Last night, my roommates and I decided that since it was Friday and none of us wanted to do our homework that we should do something fun. I imagine that it says a lot about my apartment that we decided that it would be utterly delightful to go to the MoA and look at one of the exhibits there. We decided to see the exhibit called "Windows on a Hidden World: Japanese Woodblock Prints."
They were stunning, but as we were wandering through the exhibit it reminded me of home. Here I was, standing in a museum, with my red scarf around my neck, my black bag slung over one shoulder my coat over my arm and my book in hand. It was just like the good old days when I could wander through the National Gallery or the Tate or the British Library. It felt wonderful to be back in that cultural air and remembering how it used to be. It was a wonderful evening, made bettter when we went home and made a pie, but that's besides the point.