Sherri Coale Final Journal From Europe

Travel is education. I worried about taking my own children out of school, particularly so late in the semester, to make this trip. Talk about wasted energy!! Reading about Rodin and sitting at the feet of “The Thinker” are two very different things. The ability to recognizefrom now onevery portrait of King Louis XIV you ever see because of the sun symbol that serendipitously graces each likeness of him is like being given a Christmas present in July, a bonus you weren't expecting to get but wouldn't trade for the world. My kids have traipsed down the Siene River, up the Eiffel tower, and under the Arc de Triomphe. Their eyes now see a bigger world.

There are things I will always remember about Paris. Some of them you can read about in books, some you can see in magazines, or some you can sort of semi- experience on the Discovery Channel. But some of my favorite impressions of this place are ones that involve the immersion of us in another world. I will always remember Chandler in headphones meandering through the Chateau de Versailles --Nike tennis shoes, sun-kissed skin, and a strand of blonde hair standing between her and King Louis XIV's brocade bedroom. I will always remember our first ride on the Metro and how it “died”stopped in its tracks, a scary abyss of foreshadowing for the care we might need to take in the time we had ahead. I will always remember Chandler catching fireflies afloat on the Siene River, the Eiffel tower glowing in the distance. I will always remember Colton walking down the Les Champs Elysees toward the Arc de Triomphe asking a million and one questions about who won what war and how everybody knew whose side to be on . And I will never forget the black bottom of Chandler's feet every night when we returned to the hotel.

I will always remember the kids rowing down the grand canal at the palace at Versailles, mazes of trees and shrubs and flowers on every side. I will always remember Chelsi, Laura, Erin and Casey standing on the Eiffel Tower, looking like little girls pasted on a postcard as the Siene River ran below. I will always remember standing atop the Arc Triomphe the first time I saw the Eiffel tower “explode” in a machine gun splatter of light at exactly five minutes of ten. I will always remember standing diminutively in the midst of the massive houses of art known as the Louvre. And I will never forget the look on Colton's face when he realized he had just devoured a plate of duck.

I will always remember the silhouette of Notre Dame against the Parisian sunset. I will always remember how to say “Joyeux Anniversaire” because my daughter turned 8 years old in France. I will always remember our group standing in the midst of the old Army hospital, staring intently at the photos of Napoleon's tomb, and then closing our eyes pretending to be next to it because we didn't want to pay seven euros to go in. I will always remember the pictures we took on the Passerelle des Arts, whether they turn out or notthe spot where my children vowed to always wave if they ever passed under on a boat because it makes the people standing on the bridge feel so good. I will always remember pausing to observe a painter passionately capturing his homeland on a blank canvas. And I will never forget camouflaged guards in red berets, their index fingers on the triggers of AK 47's as they walked around at every place of any perceived importance.

Paris can't be captured. It's like a five course meal and we tasted the appetizer before being told it was time to go. I desperately want to go back someday to check out all that I missed. But for now, I feel a bit like Dorothy. Even the prospect of an eight hour plane ride can't deter my enthusiasm for American soil. But I will always remember . . .

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Sherri Coale Final Journal From Europe

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