What a coffee that would be...

It's no secret I'd like to know more about my great-grandmother. And it's no secret I miss France.

In my quest to know more about the country I love so dearly, I bury myself in books about it -- especially about France's greatest moments... or at least the period when some of the most influential thinkers of the 20th century passed their afternoons in hazy Parisian cafés. I read about Sartre, I read about WWII, I read about Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. The latest book was Saint-Exupéry: A Biography by Stacy Schiff.

Consuming the words that ran across its pages, I lost my breath when halfway through I read a name I knew too well. "That evening he [Saint-Exupéry] set out for a drive with Yvonne Michel, a Parisian friend." The paragraphs that follow reveal jaunts to the movies and a friendship tested by difficult times. Flipping to the notes section, I realized author Stacy Schiff had interviewed Yvonne -- or Mouny, as we called her -- on Jan. 4, 1991.

Naturally, I called Stacy up. (Shocking what a little research can get you!)

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Stacy Schiff?"

"It is."

"The writer?"

She laughed. "Yep, that's me."

Oops. This is where I was supposed to have something better to say. How about: "Ok. My name is Kitty and I'm on a quest to learn more about my great-grandmother. And I think, for better or worse, you spoke to her more times than I did."

I explained the whole situation -- the mark Mouny left on me, the stories I've heard, the journey I'm on. Then I invited her for coffee while I'm in New York next week.

"I'll have to find the notes; they're probably more valuable to you at this point than whatever's left in my brain. And, if you want, I can dig up the tapes. I recorded my interviews, so as long as you can pardon my voice, you can hear hers."

Um, yes please?!

"The trouble is, they're in Canada, so I won't have access until spring or summer."

"I'm in no rush." This is the slowest paced investigation in the world. Maybe by the time I die I'll know exactly who she is.

Then, Stacy asked, "Are you trying to write a book?"

It's a question I've toyed with over and over. "I have no idea." I swallowed hard, wanting to explain but lacking the words. "If she's as interesting as I remember her to be, maybe. Maybe something just for the family -- for future generations. Maybe nothing at all." And then I begged her to meet me for coffee so I could learn how to interview. I did, after all, attempt to speak with Dolores Vanetti, only to find myself completely useless as a journalist (and seriously lacking French).

"I will give you a call."

Huh. Wouldn't that be cool?