Is it Day 7? Or Day 8? Considering that this thing has no definite beginning or ending, I suppose it could be either.
This morning I slept later than I have in a long time. But then again, no church to get dressed for this morning. Our pastor preached his message via Facebook Live, but it kept lagging on my computer. Steph's phone was smoother, so we listened to the audio from First Baptist Church - Blooming Grove. If interested, you can find the sermon here.
I worked for a bit on my Navarro classes and researched how to do a role-playing game online with friends in the "social distancing" new normal. It certainly would be a way to pass the time. Brandon called and asked me to come to advise him on his beehives and frames. He is getting his starts of bees this week and is trying to get his hives in order. I didn't stay long. All of the dreary, rainy, and cloudy weather I think has me pretty listless. I need to so get out and spend some time out of doors on a dreary day.
Steph is still having some trouble with her lungs but they will not see her unless it is ER-worthy. We are pretty sure that it is her asthma and the high pollen count. It would not surprise me that it is the mold count.
After a supper of "poor man's dinner" (potatoes, onion, pork 'n' beans, and Spam, on toast), we had a game night. Tonight was Ticket to Ride: Old West. It was an interesting variation on the classic game. Sadie even caught Alvin the Alien in Roswell.... Hmmmm.
Apparently, the creative side of Steph is coming out. Here is her view of the world via Facebook! By her reckoning, it must be Day 8.
Day 8:
My family has self exiled from the realm until this plague has passed. The Laird is restless and tries to devise ways to go on a secret expedition, but for now the rain keeps him in the keep. The princess is so far happy and taken to this confinement well, however she complains about taking care of the poultry in the rain. To conserve feed, the poultry are currently allowed more freedom, though they abuse this privilege by having taken to roosting near the door to the kitchen--undoubtedly hoping for scraps to be thrown to them by the princess--and they are making a terrible mess of the walkways. Sometimes we loose the hound upon them, and he takes such great joy in this endeavor, that he has turned to being dishonest about his need to go out. The ringing of the little bell he uses to communicate his need to us is now nearly constant. I must devise a plan to address this issue.
The Laird needs a good hike, me'thinks!
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