Blessings on a cold and wet Monday in the year of hunkering down

• Car arrives home with a trunk full of most of the groceries we ordered, feeling like a tiny holiday, possibly a remembered childhood Christmas, or the arrival of the Wells Fargo Wagon in “The Music Man.” 
• Basement shuffleboard court continues to entertain and inspire competitive spirit between two humans.
• The smell of a searing roast in onions and golden mushroom soup, among other things, delights the eventual diners.
• That moment the cook is finally able to stop the “dinner bell,” also known as the hallway smoke alarm, from beeping its shrill, monotone, three-note sequence by using multiple fans: 2 ceiling, 2 exhaust. 
• The pressure to make money from home, competing with those half her age and twice as able to work quickly, is gone forever for this woman.

The Bagpipes of Suburban Boredom

This morning, Stu decided he should mow the front yard. I indicated that I would tag team him and get the back done after he finished in front. 

After I finished my part, I realized that I would love another “spa bath,” especially since I still had the bubble machine and mat set up aside and inside my tub. There honestly is nothing like a good hot tub for tired old muscles.

We had a nice lunch together, after which I tidied up dishes and he went to bed for his nap.

I followed shortly thereafter to my own bedroom, hoping for blessed sleep myself. In anticipation of same, I played a few games on my phone and read a bit on my tablet.

The nap gods were not kind to me today. I tried the sound machine; I tried two pillows.

Every single yard in hearing distance is being groomed today, and I can’t blame them.

We started this cacophony, and it may not finish until all twenty or so grassy yards within hearing distance are complete.