Though I’m sure I take after my mother in many ways, I’ll only admit to one. I love to explore new territory and I’m not afraid to do it by myself. This is something that I will attribute to my always-on-the-go mom.
In mid-October 2010 I accompanied my husband on a business trip to Quebec City. While he busied his days with scheduled meetings, I stepped back in time within the walls of Old Quebec City (where they speak french and I think it is too lovely of a language to try to imitate publicly).
Around lunch time I picked a small restaurant that sat on a narrow cobblestoned street that was too narrow for motor vehicles, but perfect for the throngs of footing-it tourists.
Though there was a slight chill in the air I opted to sit outside where I could overlook the small park decorated in pumpkins and fall colors. And so I could people watch. I was on vacation so I treated myself to french onion soup and red wine. Wine for lunch!
In the park, an older couple played folk french music.
Was it the wine? The ambiance? The foreign land where I was discovering a new side to myself? Whatever it was, I pulled a notepad from my purse and began writing.
They were most likely the most awful words ever scribbled down, but they were my beginning. Old Quebec City will forever be my most favorite place to write and I hope to make it back there again.