My Little Pigeon

In 1978, we took a now-legendary family trip "out West."  My parents were both school teachers, so each summer we'd load up the motorhome and head out for an extended vacation.  I have so many vivid memories of "the '78 trip," as we call it.  While at Eisenhower's Presidential Museum, I think, I dropped my camera.  It was one of those that took 110 film--remember that stuff?  Anyway, the thing I remember most from that day is walking on pea gravel (which I LOVE to this day, particularly if it's sparse and full of sand) and realizing my camera's advance knob was broken.  The camera still worked, but there was a crack in the plastic.  To this day, that remains one of my strongest memories of that trip.

I also remember seeing a long gold replica boat at Truman's Presidential Museum.  I remember the Coors brewery tour in St. Louis.  I remember how hot it was in Las Vegas, where we watched trapeze artists at Circus Circus before seeing Tina Turner open for Bill Cosby.  I remember Sea World, the Pacific Coast Highway, the redwoods, Alcatraz, the trolley cars in San Francisco and seeing the King Tut exhibit in Seattle.
But I know that we did much more than that.  I know my parents didn't wish for my trip memories to include breaking a camera, but I can still see that gravel and broken plastic in my mind like it was yesterday.  We remember things differently as children than we do as adults.
As we walk around Paris, touring and taking photos, I wonder what the kids will remember from this trip.  We will take them to the Louvre and Orsay Museums.  But will they remember the Titians, Da Vincis and Caravaggio's?  Probably not.  They'll remember the chocolate cookies we ate as snacks during the visit.  Will they appreciate touring Versailles or will they remember the stray cat we see, peeking out from behind one of the statues?
So far, the most consistent part of the trip is that the girls are both enamored of chasing pigeons.  They chase after the clearly-bored pigeons yelling, "Pigeon, pigeon!"  The birds never truly fly away.  They flutter a bit to get out of reach, doubling back to keep nearby.  Humans are sources of food.  No need to let a marauding small human displace you from good eats.

On Tuesday, Helena collapsed in near-sobs because she couldn't catch a pigeon.  Exacerbating the tantrum was our reaction: Bryan and I laughed.  She was sniffing and fighting to get out the words that she wanted "just one pigeon to let me touch him."  When we laughed, she got even madder and cried harder.  I hugged her and told her "not even Daddy can catch a pigeon, they're too scared we're going to eat them."  I hoped it would make the point to her, but it didn't.  She then wanted me to tell the pigeons that she wasn't going to eat them.

Helena's five, and too old to chase pigeons, compared to her Parisians peers.  But she's never really seen them in a city, so I'm letting the girls have a little French childhood moment.  Maybe by the end of the trip, pigeons will be passé.  Maybe they'll actually remember a painting, a palace or a Metro stop.

Nah, who am I kidding.  Paris will be "the place we chased pigeons!"  And that's okay for me.

Eiffel Tower Memory: riding on the carousel across the street from it

Natural History Museum memory: the duck by the side of the path

Paris Metro Memory: the funny ad series showing two strawberries getting married.  This is the bride.

Palace of Versailles Memory: sitting on the riding toys while Mom explained she didn't have enough coins to make them move.  They're fun enough without moving, apparently.