The triumphant return of the Hs!

11.15.17

Most of the time, I’ll be drinking wine.

One cannot self-test for insanity.  

So when I’m asked, are you insane? after I inform someone that we are heading overseas again, I simply respond with I am not qualified to answer that question and laugh maniacally.

Insane or not, here we are, preparing for a trip to Europe.  And truth be told, if this is insanity, I will stay here with delight.  

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Like Ragnar Lodbrok in 845 AD, our barbarian family is following the Seine into the heart of France, and as with our viking forefather, it will take a king’s ransom of pastries and cheeses for us to leave.  

Armed with girls speaking pigeon gibberish Franco/Italian/Space Alien (ta da ta day day bAn JoOOOOOR gerbaderbadee - I am speaking PARIS), talking about the Awful Tower, and excited mostly for bread and ice cream, we set off on the next adventure and our next descent into willful insanity.

It’s time to figure out who this frickin’ PERRY is (H2) and why we keep talking about him.   

To the City of Love, to the City of Light, to Paris we go.

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Behold - the fierce viking kitty!

I bet even Ragnar was asked are you insane? and his response was probably something like a little bit and then he took a huge swig of mead and laughed dismissively as he pushed his wolf headed ship away from the shore.   

Any voyage beyond the relatively comfortable bounds of the everyday has an element of wildness to it, an element of adventure and longing and chance that might paint one with a bit of madness.  A madness that S, the Hs, and me will gladly embrace.  Especially when it’s the warm embrace of fresh baguettes, croissants, macarons, and chocolates.  

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With beyond rudimentary French, with our warm Californian blood, and with (my) huge appetite, we set off for Paris in the fall.  

Join us as we each eat several kilos of gelato and ice cream while wearing scarves and gloves and coats in the 35 degree Parisian nights, as the Hs use the city to develop their parkour skills in situ, as  S and I force feed H1 like she is some human goose getting ready to become foi gras, as I am (easily) manipulated convinced into buying all manner of trinkets, and as we search not for the riches of art and culture, but the riches of a playground with a legitimate zipline.  We will keep you abreast of all the crumbs we brush from our maws as we eat our way across the city - and maybe climb a few towers and see a few paintings along the way.  

It’s time to introduce the barbarians to the bourgeoisie.

Au revoir until we land, faithful readers.  

PS... if any posts don’t make sense, just understand that like H1 told the family at dinner last night, most of the time, I’ll be drinking wine.  

Did you know that sometimes we make poor standing choices...but never spill a drop!