fin

The last couple of months have been replete with memorable moments, big ones that I wanted to record for myself and my loved ones, but internet access has been scarce. I guess that is the measure of a great summer. Right now I am sitting the shadow of the Rockies at my parents' house, but as I rummage through a summer's worth of photos, I find myself transported back to Loire, or Rome, or northern Minnesota, or home to New York. I love this form of journal-keeping that is blogging.

Before ending our European adventure in Paris, we spent an easy day shopping in Tours, with lunch at an inventively decorated--and colorful!--creperie.

We also toured the Chateau d'Usse, known as Sleeping Beauty's Castle. There was a sweet little shop just outside the gates where I couldn't stop myself from getting a linen table runner and hatbox, fully knowing it would be almost impossible to transport home. Almost. With that, we put our nieces on an airplane home, said goodbye to our dear friends, and moved into Paris for our last couple of days.

Having lived in Paris, even though it was only for a few months, makes visiting a completely different experience. When I wander through the Tuileries, I think of playing chess with my new husband on autumn afternoons. Walking past the glass pyramid of the Louvre recalls dark evenings carrying groceries and toilet paper along that same route back to our flat on Rue de Lille. Our favorite crepe stand on the Rive Gauche is gone now, but we always visit Paul in Saint Germain and our old candy kiosk in Odeon. I see myself and Jane as new mothers, braving the rain to visit obscure art collections with babies in tow and buying tiny clothes at Monoprix, and I picture my fat, grinning baby girl playing with Peter Rabbit in the Jardins du Luxembourg. Paris is full of the past for us.

We drove into Paris on Bastille Day, which also happens to be my husband's birthday. We did the usual (sadly, skipping the flea markets I had been dreaming of for four long years, since my suitcases were already beyond full), and finished the day on the ferris wheel in the Tuileries, watching the fireworks explode over the Eiffel Tower. We reached the peak of the ferris wheel just as twinkling lights on that famous monument and a barrage of color marked the finale of the celebration. It was a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

On our last morning, Violet got to tour the parfumerie at Fragonard, possibly the last French fragrance brand not to go international (aside from the line of tour buses outside), and we brunched in a quintessentially upscale Parisian cafe, complete with cherubs in pink and blue on the gilded ceiling. I don't know where we had dinner, but they did one of those very simple, very French things with an egg baked in a ramekin and a little cream on the top. It was so, so good. At 11 p.m. we went back to the amusement park in the Tuileries so Violet could drive the kiddie cars, wanting to squeeze every last bit of fun out of our stay.

When we arrived at Charles de Gaulle for the journey home, we found we had been bumped from our flight. It could have been a disaster, but Air France made it financially worth our while and booked us on the next flight to New York, so we spent the better part of the day in the impressive new international terminal, gorging ourselves on Laduree macarons and browsing the luxury goods in duty free. There are worse places in the world. When we were finally home, in our own elevator with all our luggage, Violet spontaneously hugged me. "Oh, Mommy," she said exuberantly, "that was the best trip ever!"

And that was Europe. I am already itching to go back. Or should I say We are?