This pitiful little bit of stitching is all I've been able to accomplish this week:
I've been hibernating instead of stitching.
I should not be allowed to complain. We haven't had temperatures below zero and ten feet of snow and icicles that are fourteen stories high.
We have had single digit temps and an ice storm that shut down the state--I don't care who you are or what your driving experience is, you can't navigate safely on a sheet of ice, and we had one that extended from the Blue Ridge to the Atlantic.
I don't do cold and ice. I do heat and humidity. I do sipping lemonade while languidly fanning myself on the verandah. I do glowing, not shivering. (For those of you who are not versed in Southernisms: Horses sweat, men perspire, and ladies glow.)
Consequently, I have been piling an extra blanket or two on the bed and hibernating with a book instead of stitching in the evenings.
I do need to start thinking a little more about stitching, though. I'm heading to a retreat early next week, and I can't make up my mind what to take with me. It appears that, at the very least, there will be three tote bags going, just so I can make a choice when I get there. And a friend has asked me to bring my new frame stand. Dearly Beloved, who already has a problem with traveling (he doesn't travel, he moves everything he possibly can to reproduce the comforts of home in another place, so we look like we're leaving for a year instead of a week), is not inclined to find a place in the car for it to travel. He has made the point it's like a piece of furniture--which it is--and have I totally lost my mind--which I may have. I'm attributing it all to cabin fever.