Let Them Eat Cake

Entrance to Versailles, the last tickets I needed to buy before our trip have been purchased. Maybe I'll walk around ala Mel Brooks and say, "It's good to be the king." But, watch someone come up to me and exclaim instead, "You look like the lowly piss boy."

Something tells me my mother wouldn't be the one to say that, but there's no stopping her from turning to me and saying, "It's good to be the queen."

The Politics of Packing

Of course, I knew this question was coming.

"Oh, boy, how big of a luggage should I take?" my mother asked me today.

Now, I could have been evil and told her it all needs to go into one carry-on, but that's just not playing fair, so I've spent the morning going over not only what items to bring, but also the TSA restrictions. Since we're on a night flight, I recommended her toothbrush and morning essentials are easily accessible in either the overhead bin or under the seat in front of her. After all, we don't want to greet the Parisians with morning breath and sleepy eyes.

"Can I bring sneakers?"

"Of course. We're going to be walking a lot. Besides an umbrella for a potential April shower, bring whatever you wear during a normal week."

"I have a nice pantsuit and low dress shoes for when we go to a fancy dinner. Are white sneakers, okay?"

"As fashionable as the French may be, I hardly doubt they'll care what color shoes you're wearing."

"You're too funny, you have my sense of humor!"

But, thankfully, if you've ever seen pictures of me in my stilettos - not her fashion sense.

Boston First

When I first planned this trip, since I live on the west coast and my mom on the east, my friends asked if I were going to meet her in Paris. Perhaps it was the look on my face or the burst of laughter followed by an emphatic, "Are you crazy?" that made them realize the levity of their query. That would require, on top of all the other worries, one - my father driving Rosemarie to the airport and two - my mother flying by herself. I'd have a better chance of winning the California and Massachusetts state lotteries simultaneously than those events ever happening. So one week from today, I leave for the first leg of my trip: Boston. The rent-a-car works out perfectly so only I have to drive to Logan, which you can bet will be bright and early despite our 2 pm flight (hence the red carpet treatment).

Since my move to San Francisco twenty years ago, I go back to Boston about once a year. I despise the cold, so it is never in the winter, although that first visit back to Medford was for Thanksgiving. I was thinner (oh happy memories) and sported a crazy goatee/beard look that to this day, I don't know what I was thinking. My mom, just like when I was in school, was in the kitchen when I got home. In fact, I first wrote about my mom and her location at our kitchen table in an essay that I called "Sipping Coffee," which was published in the fourth edition of America Now: Short Readings from Recent Periodicals.

Since those first visits, I've really come to appreciate my family. Chalk it up to getting older, becoming wiser, whatever you'd like to think. Whatever it is, I always find time in my schedule to spend time with my relatives. This visit also turns out to be Easter weekend and that means insane amounts of food. You're probably thinking, perhaps you shouldn't eat so much before you go to a city of gastronomic delicacies, but we are Italian (I'm a 1/4 Lithuanian too, but that's another story) and refusing food - no matter if it's coming from my 92-year-old Aunt Lil or my Godmother, Aunt Louise - is not an option.

This all fits in nicely since my mom loves to eat, despite the misconception that she consumes nutrition like a bird. But really, when you think about it, birds are always eating, so the metaphor fits. The first thing I'll probably buy her in The City of Lights is a chocolate eclair at a cafe where we'll sip some coffee and talk about everything from childhood to California and all the stuff in between. Now, I'll take that over winning two state lotteries any day.

The Red Carpet Treatment

Living in Los Angeles, I see red carpet events everywhere, and in fact, they can be quite annoying with the traffic and congestion they cause. However, working at NBC has its perks as it has allowed me to attend the occasional Hollywood affair, but always, I've had to enter the venue from the side entrance. After all, wouldn't want to be mistaken for somebody worthy of the paparazzi flash. When I've vacationed with my friend Wayne, whom traveling with also has its advantages, I experienced my first into the red carpet world of airline lounges. Civilized seats, snacks, coffee, tea, fabulous customer service and most important of all, clean and private bathrooms.

Now, my mother likes to arrive at places even earlier than I do, and since Wayne is not traveling with us, I thought it would be great to give Rosemarie the red carpet treatment. I'll be the only paparazzo taking pictures, but at least she won't have to enter from the side - we're walking in through the front.

Things That Make You Go Awww

Take your pick of all the things that make you all tingly inside: newborn kittens, cute babies, any kind of puppy gathering or skateboarding dog. No matter what it is, there's something wonderful about the experience that makes you go, "awww." And, it's been happening all the time with this trip.

When I tell people I'm going to Paris, they immediately ask me if I'm going with anyone.

"I'm taking my mom," I say, and then wait for the response that I got when I asked my boss for the two weeks off from work.

"Awww," he said. "What a good son."

My cousin, Sandra said the same thing, but added very succinctly, and without missing a beat, "Then again, she's a good mom."

She is indeed.

All together now, "Awww."

24/7 Senior

Today, I received our actual rail tickets for our weekend in Belgium. I have to admit, as much as the convenience of e-ticket travel has changed the world, I love the feel of actually holding a real piece of paper in my hand. Senior prices only apply to weekday travel, so I saved a total of $6 on the return ticket, which prompted my mom to make the excellent point that she's a senior citizen on weekends too.

And I discovered my mobile phone doesn't work in Europe. However, Verizon has a cool service that allows you to rent a global phone that you return once you're back in the United States. It'll be nice to have a phone in case I need to call Serge if the trains are late, which in Europe is highly unlikely. Now don't be thinking I'll answer any calls when I'm on vacation. If I see a number that's not European, off to voicemail you go. Read the blog, it's a lot cheaper. Senior discount be damned.

What's Wrong with our Money?

I'm so old that I remember when ATMs first made their appearance in the world. I found that gleaming machine behind the glass door at the Medford Savings Bank simply fascinating. You put a credit card in and out came the money. I no longer had to talk to the silly teller behind the bullet proof glass. Alas, my parents have never really embraced what was once a newfangled machine.

"How much money should I take with us?" my mom asked me today.

"We gave you Euros for your birthday, so we're set once we land and then I'll use the ATM."

"What happens if we need to buy things in cash. What's wrong with our money?"

"It's Europe," I replied. "They don't take our money."

"ATMs don't spit out Euros, I get dollars when I use one."

Since the only thing between us was the phone, I quickly dialed her number so I could explain how it all works and truly laugh out loud. God bless her. It really is going to be an adventure of a lifetime.