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one girl's dream

I am writing from Paris, city of love and tourists. Pleqse excuse my typing on this keyboard:: it's enough to get by but not as good as I'd like -- kind of like my French.

Ed and Imo and I have seen a couple of the big things, but missed some too because Ed does not do line ups. Notre Dame? Non. Musee D'Orsay? Pas du tout. Pompidou Centre? Quel horreur. But we have watched jugglers and other very cool Parisians, climbed on top of walls and guns, zoomed around on the metro, and drunk many cups of coffee and glasses of beer.

Ed's favorite moments so far include the crippled accordionist at the Pasteur metro station, (Did you watch his fingers, Dad? He was Super Fast!) and wandering around Invalides (That is one big ass tomb, eh?) His life ambition right now veers between these two role models -- he wants to be really good street musician, or Naploeon.

Imo's aim seems simpler. She wants to get to the top of the Eiffel Tower. But will it happen? I don't know. Every vacation the kids and I fail to see something, and take a picture outside it to mark our failure. Two years ago I took a picture of them outside the Empire State Building (the line ups were around the block and Ed balked). Last year it was Fenway Park (scalper prices for a yankee game were enough to make me gag).

This year, said Imo on the airplane, can we NOT take a picture at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower?

We'll see, I said. And then the first day the crowds were horrendous. We have not been back. Tomorrow is our last chance . . .

I'll keep you posted.


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