I have officially cracked.
Before now, it was hinted at, gossiped and insinuated. Well, now... it's official.
I have had my house up for sale for five months. It feels like five years mainly because every week something happens to said unsold house ranging from weird (a crack in the wall that just now decided to show itself) to the utterly unkind ($1700 fix it job on my dead water heater). I have shown my house a record number of 36 times. As in, I've cleaned my house spotless, disappeared with two ornery boys and a dog who has thrown up in the back of my brand new car (ahhh... nothing like the smell of dog puke in a vehicle that has only 2000 miles on it) and done it THIRTY SIX FREAKING TIMES. And not one offer. Not one! Needless to say, short of practically giving my house up for free to the first taker, I am fed up and frankly quite desperate.
So desperate, that I have stepped over the bounds of the rational and into uncharted territory.
In case I didn't make this clear before, I am a Mormon. Not just a Sunday or once a year Mormon. I am a born and raised, dyed in the wool Mormon to the core. I feel like I've prayed the hair off my head (or maybe I just ripped it out, I'm unclear on the details), so when my good pal Janet (muffintopmommy) wrote to tell me that I needed some help from St. Joseph, instead of doing my customary scoff, I was on board. Full steam ahead.
Janet is Catholic. Though she admits to being not so handy with how everything works, she was pretty good with the saint info. Apparently, St. Joseph is the patron saint of families and homes and if you dig yourself a little hole in your front yard, place him in it head down, his twinkle toes to heaven and his nose facing your front door... (deep breath)... a blessing will come and your house will sell.
One little hiccup.
I'm Mormon. Won't this create some sort of cross religion blasphemy? Will I burn in Mormon hell for delving into Catholic bounds? Never before in my LIFE have I ever believed or done anything that was contrary to my religious beliefs. It goes to show how utterly desperate I am, that I actually high-tailed my little bottom up to the catholic gift shop in town and bought me a St. Joseph the very next day. I figure, what the hey. Really, it can't hurt. I've done everything I can think of to get my house sold and if a little extra hookie from a Catholic saint does the trick, then who am I to complain?
In the near hundred degree heat and stifling humidity of the south, I picked out the most beautiful spot in my yard and bent down to one knee.
This is a very pretty little area near my front entrance way. I have a pond in the rocks that sports the gentle burbling of a low fountain and blooms that put out enough perfume to knock out a sinus infection.
I let Joe have a good look around before sticking him in the ground.
It felt like I was giving him his last rights before going into the dark deep. At least he had a nice view.
Then I dug me a good sized hole and did the deed.
Oops. Can't leave the sticker on saying he came from China. Better take that off...
That's much better! Now for the little prayer and burial...
And there he is. Nose to the front door and tootsies to heaven. I even marked his spot so if this whole thing works and I don't burn in hell for criss crossing religions, I'm going to dig him up and take him with me when the house sells. In fact, if this works, he will get an honored spot on my mantle... dirt and all.
God help me. Really. I'm not swearing. I send a prayer to the vast heavens above because I need all the help I can get.
Then again, I can always pray to St. Jude (patron saint of lost causes).