Who needs Tiffany’s when we’ve got sunlight sparkling on the sea? I do! I love Tiffany’s! The first monologue I ever performed in high school drama class was Holly Golightly getting ready to go see Sally Tomato in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I studied the scene
I saw many incredible things in Cairo, like the glittering gold and jewels from King Tut’s tomb, 3,000 year old mummies staring out at me from their bandages, peacocks swishing their tails through lush gardens, and curling glass perfume bottles that resembled a genie’s lamp.
Walking around Cairo was like walking through a Cave of Wonders–around every bend was another treasure.
His touch was like a Crème Brulee torch, and I was the sugar on top…
I just want to be next to her, to read to her, put my arms around her, to feel my heart near hers, and pretend that her brain will come back and she will remember who I am, even for one bittersweet moment.
My Mom could never understand why I felt compelled to jump into adventures in faraway lands, and she would say, “Oh Marci, how do you do that? How do you dare to go to these places by yourself? Aren’t you scared?” This perplexed me, because when I travel, I feel the opposite of scared. When I embark on an adventure into the unknown, I feel more at home than I do at home
So now, it was 2am in the middle of a remote forest in Norway, with snow so deep it could swallow me whole, and I’m riding on the back of a young man, surrounded by thick pine trees soaring straight into the sky. It was cold, and a little scary, but the adventure of it all outweighed the fear.
Did he see the ordinary church and reinterpret it his way?
Or did he look at the building and see centuries of wishes, hopes, tears, and prayers all swirling together into a vibrant mind-bending dazzling cloud, bursting with sacred irreverence … the church and the art soothing jagged-edged souls and healing broken hearts, century after century… generation after generation…
I met him on a rainy summer night in Paris, the kind of night that’s made for kissing. Chris was English, with thick wavy black hair, warm eyes, and an accent that could melt butter in a freezer. By the end of our first evening together, he put his arms around me while we were waiting for a taxi and I turned around and kissed him. By the next day, we were officially “dating,” and we spent much of our time that summer staring into each other’s eyes and kissing on every street corner. It was the kind of passionate summer love where you go to the pub and ask for a dark booth in the back so you can wrap around each other and kiss until you are seeing stars…
We climbed higher and higher, the air smelling fresher and crisper, until we finally arrived in the tiny Bavarian town.
It smelled like home, with the lush forests covering the mountains, the smell of evergreen, wildflowers and even a touch of snow that stays on the highest peak, even in the middle of summer.
I sat quietly in the giant hand, the stone warmed by the sun, and listened to my heartbeat among the children shouting and laughing in different languages around me. I thought about the 20-year-old me who had been full of childlike wonder and adventure and enchanted by everything about Paris and living out my dream of visiting such a magnificent city. I thought about 28-year-old me climbing the hand with my soulmate and best friend, wrapping our arms around each other, feeling like we would be intertwined forever… one glorious treasured moment caught on camera. I didn’t know then that it wouldn’t last forever. And here I was, 50-year-old me, letting the hand gently hold me.
