cimetière du Père Lachaise. 

A cemetery overlooking the city on a wooded hill. 

We saw Jim Morrison's grave. 

And the final resting places of Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Isadora Duncan, Chopin and Balzac. 

All of the walking made for a very hungry pregnant woman. 

I ate bread. 

And ham. 

And creme brûlée. 

And snails. 

And creme brûlée. 

Did I mention that I ate creme brûlée?

Upon returning home my obstetrician was shocked to see that I had gained 10 pounds in one month.

I sheepishly smiled and said that I had just returned from Paris. 

All was forgiven. 

One thing we did notice as we were traveling around the city...people talked to me. 

Not to Chad. 

To me. 

Standing on a street corner figuring out where we wanted to go, French people would stop to ask me directions. 

Sitting on a park bench to rest my swollen ankles, someone would stop to chat. 

They were always a bit bothered when I shook my head and said "American."

I think it was because I was so roundly pregnant. 

Or it may have been the jaunty scarf tied around my neck. 

I guess I looked Parisian. 

I'll take that as a compliment. 

To be continued...

Seeing The Light Of Paris

We landed in Paris. 

The air was ripe with Frenchness. 

The airport had an indoor smoking area that was packed with people puffing away on tar sticks. 

Our first order of business was to make a phone call. 

We were renting an apartment from a company called Paris Perfect. 

We would be living like regular Parisians in a regular home in a regular neighborhood. 

But we needed to call the person who would meet us there to give us the key to get in. 

This was happening 11 years ago. 

I think we owned a cell phone, but this was before the invention of the all-knowing smartphone. 

We didn't want to use our cell and use expensive international minutes to make a 2 minute phone call. 

So we needed to buy a phone card. 

At what appeared to be a little convienance store within the airport. 

You could buy a bag of chips, cigarettes, phone cards, or condoms at this tiny little shop. 

When you only speak English and you're in a foreign country, you must make do with your key intellect in the art of pointing and pantomime. 

After using our hands and finally getting the clerk to understand what we needed, we headed to the pay phones. 

We had to punch in a whole slew of numbers to reach who we needed in the city limits. 

After completing our call, we hopped onto the Paris Metro. 

We would take the train into Paris and then walk a few blocks to our apartment. 

My husband had been taking the subway in Chicago for many years as he didn't drive. 

He was confidant that he could figure out the Paris subway system. 

I have a profound love for maps and he has a great sense of direction when looking at colored lines on a board, so we weren't worried in the least. 

We settled onto the train and headed out. 

Past what I would consider the suburbs of Paris and into the underground tunnel system. 

We got off at a stop called Invalides after transferring lines a few times. 

And as we ascended the stairs we came out into the light. 

The light we had dreamed of fell upon our faces. 

It was the light of a city that I immediately fell in love with. 

We began walking to try to find the street our apartment was on, Rue Saint Dominique. 

It was in the 7th Arrondisement. 

The French call their neighborhoods or districts Arrondisements. 

And those Arrondisements have names as well as a number designated to them. 

We were staying in the Invalides and Eiffel Tower Quarter. 

The Invalides was a hospital built by King Louis XIV for his wounded and homeless veterans. 

It now houses Napoleon Bonaparte's  tomb. 

We saw this imposing gold-gilded building and, I guess because we were in awe of it's giganticness, we began walking in the wrong direction. 

After a few blocks of pulling our suitcases down uneven and oh, so tiny sidewalks we came to a halt. 

My map instincts told me we were going the wrong way. 

I sniffed the air and said " go back."

So we headed back to the subway entrance and walked the other way.

Through a small green space, around a few corners and yes, there it was!

Rue Saint Dominque!

The apartment was nestled on a quaint street full of clothing shops, bakeries, and coffee shops. 

Tiny cars were parked on the cobble streets. 

Dogs peered out from the doorways of shops run by their masters. 

There was a veterinary clinic that we passed, where we would eventually spot a beagle waiting with his owner one morning for the doctor to arrive as it stood in a gingerly fashion as a sock was sticking out of it's bum. 

There was a Pizza Hut. 

A French Pizza Hut.  

That we did eat at because the pizza choices were not at all similar to the Pizza Hut choices in America. 

We got to the apartment and knocked. 

