Paris: City of Fine Art

If I die first, I’ve promised Greg I’ll work behind the spiritual scenes to ensure that his next wife loves lingering in museums more than sitting in Parisian cafés, whiling away the time with a cozy cappuccino and a fresh croissant. “The Louvre three days in a row??” she’ll say just like me except with a smile instead of crazy eyes, and then unlike me she’ll follow up with, “Let’s start now! I can’t wait!”

Also, she’ll be way less beer-drinky, which is only fair.

Now I’m not saying I don’t appreciate art or museums or history or culture. I do. I was a church history major, after all, and I adore the story about Denis, a patron saint of Paris, who, after losing his head, picked it up and kept on working; I feel like he’s one icon of the Church who really understands what mommies do every day. Losing our heads is no excuse for quitting, is it, mamas?

Maybe Denis can be a patron saint of Paris and Mommies? I don’t know how sainthood works exactly, but it seems like this guy can handle the multitasking.

So, you see I appreciate art and history. I just appreciate all of it at a faster pace than Greg. Like, say, at a pace that leads me to a pastry shop. Which is why it was so great visiting Paris with my teenager.

Our stamina, our pacing, and our maturity level? MATCH! (And this is why my eye wrinkles continue to baffle me.) I mean, sure. There were moments that involved some serious eye-rolling and massive whining, but I tried to keep myself under control as much as possible, and I think, given the time change and the hormonal hurdles I had to overcome, I did OK.

The cool thing about Paris is there’s art everywhere. The art you expect to find:

And the fine art you stumble upon while walking the streets …

… and through the labyrinth halls of the subway:

I’d have more photos of Abby and Katee (captains of Team Jacob, obvs), but all the grown-ups on the trip said we had to stop hanging out in the subway taking Twilight photos because we had to go to a museum. Not to malign the adults, but our appreciation for serendipitous art is clearly at a higher level.

……….

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ABOUT BETH WOOLSEY I'm a writer. And a mess. And mouthy, brave, and strong. I believe we all belong to each other. I believe in the long way 'round. And I believe, always, in grace in the grime and wonder in the wild of a life lived off course from what was, once, a perfectly good plan.
7 comments
  1. My personal taste in art is more “David Beckham.”
    Yum.

  2. Knowing the French, pastries and cafes are probably designated national monuments, so a tour of French pastries is on par with a trip to the Louvre as an enlightening and ennobling cultural experience: croissants, madeleines, palmiers, beignets, croquembouche–they’re all just as important as the Mona Lisa, the Victoire de Samothrace, and the Delacroix. And, in France all these pastries have ABSOLUTELY NO CALORIES. I mean, look at the French: they’re much skinnier than we are, so it must be true. And traveling burns off lots of calories, so ‘bon apetit’.

    I also have to make a shout out to those old time French saints. They were something, weren’t they? I mean, the French even sainted a dog: St. Guinefort, a protector of infants. That’s a saint I can relate to.

    1. OH, MAN! If I’d known that pastry calorie fact, I’d have packed away a few more.

    1. It was! Except when it wasn’t. But then I typically got out of my own way and it was again. So it was a family vacation, is what I’m saying. 🙂

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