Boy, it always happens this way. I can remember many years when I've left for the C's in winter weather, and returned to discover that spring had come. This year was no exception; in fact, this year's a little over the top: It's already been 80 here. (But that's another story.)

The conference itself was a blast. I enjoyed partying with my LCC colleagues, and traipsing all over Manhattan looking for yarn. I got to have dinner with Elliott (remember Meerkat Media?) at a Sri Lankan restaurant on the lower east side. We saw a fantastic show at the Guggenheim on Spanish painters from 1500-Picasso. The point was to show the traditions that Picasso drew upon, and to show what he did with them. I thought it was organized like a limerick, or something: Painting, painting, painting, painting, Picasso. I'd never thought of him as funny before, but in this context, he was.

We raced through MOMA, and I took a detour to the Subversive Lace and Radical Knitting exhibit across the street. (While it might have been radical it certainly wasn't subversive.)

The highlight for me was the Bedford party, held this year at Tavern on the Green. The lights and mirrors were just amazing, and the food was terrific.

Now I'm back, and buried . . . so I'd better return to digging myself out . . .