The Parisian Catacombs.

Why try to come up with a snazzy title when this one speaks for itself?

When writing becomes public it is by nature no longer private and therefore can no longer be covered with the whims and fancies of a personal journal.  By this I mean it is important to consider, if only briefly, what you want to share before it becomes a semi-permanent fixture in the archives of your life.  Needless to say, when writing becomes such a wonderful part of your daily life, it is quite easy to forget that not every idea that matriculates through to your keyboard is really all that worthwhile.  There are quite a good number of journals in the blogosphere that are simply angsty outlets providing a vent channel for its author but no real gold for anyone who reads it (this is not news to anyone who's a blogger ;) ), but to be honest I think I'd rather communicate with gold than clay. My silence over the past few weeks is explained.  I couldn't think of anything worth speaking to. 

I've spent many months of my life trying to be a practical sort of girl, sensible, a realist.  It doesn't work. At all. My heart goes cold and brittle and I find myself becoming quite grumpy and ungracious.  For all the wisdom and superiority realism claims, it doesn't make for a very fulfilling life.  So let me share with you a little piece of the magic that always seems to bring me back from these pragmatic reveries: adventure.

I was listening to MPR News when a delightful news reporter revealed a bit of history to me: a vast network of underground tunnels carved out of the damp quarries beneath the City of Lights. As a curious young woman I used my public school research skills to delve deeper into this mystery and this is what I found. Maps. And not just any maps, but the very best kind of maps - "annotated maps".  For those of you who haven't picked up on it yet, the City of Lights is Paris and the Catacombs are the creepy (and illegal) subterranean playground to history buffs, adventure seekers, and the occasional ruffian. If you're a typical American (such as myself) and can not only not speak French, but your Spanish is really only sophisticated enough for a toddler, then this map is probably the most user friendly.

But what I loved most of all about discovering these heritage siet was reading the narrative of one woman's real to mud journey through the musty catacombs. In this story, Mildrade Cherfils evades French officials to meet a ragtag group of explorers for a luncheon among bones and subculture masterpieces (hmm, maybe I should write book summaries).  Please do read it, shake things up a bit.