This is Mullein; also known as Lambs Ears, or Quaker Rouge. The story I heard growing up says that Quaker girls, who weren't allowed makeup, would rub the furry leaves against their cheeks to bring the blood up and give them a rosy flush. I've never tried it. It sounds dubious, but awfully quaint. If you boil the leaves you get a tea which alleviates bronchial swelling, and is supposed to be excellent treatment for respiratory crud of all ilks. This I have tried. I can't say for certain if it helped, but it tastes alright, and I felt as if I was doing something, which is a sort of treatment in and of itself.

Also, I think it's pretty.

When Heath sees this, he will be mad at me for climbing the step ladder. It is ok. I only fell once.

It must be fall, because all the shots I like are vaguely melancholy and underexposed. Bring on spooky October. Nausea makes me feel melodramatic. (Full disclosure: many things make me feel melodramatic. And nauseous.)

This is Ivy-girl, with her knee socks and Elmo underwear, and a plastic bighorn sheep. She posed dramatically and did modern interpretive dance moves, and told me about the neighbors' dog, and out of all the pictures I took, for some reason I chose this under-exposed one. I like it. It looks like dusk actually looks, on the late summer afternoons when you stay out until Mom says you have to come in and take a bath.

I have made a helpful graph for Heath to refer to regarding how I'm feeling. Perhaps it will save me some whining. Now that I look at it, it looks a bit like a watermelon, the very thought of which makes me queasy, because it is not an english muffin or a glass of ginger ale. The writing is very tiny, but I don't want to make it bigger, because then it would be a very big watermelon. 

I am glad that Ivy is so charming and amusing, so as to remind me why I'm so happy to feel like crud.

I bought this high chair today, for my dear someone, who is currently small and translucent, and should arrive on Bob Dylan's birthday, at which time he or she will hopefully have achieved opaqueness. Yes, Mama, you can tell people now.

I named him Sparrow so he wouldn't hunt birds. Sometimes he's a rat. Mostly he's a kitten. I sat on top of the big chest freezer on the back porch, and he waited for something to pounce on. It's not a very high angle, but Heath's home, and he wouldn't let me climb up on the roof. I'm accident prone.

He has the longest arms. I must love him because this is not a photo of a tree or a book.

This is catch-up, since I'm a day behind. If that's not how it works, I'll replace this tomorrow with something else. Nice shoes, though, eh?