PARIS. [WHO, ME??]

Today I was doing some of "Spring" cleaning, and a friend from church came to help me wash windows.  While we were moving a window table, a Ugandan carved dish was knocked over.  And what was in it and was scattered on the floor?  My special souvenirs. And for the rest of the afternoon I kept smiling about the souvenirs and where and why I had them.

So, here's the story.

One of the most surprising events that ever happened to me was a 2-1/2 day time in Paris.  Dave's computer co-worker was from western Africa, was really neat, and he and Dave got along great.  Then Patrice moved to Paris.  

A few months later, we were going to Uganda to attend our son, Sam's, wedding.  

We had been invited to visit Patrice and his wife.  We worked it into our "on the way home" schedule. When we reached London, we had arranged a 3-day layover. We didn't fly to Paris; we went on the Eurostar train.  To be under the English Channel I would normally have been terrified.  BUT too much fun was on the plate and I couldn't allow the fear to win.

We stayed at Patrice's apartment not far from the main downtown area.  Could walk nearly anywhere, climbing the arches,

 a long walk on Champs Elysee, so many lovely shops, nice people.

 

And this is what I brought home as my souvenir:

The chestnuts were in a grassy area near those rocks that I loved so much [wish I could have brought them home].

The next day was our 14th anniversary.  We went to the Eiffel Tower ... 

and even as terrified I am of heights I couldn't possibly not go up.  And it was beautiful.

After that, we went on the Seine River.

And it was a "normal" tourism experience.

The amazing part?  I was looking at the river and suddenly I burst into tears.  Dave was horrified.  He came and held me and asked what was wrong.  I said, "I'm so happy.  I never imagined being here."

Dave felt so blessed.  He truly appreciated what the Lord had done for me through him.  [I had been so lacking in money, from childhood forward, even without basic needs, until the Lord gave me Dave and my whole life changed.]

Our 27th anniversary is this coming Friday.  I'm hoping to bless my husband in some significant way. Wish I had a billion dollars to give him... he's more than worth it.

MO-ROCK-O

When we left for Morocco, other than having watched travel videos and the "Casablanca" movie as part of our preparation, I had no idea how this country would enter my heart and stay there.  Well, considering my personality and addictions, a few hours after our arrival, I became overwhelmingly in love with their scenery.  Why?  Almost everywhere/every place was filled with rocks.  The first "rock" photo I took was next to the Casablanca mosque, the Atlantic ocean covering them with waves when the tides rose. 

After the Palm Sunday event several days later, we were taken to a Berber Village in the Atlas Mountains.  We had a very interesting and lovely time in the "motel" connected to a very sweet and special family.  The next day, a Tour du Maroc bike racing event took place a few miles way at Imintanout and we were taken there.  It was a lot of fun. Would never have expected something like that.  So, here are a few photos:

Then life changed -- Again!  We were given a picnic some distance from the house.  In fact, several miles.  We rode in a Land Rover, then walked through a village, wandered around and about, and...

we arrived at a river shore.  A donkey was already there and had been the delivery vehicle for our food. 

The river was non-watery. And that's how, in my head, I began grabbing my souvenirs for my prayer group.

You see, I wanted to give them something special, something about Morocco that they could never break, lose, or misplace.  I also didn't want them to wonder where it came from, so I knew a rock could be referred to as a "Mo-rock-o".  And hoped they would grin a bit.

That lacking-water-river was near the housing area in the village, so I didn't have to grab all of them and drag them away after the picnic.  But the plan was planted in my head and heart.

The next day, before we were leaving, I was able to finish collecting the rocks and, since we had given most of our clothes to the village ladies [something I always do when going to a different country], my duffle bag had plenty of space.  I had about 30 rocks the size of my hand, and wrapped them in any of the clothes, towels, etc., that I still had.  The rocks were colorful and textured and layered and lovely.  [ And I brought a couple just for myself.  How could I have not done that???.]

Anyhow, that's my story about Mo-rock-o.  Hope you chuckle a bit....  And, BTW, I chuckle, too... always grinning when walking through my yard, and enjoying my national and international souvenirs.