Miss Em Update

Or should I say “Ms Em” since she’s writing a paper on Mary Wollstonecraft? I remember reading A Vindication of the Rights of Women when I was in university, and thinking how radical it was for the 18th century. But I can’t imagine trying to fathom it from the point of view of the law—or, come to think of it, the lack thereof.
Emma just got back from visiting Paris with three of her friends on Sunday. The first thing they did when they got off the train was head straight to the Eiffel Tower! (Emma and I went to the top in 1993, but John and David were too chicken to go up. What a view! It was like looking down on a stone forest because you couldn’t see any green).
Emma and her friends saw more than we did. In addition to going to the Louvre, they also went to Sacré Coeur, Notre Dame and the Musée d'Orsay (her favorite). They sampled plenty of fine French food, and as anyone who has ever been there knows is the best food anywhere. At least in my opinion. And they went shopping naturally. (Emma bought a fab jacket I can’t wait to see).
For those of you who have asked whether or not Emma is getting any work done, I don’t ask. Both she and David are way more responsible than we ever were, so it would be hypocritical to ride herd on them. John spent his time at the University of Glasgow skipping school, playing bridge and partying. I spent four years at the University of Toronto sleeping in and having long intellectual conversations with cute guys when I should have been in class. How either of us ever managed to graduate is beyond me.
I do recall some grade school emergencies though. One Sunday night when Emma was in the sixth grade, she announced that she had a project on French culture due the next day. It was back in the pre-Internet era, and no libraries were open, so we cut up a couple of my art books, and a copy of House & Garden that had some pictures of a French Chateau. Then I told her everything I knew about Simone de Beauvoir, John Paul Sartre and the Impressionists. What I didn’t know, I made up—and she still got an A. I’m sure this said way more about her teacher than it did about my knowledge of France!