Hérissons

I'm still obsessed with them.

Xavier's mom said she might get a family of hérissons to live in the garden at their home in Baugé. The idea is gripping. I think about it when I can't sleep, or when I am supposed to be sleeping.



We read Marguerite this series of books called "Emilie." Emilie is a young French girl (with whiskers) who has a pet hérisson named Arthur. Dream life.



Emilie learns all sorts of lessons and Arthur always looks on with staying power, even when she kicks him down the stairs and things like that. He is a fabulous companion. When I read about Emilie's rainy days and bad moods or her prances with butterflies, I focus on Arthur. Enchanting.



And, as an important aside...Take this Anne Geddes:



When I worked for an impressive real estate broker in New York, I was showing an apartment on Park Avenue to some buyers whose budget hovered around 15 million dollars. We walked into the lavish apartment, and I was immediately disturbed. Every wall was covered by nude pregnant bellies, fetuses in wombs and close-up shots of baby parts - hands, toes, necks, baby hair, etc. It is not very often that you walk into an apartment worth that much money and even rarer that you walk into a place of that value, whose owner is absolutely fanatical about the tiny human form.

Later, I found out that the apartment was owned by Anne Geddes.

It wasn't a dead give away - all the baby parts. Really. It may sound like it. But there were no flower pots, or daisies or babies in bunny costumes. Just obsession, clear cut obsession. But now, I feel compelled to send her this photo of the baby hérissons and see if she admits defeat, or if she would, unsurprisingly, be stirred to take a new direction in her work.