Screaming Skull Or Baby Jesus?

MrsFwith4 commented on my yesterday's post asking if the object in the guest room fireplace was a screaming skull which I thought was great! 

Here's that picture again. 

I suppose you could interpret that as a screaming skull but no, actually, it's the lovely old nativity that came with the house. 

As you may have noticed before, although I am rabidly agnostic (at the very least), I do seem to love certain types of religious iconography, mainly madonnas, although that seems to be losing its fascination for me as I get older. But when we first looked at this house, that statue thing was on the refrigerator which was odd. First off, it's pretty big. Secondly...what?
The man we bought the house from assured us he did not want to take it with him and to do with it as we wanted. And I wanted to keep it around and so we have. But where does one put such a thing? I put it in the dining room fireplace first but eventually it got moved to the guest room. It was in better shape when we first acquired it but I made the mistake of trying to clean it and that is not a good idea. 
Oh well. 
My favorite thing about the piece is the expression on the face of the obviously three-year old baby Jesus.
He is not well pleased.

I interpret it as, "Oh god. Here we go. This is not going to end well."

I've been cleaning most of the day, going from one room to another, doing a bit here, a bit there. Not very efficient but it's how my mind works these days which is to say- not very well. I didn't do much deep cleaning, more what you'd call shallow cleaning or, I suppose surface cleaning but things are a little better organized, I threw out more stuff, some rugs have been washed, some dust has been removed, more pictures have been stashed. 
And yes, I rearranged and/or created a few different tableaus which I think is what I subconsciously do. 
I like this one. It's on the shelf above the sink in the bathroom. 

The woman with the incredible hair was made by the incredibly talented Linda Sue who sent it to me and it's one of those things that I never tire of looking at it. She fascinates me. So I gave her a little altar of her own with baby seashells and a King Cake baby. She appears to like that, don't you think? 
While I was at it, I threw away old skin care products I don't ever use and a bottle of silver polish liquid that stinks so bad I hate to use it and some off-brand electric toothbrush heads that I don't have the toothbrush for anymore and oh...some other stuff. I put my beloved, very old and pretty damaged baby dolls back under the vanity in my room and so now the rocking chair they were in can actually be sat on should one feel a little vaporish. 

The only truly serious cleaning I did was of Glen's shower which I NEVER do and don't ask me why but I figured Lon might want to use that shower and now at least it smells quite de-mildewed. Which it is. 
(Large shower cleaning hack: use a broom to scrub those walls and the floor. It makes so much more sense than using a brush and is so much easier.)

Isn't that just the manliest shower? And he built it. Of course.

And there was other cleaning and I ended up in the kitchen where I mopped the floors and even scrubbed some of the walls of the bathroom that is right off the kitchen, opposite the pantry. Did I clean the pantry? 
No I did not. 
Look. I'm only human. 

Oh! I put my puzzle up! It was so easy. I put the cover that came with it over the work I'd done and moved it all to the chest in the library. I truly love that puzzle board.
Now. Have I cleaned a thing in the library?
Again, no. 
But we can eat at the dining room table. 

I believe the important things are done. Clean sheets. Place to eat. Decently clean bathrooms. Thick layers of dust removed in some areas. I did not touch the Glen Den. That is Glen's and I will not be spending an entire day dusting and washing the Museum of Glen and that's all there is to it. Tomorrow I may dust the whatever-it-is the TV rests on. 

One of the last times the Williamsons were here, we somehow stumbled on the most amazing Youtube channel that can be imagined. We are still talking about this in hushed terms because it was practically a spiritual, or perhaps group hallucinatory experience. It was like one video after another, most of which none of us had ever seen, of performances of all the bands that we loved so much when we were young. And they went on and on and on. Finally, I said I had to go to bed but honestly, I think we could have sat there all night, stunned and mesmerized. And we have no idea where we found it or what it was called. 
It just happened as if by divine intervention. 
I seriously doubt we'll ever experience anything like that again but we'll probably try. 

I must add to tonight's post that Hank's true fiftieth birthday celebration is beginning on Tuesday. Well, the part where everyone goes to the coast starts on Tuesday. He has been planning this for quite possibly a year. And when Hank plans anything, it is damn well planned. Schedules are made. A house has been rented which is quite near St. George Island, is across the street from the bay, and has a pool and many bedrooms. Friends are flying in from all over the country. Taylor and Anna are already here. A specific group has been invited to spend the nights there and although family and others are invited for daytime activities, there have been strong instructions that at five o'clock, we must exit the premises when the Wild Rumpus will start! 
Don't ask. I certainly haven't. 
Tee shirts have been made. I feel certain that menus have been too, as well as room assignments and, oh hell. I don't know. 
Hank loves doing things like this. He is an organizer and he is a friend keeper. And he is a master of party-joy giver. 
Remember his Tallahassee Springtime Parade parties? 
If you'd ever been to one you would have. 

Oh yeah. It's the Fourth of July. I think I may have just heard some sort of firework. I'm surprised it's taken this long. This is not a holiday I generally get excited about. 
Okay, I never do. 
And this year? 
Once again...no. I did not.

Love...Ms. Moon