Say hello to Santa. He currently resides in the middle of the front lawn. Back in December Santa's beard and clothes were clean and fresh. Santa even said "ho ho ho Merry Christmas" if you squeezed his tummy. Well, he said it for a few hours, then Juneau silenced him forever.
I took this photo a few days ago because I can identify with Santa. He looks how I feel. Damp, green, mossy - but with a look of hope on his face. A "this too shall pass" sense to him. His eyes still have their twinkle. He's momentarily down, but not out.
I think menopause must be approaching. It has sent the advance crew out to scout the area, and decide how best to attack. I should not have bad moods which linger, according to my mother and my own common sense. Crankiness and crabbiness and parties of pity didn't happen in my childhood. You were allowed time to feel bad and express your sorrow. Then you got up, put on your big girl panties, and moved on. If you had trouble getting started, you were told to count your blessings. It worked then and usually works now.
It must be this menopause stuff that is tripping me up, and bogging me down. On a happier note, hubby presented me with a box of Thin Mints he had ordered from a neighbor. They are so good, and so gone!