It was a lovely, good day and we made bread. Here's what Gibson looked like in an apron.
I know. Can you stand it?
Here's Owen doing some kneading.
Dude was working it. Gibson was busy raking flour off onto the floor.
I'd show you pictures of us eating the bread but none of them are any damn good at all, unlike the bread, which was delicious.
It was just a fine day of doing and learning and pretending and laughing and okay- here's an Owen joke- How does a lion get in your butt?
You sit on him.
That was the best joke out of about forty. So okay, he's not quite there with the jokes yet. It'll happen.
They're coming back tomorrow at 6:45 a.m. so this old woman needs to get dinner made and and to bed ASAP.
(I'm purposely ignoring the national problems and insanities for the moment. I'll let someone else take care of that. Who, I do not know at this moment, but I think Obama has a handle on it. Stay strong, Mr. President. Let those fuckers dig their own grave and hang themselves by all that rope they're pulling out of their asses. Advise them all to sit on lions.)