Our Long Russian Winter

This is the Deruta Biscornu, as charted
Started Thursday

I am dragging today. I think it's the weather. I am tired of winter, and even though I tried to break up with him, he's stalking me. I know there are people who have it worse (like Minnesota and Michigan, among others) but it's all what you're used to, right? And I am not used to having this many days back to back that don't even get above freezing. I suppose at some point in my life, I was, but all those years in Los Angeles taught me to love the sun. But I sound like my grandmother (the boring one, not Maggie) going on about the weather like this!

Good news...I wrote a note to the shop that didn't send me an order confirmation, (they had a good reason) and they are giving me a refund for the patterns I double-bought. Yay!

This weekend was busy-ish. On Friday night, I went and stamped. It was just a tiny group of us, but I did stamp some masculine birthday cards this month, as I promised I would. (Photos someday.)

On Saturday, I was out in the snow talking to a prospective volunteer for my animal group about our marketing department but it turns out she doesn't want to work on marketing. (So glad I got out of my pajamas for that.) Then I just hunkered down. Even the dude is done with winter. He called the snow "white poop" and was ranting and raving. It was hilarious, only because he is normally so even-tempered about everything (even the things that should make him rant and rave) (and I don't think I've ever heard him use the word "poop"). I managed to start Two Fine Houses, by Hands to Work. I enjoyed working on that.

Sunday, we headed for the Philadelphia Museum of Art with my niece to see the Vermeer, Young Woman Seated at a Virginal, which is on loan from a private collection. This was her Christmas present--with a Vermeer book and the Girl with a Pearl Earring novel. I think she was a bit disappointed because she didn't get to see Girl with a Pearl Earring. (The heartbreaking thing about that is she was actually in New York on the last day the Girl was at the Frick.) Nevertheless, I think she enjoyed herself--it's so hard to tell with teenagers.

But! Because I seem to attract museum-goers with bad manners, I saw a man rub his hand on a  500 year old painting. I'm assuming that hundred or even thousands of people manage to acquit themselves properly in a museum, so how is it I witness so many of these transgressions? (I reported him. I was prepared to point him out, but the guards were way more concerned about the painting than the patron.)

So how was your weekend?