I don't remember if it was a man or a woman who answered the door.

But whoever it was welcomed us joyfully and in English and gave us a "Welcome to Paris" basket of goodies. 

One of the things in the basket was a hand embroidered baguette bag. 

You buy your fresh baguette loaf from the bakery everyday and store it in this cloth bag once you get it home. 

I still use it to this day. 

It holds my French rolling pin and hangs in my south facing kitchen window. 

The apartment was amazing and was everything we hoped it would be. 

On the top floor of a three story building. 

With an inner courtyard that we could see from the kitchen. 

There was a small pool of water in the courtyard that was tiled in dark blue so it made the water so deep and luscious looking. 

Everything was so clean.

The people who lived in this building were very proud of it and it showed in the pristine condition of the courtyard. 

It would be our home away from home. 

A kitchen that my husband could cook in. 

A dining table for two. 

A washer/dryer combo machine was in the bathroom. 

A bedroom window that when I opened and leaned out and looked to the left I saw what I came to see. 

The Eiffel Tower. 

Just down the street. 

The symbol of France was within my view and I couldn't wait to see it up close.

Across the street we could clearly see the neighboring apartments. 

Every morning we saw the neighbor's cats sunning themselves in the window as we ate our breakfast. 

We were only in Paris for a short time, but I looked for those two white cats every morning. 

While I ate a croissant and had a latte that my husband had fetced for me from the bakery downstairs, I would pretend that I was in my own home. 

And that my own cats were in the other room sunning themselves in our window. 

And someone else was noticing them. 

To be continued...

To read Part 1...

A Trip To Paris

My husband graduated from culinary school in 2004.

We lived on the north side of Chicago. 

A block and a half from the lake. 

A few blocks from the red line train.

I had been working the whole time he was in school. 

He just went to school. 

Yes, I'm nice like that. 

He had struggled through the years trying to figure out what he really wanted to do with his life. 

Many people urged him to try culinary school. 

He succeeded and we thought, how can we celebrate this?

Why...with a trip to Paris of course!

So, off we went. 

To the City of Lights. 

The land of baguettes. 

Napoleon...open air markets...the Louvre...it would be heaven. 

And it was. 

It wasn't heaven for my ankles, though. 

My ankles hated that trip. 

Because I was 5 1/2 months pregnant. 

My pregnant uterus was big. 

My belly wasn't one of those sweet little bumps. 

I have super stretchy skin and gave my baby lots of room to roll around. 

You couldn't tell I was pregnant if you were walking behind me. 

A big thank you to the pregnancy gods for that. 

But if I would turn to the side...BAM!

I looked 8 months instead of 5.  

We flew overnight from Chicago. 

On standby. 

My friend worked for American Airlines (still does) and we used two standby passes to get to and from Paris. 

It was pretty easy getting on a flight out. 

But standby passengers get on after everyone else is in their seat. 

We boarded last. 

"Hello! How are you?  Yes, I'm sitting waaay back there.  In the back middle of the plane.  It's so far back there.  Sorry.  Sorry.  I can't find anywhere for my bag.  Stupid big bag that I can't lift up with any grace at all.  Honey!  Is there room up there?!  Wait!  There's a spot back here!  Come back this way!  Excuse me.  Sorry.  Oh, you want me to sit in the aisle seat?  Yes, I'm going to get up often!  Ha Ha!  You've been around pregger ladies before, haven't you?  I'm going to have to pee a lot!"

We sat. 

We ignored the scowls from our neighbors. 

We snuggled into out seats and into each other. 

Watched a flick. 

Ate dinner. 

I got up and walked the aisles. 

About 322 times. 

Peed that many times. 

Finally, we slept. 

When we woke up things looked the same. 

But something felt different. 

Was it the stagnant cabin air?

I was all tingly. 

Was it my swollen ankles and toes?

No. 

We were in France. 

It was the tingle of France I was feeling. 

Get me off this plane now because I've got shit to see!

And I need to pee again.

To be continued...

An Impromptu Visit

We made a visit to Chicago this weekend. 

It was not a weekend we had made advanced plans for. 

It was a visit of necessity. 

Our dear friend Sue's family had some heartbreak and we were there to show our love and support for them. 

