October 21, 2014
We went to a pumpkin patch on a picturesque farm north of the city this weekend. Truth be told, their patch was somewhat depleted, but the trees were aflame and flashing their stuff and the farm had a good variety of gourds and soft-hued pumpkins (peaches-and-cream, silvery green, inky gourds and a few spiky chestnut burrs).
Marguerite found a winner and rolled it back up the hill from the patch with a little friend. We sat next to a great French family on the plane our way home from France this summer and met them there for an outing together.
Poor Colette. She had a rough day. It was blustery and cold and she was counting on some horses that didn't readily appear.
We stopped at a quintessential New-England white church with gravestones mottling its claim. Got out and crunched the leaves under me and wandered among the headstones for a moment thinking they were lucky souls to rest in such a peaceful spot. As we drove along, trees churning by, I realized how fall in the northeast feels native to me - like a moment of home for a season.
October 19, 2014
October 18, 2014
The Wendy Hilliard Foundation provides an amazing resource to Harlem kids: gymnastics at this gym (on 143rd Street - almost to the East River). Colette goes to a class on Saturday mornings to test out all sorts of things: trampolines, uneven bars, balance beams. All just exploratory with other 2 year old friends, to find out about balance and jumping and seat drops and forward rolls and obstacle courses. It makes me want to start all over again and break out my cartwheels and test my back bend limits.
Watching the big girls and waiting for her turn.
Stretching it out on the mats, toes pointed.
Pouting, because she is two and at that she is already highly trained.
October 16, 2014
October 11, 2014
I like to read a book to Colette that features Degas' ballerinas. We went to the Met tonight to go visit some of his paintings. She understood that was the mission, or so we thought. She walked into the museum and promptly started yelling, "Degas, Degas, De-gas!" (she didn't know what she was looking for exactly - a person? a thing?). I kept telling her we would get to those paintings, just to be patient a bit. We arrived in the 19th c. French painting section and we found the ballerinas. Great. She loved the dancers. Said so. We walked out of that section and she carried on, "Degas?! Where are you?" I tried to explain. I guess I had built it up and then it didn't satisfy.
She did see this painting by Lerolle, ran toward it and exclaimed, "LOOK! Medicine go down!!" She couldn't quite point out Degas, but she did find Mary Poppins.
We pretty much followed her lead to the best parts of the museum. Every time I go to that museum I realize how opportune it is to just jump on a bus, hop down the road and arrive at the Metropolitan Museum.