As I sit down to Thanksgiving dinner here in Paris, I can’t help but to think back to last Thanksgiving. It was a rather bittersweet one. Although Frannie passed away, we still continued with our celebration. My mom and I ordered a whole feast from Larry’s Market and invited my dear friend James over. Even though we didn’t have to cook much, the three of us spent some quality time in her kitchen getting dinner ready. She wasn’t a big fan of letting us use the kitchen, so I hope she was watching in smiling.

Today I woke up early and caught a morning train to Sainte Chapelle. As I ascended the stairs in the drizzly air, the bells at Notre Dame marked the hour. Distracted by the open-air flower market, I walked among the stalls, admiring the olive and miniature orange trees, bamboo plants, orchids, and bulb. Gone is the splendor of summer flowers, but I enjoyed meandering through none the less.

I joined the queue with other tourists, excited to see this amazing Gothic Church. Built in 1248 under the direction of one architect for King Louis IX, this little jewel box was supposed to house the Crown of Thorns. Once I pass through the metal detector – a necessity since the church sits in close proximity to the Palais Du Justice – I purchase a ticket and enter the chapel.

I climb the steep spiral staircase to the second floor and encounter a room like no other. Although it’s a cloudy day, the intricate stained glass windows cast light into the dark interior. Surrounded by 15 stained glass window panels depicting over 1,000 scenes of the bible, I’m in awe. It’s almost too much to fathom, so I take a seat at the side of the room and stare at the windows. Although it’s hard to concentrate with the throng of tourists, it’s a spiritual experience. But it’s not quite what I’m looking for.

I exit the building, donning my umbrella and head to Notre Dame. Now this is a church and a little more what I’m looking for. Mass is just ending, so I take a seat near the front. As the procession files out, the lights dim. It’s a rather dreary day, so without much light, the huge cavernous room feels calm and a hush falls over the tourist and worshipers.

As I’m sitting there, I thank my grandmother for being the woman she was. I always admired her strength, courage, feistiness, and playfulness. She and my grandfather had a wonderful, loving relationship until the very end. I miss them so much. I hope that wherever they are, they’re proud of me. I know it’s probably not what they would have hoped for – a I know they liked it when I was in the corporate world – but it’s my dream. So thank you grandma and grandpa for making this all possible. I love you with all my heart.

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