“Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is love correcting everything that stands against love.”  ~ Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. Good cheer, Friends, One and All!   It's time for Mosaic Monday . Thanks to hostess Angie of Letting Go of the Bay Leaf .

I'm grateful we have level-headed, compassionate, responsible, and experienced individuals leading our country again. President-Elect Joe Biden and VP-Elect Kamala Harris are already at work cleaning up after the sulking twice impeached dictator wannabe. Thank you!

Sow wildflower seeds before the rain comes. (Hopefully we get rain this winter.) Prune the fruit trees. Make a paper mache elephant. Weave a seat and back for a patio chair. We have several old sturdy metal frame patio chairs that the Husband inherited. Alas, most of the plastic straps on the chairs are broken or about to break. I've got loads of material, so why not see if I can weave something stable and safe to sit on.  Finish this wall hanging. See that big floral piece. I visualize a forest. The Husband says it reminds him of a panty. hahahahaha. Scan Mama's photo albums. Reorganize the kitchen cabinets so I don't need to either get the ladder or call for the Husband to reach up high for something. Clear out unnecessary files and folders in my computer. Make an estate plan. Sew a vest for the Husband. I bought the material for the vest at least 5 years ago. It's simply finding a simple pattern for me to follow. Sew a tunic for me. Get my blood pressure down so

While traipsing through the backyard early one morning last week I came across first-time visitors. Mushrooms! Mama would've harvested them. She would've thrown a quarter into the stewing mushroom pot, and if the quarter didn't turn black, then she would've eaten them. I wouldn't be surprised if there is a scientific basis behind the coin changing color to signify mushrooms are poisonous. When I was a kid, I ate the mushrooms my parents gathered on the oaks and sycamores along a certain creek in the hills right after good winter rain. They were tasty but kind of slimy, what the Husband might say in jest, "Awful mouthfeel." Daddy taught me which mushrooms to look for and where to find them, but I could never trust my judgment so I mostly held empty buckets and carried full ones back to the car. I love those times. 

How many pot lids do I need? How many small ones, big ones, and in-between ones should I keep? The huge ones make wonderful cymbals. Clang, clang!  Those I'll keep for now. I doubt any of the pot lids I found in the cabinets belong to the Husband and me, whether acquired together or individually before we knew the other existed. Most, if not all, of these pot lids belong to Mama. Awk! She wouldn't have liked knowing that so many lids have no accompanying pots. If she were here now, I would expect her to glare at me, spew out her hit parade of unflattering names at me, and critique me with something like "You're worse than a boy!" In hindsight,  hearing it all said in Ilocano and understanding it in English may have saved me from being susceptible to herd mentality. Thank you, Mama and Daddy. Where was I? Pot lids! Mama had favorite ones. A few of the lids are etched with her name. "Why would she do that?" asked the Husband. "Would someone actually t

I took this photo from the passenger seat while the Husband and I waited for our turn to safely cross to the other side. Just think if our reality is to ignore the rules and plow right through the intersection because we don't believe we have to wait for anyone.  Yeah.  I like this photo. So much so that I painted it with Photoshop art filters in various ways. Hello, Mosaic Monday . :-)