Hubby and I head for Paris tomorrow! It has been the only “place” on my bucket list for years. I’m not promising I won’t feel free to add another “place” upon our return. But for years, it’s been Paris, a pedicure, the Magic Teacup Ride, and one more ride on a ferris wheel. A manicure used to be on the list, too, but I’ve now taken care of that one, several times over.
Anyway, people have gleefully lent or given us their favorite books and maps to take-with. One of the books, Rick Steves’ Paris 2011, comes to us from dear friends who insisted we borrow their second copy of it. They “traveled on the first for years.” The current copy has slightly “rain-warped pages from the thunderstorm [these friends] waited out in mausoleums at Pere Lachaise cemetery.” I’ve been impressed by the near poetry that comes out of people when they recall being in Paris.
A bit of serendipity brought out a backstory connecting Steves’ book to my family memoir, The Cleveland Rutters. As I was researching information for the memoir, I got in touch with a cousin of my father’s, who, when he learned about our upcoming trip, said Rick Steves was a local success story in their own town of Edmonds, Washington. This cousin was effusive about what a great job Steves has done with his line of books. (To see more of Steves’ empire, visit his website at Ricksteves[dot]com.)
This cousin also waxed poetic about several sights he’s hoping we’ll take in while in Paris. I’ll never cease to be amazed at the small world we live in these days. And, of course, how books continue to bring us together. I’m looking forward to future opportunities to be part of a conversation I’ve waited years to join. (P.S. I probably won’t be posting to my blog until after our return. Please don’t forget me in the meantime!)