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My parents came by, and seemed to like our new place. They say my brother's new cat, Edison, is very quiet and elusive, but that Mom say him one night staring fixedly at his water dish. She thought at first he was in some sort of trance, but then she saw he was observing a pice of kibble floating in the water. Presently he picked it out with his paw (he is polydayctyl, with semi-opposable extra "thumbs" on his front paws) and ate it. Then he flicked some more kibble from the other dish into the water dish and repeated the process, soaking it, then picking it out and eating it. "Evidently he likes to cook," said my dad.
They are also *probably* (knock on wood, fingers crossed, etc) about to sell their house after having it on the market for a year -- slightly superstitious and theologically dodgy methods were finally employed, so I'd better continue with the precautionary rituals: it seems while they were in the States, a waitress told my mom that St. Joseph, as patron saint of carpenters, is also patron of real estate, and if you want to sell your house, you should get a little statue of him and bury it in your yard. It works, she assured my mom. Back in the Maritimes, Mom decided it was worth a try, but had no idea where to get a statue. There's bound to be a shop in Moncton, Dad pointed out, so off they drove. Mom found herself in a line up behind four or five Acadians buying first-communion gifts, and was near paralysed with nerves by the time she came to the sales counter, but she had to ask the clerk, as none of the Catholic saints were recognizable to her:
"I'm looking for a statue of St. Joseph."
"Is this to sell a house?" Mom was caught off guard, and lied:
"No. Uh, it's for a friend. I don't know what she wants it for."
"Well, this one over here is eight dollars. But if it is for selling a house, we have a St-Joseph house-selling kit. It comes with instructions."
"Uh, ok. I'll get it for her and see if it's what she wants." She paid the clerk and fled in guilt and embarrassment, but later reasoned that if the shop was selling a kit for it, the church couldn't disapprove that much. They wrapped up the statue and buried it near the front door, and had an offer three weeks later. If it goes through, they're supposed to dig the staue up and keep it in a place of honour.
"If it works, we dig him up and take him to the house in Margaretta street." said Mom (they're trying to sell the house my brother's living in, as well).
They are also *probably* (knock on wood, fingers crossed, etc) about to sell their house after having it on the market for a year -- slightly superstitious and theologically dodgy methods were finally employed, so I'd better continue with the precautionary rituals: it seems while they were in the States, a waitress told my mom that St. Joseph, as patron saint of carpenters, is also patron of real estate, and if you want to sell your house, you should get a little statue of him and bury it in your yard. It works, she assured my mom. Back in the Maritimes, Mom decided it was worth a try, but had no idea where to get a statue. There's bound to be a shop in Moncton, Dad pointed out, so off they drove. Mom found herself in a line up behind four or five Acadians buying first-communion gifts, and was near paralysed with nerves by the time she came to the sales counter, but she had to ask the clerk, as none of the Catholic saints were recognizable to her:
"I'm looking for a statue of St. Joseph."
"Is this to sell a house?" Mom was caught off guard, and lied:
"No. Uh, it's for a friend. I don't know what she wants it for."
"Well, this one over here is eight dollars. But if it is for selling a house, we have a St-Joseph house-selling kit. It comes with instructions."
"Uh, ok. I'll get it for her and see if it's what she wants." She paid the clerk and fled in guilt and embarrassment, but later reasoned that if the shop was selling a kit for it, the church couldn't disapprove that much. They wrapped up the statue and buried it near the front door, and had an offer three weeks later. If it goes through, they're supposed to dig the staue up and keep it in a place of honour.
"If it works, we dig him up and take him to the house in Margaretta street." said Mom (they're trying to sell the house my brother's living in, as well).
