I'd almost given up hope that winter would come. We made it all the way to Christmas and even past New Years with barely a flake. I was really hoping that this would be the first winter on record to have zero inches of snowfall. Silly me. As I type these words, our rolling country hills look like a scene from Currier and Ives. Truly. The snow is piling up on our rows of fence posts and starting to blend in as everything turns white.
I had the most fascinating meeting today with an older gentleman who stopped by the shop to talk about painting our front windows. Goodness! He is ancient and has the most wonderful, thick, European, accent. I showed him my ideas for and old-fashioned design that would work well with the shop and he jumped right in with suggestions and advice. We spoke of how does all of his own work. Oh, he's tried hiring several people, but no one does as good a job as he. He told me not to expect his work to be perfect, it will be very good, but there is no such thing as perfect when you're hand-painting. My sister suggested that we hire him just so we can watch him work. I like that idea.
We closed the shop early because of the road conditions. I got to spend the afternoon with my crazy little siblings waiting for mom and dad to get home. We colored. Markers for them, calligraphy pens for me.