The skeptic seeks help from a higher power

Desperation makes one do things that are inconsistent with her normal mode of operations. Ray doesn't even know this yet, but a couple of days ago I buried St. Joseph in the front yard. In case this seems completely bizarre, this practice is supposed to aid in the selling of a house. You can read the details here.

Of course I didn't really do it the way you are supposed to. The instructions are to bury a statue of St. Joseph. Not having a statue on hand, and lacking the patience to order one off one of the many internet sites that sell them, I improvised. I perused the images of St. Joseph available through a Google image search. Most did not speak to me. The ones of him holding an infant Jesus seemed wrong to bury. Then I found this one:

He has his carpenter's square and a plumb bob in one hand and I think those are lilies in the other. He looks like he could get the job done. I liked him. I printed him and carefully cut him out. I sealed him in plastic, put that inside another plastic bag and buried him near the "for sale" sign with his head pointing toward the house. Positioning is controversial. Every account seems to call for a different placement—head toward the house, head toward the street, upside down, on his back, etc., etc. My gut told me, "on his back, head pointing toward the house." As I put him in the hole I silently implored him, "Please, sir, St. Joseph, sir—bring us a buyer for this house."

I'll keep you posted.