Wigs & things with Uncle Stephen.

Stephen and Colette are quite the duo. When I talk about Uncle Stephen, Colette gets really quiet and then pronounces "ssss," looking all around, hoping he will appear. So, a weekend like this one where Uncle Stephen is abundant is full of the kinds of things about which Colette is naturally crazy. Napkins become babushka handkerchiefs and wigs come out in all colors and styles. Colette protests about the wigs. Just like last time, she scrunches up her face in protest when Stephen dons them. Otherwise, bliss.

Tongue out at the bar.

I love the way Colette relates to people. I wonder when the barefaced baby will turn into a socially conscious child, apprised of ways to be and to react to others. I wonder when she will stop walking past the construction workers, loudly proclaiming "hat" while patting her head and pointing at theirs - insisting until they do the same. It is inspiring to watch her make eye contact with anyone she pleases, bat her eyes, wave her hellos and continue staring until she has had enough of whoever it is - or stare squinty-eyed with a slightly turned gaze - judging with flagrant suspicion.

We are going away this weekend and next week for a while. First to Provincetown, then to the south of France: St. Aygulf and Avignon. Sounds delightful to me.

Hannelore Knuts & Christopher Melton.

Favorite friend Chris wanted to do a photo shoot at our house this spring for Glass Magazine. Great idea. He is obviously a wonder in the world of fashion and we think the dining room looks particularly dashing through his lens.

Happy Summer Solstice.

The day was long and glorious. When dusk did come, little lights were charming Colette and Colette was charming these little lights.

Blue Hill at Stone Barns.

On that idyllic farm 30 minutes north of Manhattan...is a tractor. Colette found it and drove for a long while.



There are divine bouquets of freshly cut flowers from their fields.





Chickens grazing the way they were meant to, not in some terrifying factory-farmed broiler house situation.



Younglings growing in the greenhouse swelter.



Pig tails. Colette loved the pig tails and their constant snorting.



Long, winding trails in the woods. Colette took a long nap on a long walk where we got lost and enjoyed all the moments of the stillness around - the mushrooms and the water and the ripening strawberries.









Patchwork fields of crops. So beautiful.





On Sundays there is a farmer's market and a lovely cafe for baked goods and brunch (and of course, a renowned restaurant for the rather well-heeled - the restaurant purchases 70% of the farm's goods for its food).



Blue Hill at Stone Barns | 630 Bedford Rd, Pocantico Hills, NY

Hamilton Heights: The Grange.

Right up the street from us is a new joint called "The Grange". It is a neighborhood eatery/pub and we are super excited about all the great new spots opening up around our part of Harlem: Hamilton Heights. I guess Xavier has a knack for choosing vanguard neighborhoods, because two years ago when we bought our house, you might not have guessed the potential around here (I certainly wasn't totally convinced). The owner of the "The Grange" is an Irish gentleman named Roy and we love what he has done with the place. We can't wait to take friends to brunch here on the weekend.

A fine, fine Colette moment.

When identifying her body parts, she really makes us proud.

Wow.

Colette has a real thing for hats right now. She loves them. Says, "hat" and points to her head and everything. Even more charming is her new appropriation of the word, "Wow". Claire, in her blessed enthusiasm, uses this term often. Colette picked it up. She stands in front of the mirror, places a hat on her head, examines the result and while eyeing herself proclaims, "WOOWW." It almost sounds like she is being sarcastic with herself. Must catch it on camera.

Geneva.

Geneva turned nice on me the second day. The sun shone and the Rhône shone with it.



I found the Orthodox church in Les Tranchées (a neighborhood that belies its namesake and features the swankiest villas in town).







I got really lucky and happened to be in Geneva for a certain Rachmaninov concert at Victoria Hall, featuring an incredible 28 year old Russian pianist (Alexander Gavrylyuk), Concerto 4, Variations on a theme of Paganini and Vocalise pour orchestre op. 34 no. 14. I sat here and could see the entire finger extravaganza.



But the best, of course, was when I got home to New York, walked in the door and little miss baby looked at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. And then said Mama and reached up her arms.