We’re under something called “kwaranteen” now. I don’t know what it means, but Cheryl’s been staying home all day and not going to the museum. I don’t mind, sort of. It’s nice to see her, but it’s a bloody inconvenience when she kicks us off the couch so she can have a nap.
She’s been working on her crocheting and not letting me up into her lap as often as I’d like, too. She’s been doing a lot of playing with papers and muttering. I’m not sure if that’s for her needlework or for her stories. Given that she looks at books a lot and consults other papers, it’s probably a bit of both.
