We were on a mission to get a St. Joseph statue. Not only is he the father of the savior but according to the old French Catholics in northern New England, he's the patron saint of successful real estate transactions as well. Meaning you gotta get a statue of St Joe to sell your house!!!
So we went into this shop. And the salesperson cheerily greeted us, inquiring as to what we sought. Upon our reply that we were looking for a statue ("No statues here") of St Joseph----"Are you selling a house? That's what most people want those for--pagans!!!!" we promptly regrouped and, St Peter-like, denied that a real estate sale was our goal. We actually went so far as to agree about this barbaric practice, telling her that we heard that the figure must be buried head down facing the structure in the back yard. Not that we would EVER condone such an action....
She offered medals of St Joseph, after all a likeness of St Joseph was a likeness of St Joseph regardless if it was a medal or a statue. But we demurred. I had to think quick, didn't want to be appraised as a pagan by this purveyor of sanctity. I insisted that we needed a statue. It seemed that my 96-year old aunt had had a statue of St Joseph on the mantle for years and decades. And the unthinking new cat she had recently received as a pet had ascended the mantle and with a swish of the tail had deposited the artifact onto the floor, shattering it into pieces. Hence our quest for a statue and it had to be a statue. You know how old Italian aunts can be so set in their wishes and desires......Then we beat a hasty retreat as the salesperson god bless, 96 years olded us out the door.
