On Tuesday, I was privileged to see my friend Nan's pictures of Italy. She had gone over with a gallery group who were taking pictures and painting. Now, I don't need stimulation to start my travel envy. It's a given. And the two places I want to spend a summer are the Italian countryside and Paris. Nan lent me her copy of Eat, Pray, Love. The author is fairly local and will be speaking at the Junior League next month. I won't be in attendance. That's $55 I can put in my Europe fund. I've wanted to read this book for a while--long before Oprah recommended it. I love me some travel memoirs. Give me Frances Mayes or Peter Mayle, and I am a happy woman.
So, yesterday after my workshop, I took the book and sat outside a crepe restaurant in Lancaster. I imagined I was back in Paris (I was there for 48 hours in 2003). The folks who walked by weren't dressed as well the French, but I imagined it all the same while I noshed on my brie and mushroom crepe. (There's a funny story of our trip to Paris, my brother and his fiancee ordered a ham crepe and tuna crepe respectively. When the crepes came, they both had a mixture of ham and tuna. NOT a great culinary moment for France.)
So, I dream of taking my kids and spending a few weeks in Paris. (Mon homme, too if he can get off work.) I will eat and paint and write. (Read The Writer's Paris if you need inspiration.) I will take the kids to the parks and art museums. My son fences, so we will check out sabre duels. My daughter is a ballerina, so we will find a place to dance. All of us will eat cheese and crepes and escargot (my daughter's favorite food in all the world). I read a chapter of Eat, Pray, Love to my daughter this morning. We decided that maybe we should sell pizzas door-to-door to raise money for this educational experience. And maybe, too, I can sell posters of my little dancer paintings to all the people who love dance. It's a dream. It's a plan. It's a prayer.