Polka dot sun spots.

We are venturing into the land of pure Colette entertainment - 14 months old and definitely a Colette. A Colette listens to “no” with a cocked head and inquisitive eyes and pulls her hands away from the hot light bulb or the computer keyboard. Then she returns and, with a bit of agitation in her eyes, checks on your commitment to the “no.” Xavier is good at staying committed. When he echoes the same “no,” she keeps cocking her head listening, but her hands wring behind her back in an internal tug of war – her will tells her she should keep trying and her hands manifest that she knows better. Eventually, especially when it is Xavier, she distracts herself and finds another interest area to focus on. Later on, she does some follow-up reinforcement of her own: she moves toward the forbidden item and gets very close to it with her eyeballs, brings her pointer finger near her face and says, “no” “no” “no” – shaking the finger the whole way directly at the object. Sometimes she adds an emphatic, “papa” “no” “papa” “no.”

(Her hair is a continual source of tension - Xavier insists we cut it. I say, let it grow. He says she looks like a homeless baby. I say she looks like a delight).



Her down dog since she was 6 months old is one of her most charming baby larks. When she feels inspired (and it is often and anywhere), she drops into position and hangs out there upside down for a while, especially delighted when an adult’s face appears and she reaches through her legs to pet their nose.

A brunch.

Brunches like these are the best. Stephen was singing as we walked through the door. Colette waltzed in and immediately reconnected with Skip (poor cat) and Marguerite got special birthday treatment from John. Stephen and John are virtuosos at having people over and fanning out such food.

Orange shorts and that face.

Hudson.

Although I do consider myself an urbanite, heading out of the city is interesting. I felt my body literally unfurling in the seat of the car the closer we got as we drove north to Hudson. By the time we reached the grassy fields surrounding the little town, my lips were loose and I was humming out loud. For an antique lover like Xavier, Hudson is a little haven. The main street in town, Warren Street, is lined with about 40 antique shops.











Frenchies were everywhere in Hudson! We would be dancing along, singing a tune in French or Marguerite would be in the middle of recounting a tale of her school days, when someone would chime in in French. We all appreciated the above sign. The Joly-Johnsons agree that "faire-ing la gueule" (pouting) is a forbidden activity. When we lived in Paris, Xavier and I had a running joke about the pervasiveness of "la gueule" on the metro. It was the one thing we have never been sad to leave behind.

The house.

I played with a new format on my camera and took some photos of the house. I have been soaking in the light recently - the mix of more and more sun and stretched out days as we get closer to summer makes me want to loll in the streams of light coming through the windows.





And the best sun baths are, of course, taken on the roof - gazing over at Mr. Hamilton's abode.