This is the ceiling lamp of my studio room. The Spanish moss wreath in in honor of New Orleans. And in memory of my disaster response work trips there in July and August. On a time-off day, I had pulled down this moss from a tree at the sculpture garden at the New Orleans Museum of Art (which I still think of as "the Delgado" which it was called when I was little.) My cousin advised against the transport of the moss. She said there would be bugs in it. I didn't care. There weren't.
And now, this December, since I've spent many Christmas's here, and I've never had my own tree, and I do love Christmas because mine are simple and remind me of my grandparents - this is my new Spanish moss Christmas wreath "tree":
Like the man in line with me at MOM's pharmacy on Wednesday who said, "Hey Baby, it's your life." This is my life. This is my little antique, imported, eccentric, lonely Christmas. And it's OK.