Sue's brother John was unexpectedly taken from his family last week. 

He was only 43 years old. 

This is the same family who lost Jake from childhood cancer. 

So, we found ourselves in the basement of the church's social center once again. 

John was an avid Star Wars fan so it was great to hear the Star Wars Theme playing at the beginning of his memorial service at beautiful St. Gertrude's. 

His sister Sue gave a remarkably moving eulogy for her big brother. 

We spent the weekend at our friend Don's condo. 

He lives right on Lake Michigan and has expansive views of the city we love. 

Chad and Don have been friends for over 20 years. 

I thought it would be fun for the girls to use an alternative mode of transportation on this trip. 

We were close enough to the church that we could walk there, so we brought the scooter and Gigi's bike. 

Zoe ended up walking because she found the bumps in the sidewalks to be too challenging for her and her scooter.

But Gigi trucked along the city sidewalks all the way to the church and back to the condo on her bike. 

She takes after her dad I guess. 

We did some sand sculpting and later the girls donned their swim suits to play at the beach. 

It was a gorgeous weekend in Chicago and it reminded Chad and I why we love the city. 

Zoe floated in the lake and dove under waves. 

Gigi buried our legs in the sand and did some underwater exploring herself. 

We met our friends, the Fischbachs, for dinner last night at one of our favorite pizza joints, Lou Malnati's. 

The girls always love seeing their friends Charlotte Brownie and Baby Zane. 

We had a nice impromptu trip to the city this weekend. 

We wish we hadn't gone for the reason we did, though. 

It's a reminder to live each day with gratitude and love. 

To enjoy your life instead of complain about it. 

To live instead of loathe. 

Until next time Chicago...

Today...

Today...

My right ear is clogged up.
It feels as if the right side of my head is snorkeling.
Without the wet feeling.
Or the spazziness I feel when underwater with a breathing thingy in my mouth.

I am tired from a weekend of visiting Chicago.
Tired from driving in the town that seems to be getting more and more congested every day.
But never tired of talking with and laughing with our friends who have been super supportive of Zoe during her illness.

Does not really need to be this cold.
At all.

I am a bit closer to being 42 years old.
How on earth did this happen?
I feel, most days, to be maybe 25.
Where did these kids come from?
What's happened to all of those years?
I have changed, both physically and mentally.
I'm tougher, weigh more, tolerate differences in people, have seen much sadness and inspiring hope within my own daughter, my knees hurt sometimes, I don't need my glasses to read small print.
I think I'm fine with becoming 42.
45 is going to a bitch, though.
That much closer to 50.
Egads!

It's been realized that the only things my girls liked about being at their first pro hockey game were the pre-game show, the food, and hanging with the mascot.
The hockey was boring, even the fights.
I guess they are baseball girls.

Our Year End Recap

It's the last day of 2012.
It's been quite a year for our family.
An end to chemotherapy for our now 7 year old.
Something I thought I would never have to say, yet couldn't wait to say!
We are hoping 2013 is full of nothing but good news for her.
Good news and good health.
And now, a pictorial review of our latest year that's just about behind us...

We celebrated our daughters turning another year older... 

We partook in holiday fun...

We went out of town to visit exciting new places and to also see familiar faces...

Little Rock

NASA

Galveston, Texas

state fair



Closer to home, Zoe represented Camp COCO at the Midwest Charity Horse Show and had a great week on Lake Bloomington with her fellow campers...

We heard two piano recitals...

Zoe participated in horse riding and standing lessons...

We decorated a tree in Central Park with our family for childhood cancer awareness...  

Gigi went to school for the first time...

And Zoe got eyeglasses...

We rounded up about 40 of our closest friends and family.

Friends who came from near and as far away as Texas and Omaha.

We gathered to walk for a cure.

To unite for hope and hugs.  

To remember Jake, who left us far too soon.

We battled on through the intense heat and drought of the summer by cannonballing into our pool and canoodling with our pets, including our newest addition Willie...

Zoe encountered fewer hospital stays in 2012, but they still existed for her. 

She was able to be "normal" though as she played softball and danced.



Zoe with her friend Zoe



We are hoping that the new year brings us much joy, more travel, more time with friends, and a new found happiness of childhood for Zoe.

Thanks for reading and Happy New Year!