During the summer of 1986 I was a pint-pulling, soul-seeking, American Au-pere managing to squeeze in a pilgrimage with my sister.Where we climbed to the top Croagh Patrick, the holiest Mountain in Ireland.  Truth be told, my undercover mission was really a quest for transatlantic lasting love. 

My sister, two years my junior, called me from Paris a week before   I graduated from college in PA.  She was a freshman at the Sorbonne during the “Reign of Terror”. Her employers were a prominent French family living large in the Place de Chatelet.  In return for caring pour les deux enfants(two children), she received free room and board.  Within one month of living in Paris she was dreaming in French.

“ Bonjour ma soeur, want to work in Cannes with me this summer?" Two second pause. “Mmmm, let me think, 
pause "OUI OUI OUI all the way to JFK!"

The promise of the Cote-D’azur and bouillabaisse rendered me dizzy for days. My list of caveats grew, but my determination kept me surgically focused, obscuring any foreseeable obstacle course.  Graduation from college dimmed in comparison to my Parisian fantasy. Saying farewell to my unfaithful boyfriend was not an obstacle, it fueled me. My mantra  “why stay with a bore if you can have Dior”! Voila!

Obstacle #1, 2 and 3: How many times will I have to babysit and cater in the next 3 weeks in order to afford airfare, spending money and other incidentals?
Answer: probably 50X MERDE!

#4. Do I have anything of value that I could sell at my own personal tag sale?      Answer: NO (mmm. my brothers)

#5   Do I have anything remotely chic in my closet to wear to Paris or St Tropez?  Answer: NO

  #6 Can Donna at Hair Power execute damage control on my over-fried permed hair?  Answer: NO

“Ask and you shall receive.” Mother positively repeated.

" Oh, Thanks Mom, I’ll just drive down to CT Savings and Loan and ask if they would advance me a thousand dollars. They'll understand even though I have no credit, I have thousands of dollars in student loans and I’m unemployed."

While Mom prayed I practiced French phrases and plotted my departure one conjugated verb at a time. "Alors!  Travaillez!!  Continuer a reve!"

     The first time I had ever traveled to Paris was in the 8th grade. My Junior High School offered an affordable trip to ten foreign language students for five days in Paris and five days in Madrid. For an entire football season, I begged my Father for permission to go. The Giants lost, but I scored my first passport.  The two chaperones were former nuns (need I explain) who were our Jr high French and Spanish professors. They were fiercely opposed to any outward displays of affection and any dialogue spoken in our native tongue. I was reprimanded for singing in English and for jumping on my friends back so he could carry me up the rocky road to Sacre Coeur.  They insisted  “that my precocious behavior was unacceptable and I would be sent home if it continued.”
      I took heed. My friend Susan and I managed to get lost in the Louvre, hopped on the wrong Bateau Mouche and woke up late for every tour. My introduction to Paris was restricted and far from glamorous, but my sense of adventure found a new language. J' arrive!

The bright yellow wall phone in our family kitchen had a distinct piercing ring and the collective response to the clawing sound was “I’m not heeeeeere!” It would ring and ring and ring-till someone finally picked up announcing his or her first and last name and an over rehearsed ”May I please help you?”