This week has been a pretty nasty one, not because any real bricks have fallen on my head, but because of the endless rasp of sandpaper making everything raw. But instead of complaining – which I would very much rather do – I figured this blog needed some positivity. So here are all the people I turn to when life gives me old rotten lemons that can’t even be turned into lemonade, which I don’t like anyway.
1. St. Jerome.
Recently I have been put in a lot of situations where my options are a tart, witty smackdown or just walking away. St. Jerome is practically the patron saint for grumpy curmudgeons (I wonder if he would have gotten along very well with St. Teresa of Avila if they had been contemporaries) and was known for some tart, witty smackdowns of his own. Sometimes, though, you just have to move into a cave and devote your energies to a gigantic project so you’ll have something better to do than write other people snarky letters. Sigh. I have a 700 square foot cave and my project is crocheting baby hats and booties. 7 down, 17 to go.
2. St. Martha
Have I mentioned that I’m really lazy? I’m really lazy. However, I still need good-smelling clothes, tasty food, clean dishes, a neat bed, and floors I can see. St. Martha gets me to the grocery store, among other things, when I don’t want to get dressed and I don’t want to go outside and I don’t want to drive and I don’t want to stand around and I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna… anything. I picture her leaning on the “peninsula” which forms the top of the half-wall separating the kitchen from the living room, giving me that librarian look over red-framed pointy-corner glasses as I say, “Ok, fine, it’s good to have cleared and washed counters, an empty dishwasher, a wiped-down stove, and a clean microwave interior. I’ll do it. I’ll even not only think of something to feed the husband when he gets home, but I’ll even make it in time for it to be done at a decent dinner hour.” The ironic thing is that I do enjoy doing household work – otherwise I would not be so gung-ho about staying home – but it’s really hard to get started. St. Martha is a great motivator.
3. St. Gerard Majella
In case you missed it, I’m pregnant. One of my aunts sent me a St. Gerard holy card and I taped it up on the bathroom mirror along with my St. Jude holy card. Now I time brushing my teeth to them – bottom teeth St. Gerard prayer, top teeth St. Jude prayer. They’re both relatively long so I imagine my dentist will be happy. Anyway. Being in week 31 has brought its aches and pains, moans and groans, whines and grinds (seriously, sometimes when I stand up and sway from side to side, I can feel joints in my pelvis go “clickclickclickclickclick”), but they’re all stuff that’s supposed to be happening, so fortunately I haven’t had to worry about anything. Hopefully his intercession will keep me complication-free for the rest of this pregnancy through labor, birth and postpartum.
4. St. Jude
He’s my Confirmation saint. I keep him busier than a draft horse in planting season.
5. St. James Matamoros
One of my cousins is in the Army. St. James keeps me from turning into a saltwater puddle.
6. St. Raphael
Not only is he a major character in my second favorite book of the Bible, but he’s also my husband’s patron saint. Speaking of that delightful man, he bikes three miles to work every day, which often gives me reason to tug insistently on the angelic robes of St. Raphael, such as when he had to ride home during a rainstorm and he was an hour late. I alternated between watching out the window like an expectant puppy and pacing the floor, and my prayers alternated between eloquent, respectful pleading and “HE BETTER NOT BE IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE, AND IF HE IS YOU’D BETTER GET HIM OUT!” Try the patience of a saint? Who, me?
7. St. Anthony
I must confess. I have a superpower. No matter where I am, no matter what the object, no matter how junkless the surroundings… I can lose things like you wouldn’t believe possible. Without St. Anthony, my life would come to a shuddering halt and I would spend the rest of my days hunting for whatever I was foolish enough to let leave my hands.