Where do you begin to review, to think back on an unusual, an especially unusual three weeks? How do you start a post that is at once an ending and an important transition to the next phase of spring? With the obvious, of course! With a long good look at the first morning light of the day. Is this part of your routine as well? I so recommend it: to start the day with an appreciative glance at the world outside.
This morning, I wake up early. I have a cab booked for 6:45 a.m. This is the view then, just before 6. One last time -- hello Paris. You were so kind to us!
That's my first memory, tucked into my storehouse of them: Paris was kind. The weather was kind. The hotel staff, noting the presence of two young children, was kind at every turn. The woman on the crowded metro yesterday who told me Juniper looked just like me was kind. The group of twenty somethings at the Toulerie Gardens was kind. The merry-go-round attendant who gave the girls a free extra ride was kind. All the waiters at all the restaurants were supremely kind, but at La Varenne, they topped the top of the kindness pyramid.
And this is just Paris. I could (and should) provide an equally packed list of kindness coming at me from Grindelwald. Zurich. Venice. I live in a country that is right now riddled with tense anger and hostility toward... well, a lot of things. It was almost a revelation to see that on this trip, despite everything, people still were, are, so very kind.
Last bit of dirty laundry stuffed into a bag, a double check of the room, and I go downstairs. The cab comes, I'm off.
The driver is chatty. This is hard for me: at 6:45 in the morning I am not chatty. At first there are a few choice words thrown out at the organizers of the Paris Marathon. The event takes place today and well do I know the disruptions it causes for movement within the city. Two years ago, I could not get to a train station in time for my train because of blocked streets, reroutings and barricades. In the end, my guy today has a shouting match with one blockade guard and he is let through.
Normally, leaving Paris on a Sunday is easy: early airport trains are empty, or if you take a cab, traffic is minimal. Today? Well now. The airport train isn't running (maintenance work) which means that the traffic buildup to the terminals is huge. It's a reminder that getting to the airport early is always a good idea because travel surprises of this sort abound.
My cab driver then turns to other topics: he tells me a two week Easter vacation starts today for French kids, and how come we, in America, don't have much vacation, because he has a buddy who lives in the US and he reports that he gets only 15 days a year. 15 days! You people! And how were you're so stupid as to elect the leadership you have there now?
I get out, he helps me with my medium suitcase. I arrive at the airport just as my daughter and her family are going downstairs at our lovely hotel on the quiet street on the Left Bank of Paris. We are on the move.
Since I haven't had breakfast yet, I pause for that. Airport croissants aren't award winners but the taste is good and the yogurt is always yummy.
I take a few minutes to think back. I already miss my sweet daughter, her family, Primrose's hand in mine as we walk miles upon miles of Parisian streets, Juniper's belief in me -- that grandma will grant that fervent wish for an ice cream cone, or for a Playmobil little pony. The richest memories come from my days with them.
Not long after, I'm crossing the ocean. I'm going home.
(The stop in Detroit is on the long side, not helped by an extra hour of delay, but that's fine -- no need to stress about making a connection.)
I'm in Madison by early evening. Ed is there, he drives me home.
Ed, at home, makes it possible for me to take these solo trips to Europe. How so? Well, he is there for me. We talk every day. He listens to my worries and provides that balance to sometimes stressful transitions. His world rarely strays from these words -- all is quiet here. It's a reminder that quiet is in the arms of the beholder. You can find it wherever you go. (Well, perhaps not on the Champs Elysees...).
I am so curious about the garden! Yes, there's a green tone to it and a few blooms are popping open. Spring is here.
I am here.
with so much love...
