What to Do About Jesus?

Some years ago, my kid took a missionary trip to build housing in one of the Mexican towns on the edge of Texas. I asked her to bring me a Jesus on the Cross, similar to the ones I had seen in the tiendas on Cherokee Street in St. Louis.

These crosses are formidable. They are made from very substantial, solid wood and the J.C. figurine is detailed and also quite large. I have seen them the size of a notebook and I have seen them the size of, well, Jesus. Either way, it was no small request to ask her to haul Our Lord and Saviour across the border and back to the Gateway to the West.

But, she did it for me and arrived Stateside with the requested icon. Certainly larger than a breadbox but not so big as to scare off burglars or prompt calls to the police from concerned or frightened neighbors. I hung it on a wall in my bedroom.

His hands were the first to go. I really have no idea what happened, only that, in retrospect, I should have called in a Holy Man of some variety as soon as I noticed his mitts were disintegrating. For lack of a better idea, I "supported" the figurine to the cross using a rubber band from some broccoli. That may not have been the best course, either. The elastic snapped and sent the porcelain form skidding across the bedroom floor. Now I had a Jesus with missing hands and feet that could not be affixed to the wood. Nor did I have any religious advisor to tell me if there was a proper method or protocol for reassembling the piece. A quick glance at my watch told me that lightning was due to strike at any moment.

What does one do with a broken Jesus? Gorilla glue it together? Bury it somewhere? Donate it to St. Vincent DePaul and hope I'm not struck dead for putting it in a Hefty kitchen trash bag with pants that don't fit anymore?

Next time the kid goes to Mexico I'm just going to ask for some poor quality, bootleg DVDs.

Oh the Times, They Are A'Changing

You may look back a few entries to the one where I proudly proclaim, "I'm back!" Feel free to taunt me with an approriate "Liar, liar. Pants on fire." I deserve it. But the masses have spoken and demanded my return for real this time. (Thanks, Mom!) So, here is my pre-posting update so y'all can catch up, get hip and just dig it. Harford Coffee was sold and my close friend gave me a gig leasing residential property. This is an excellent job for me because I do not have to wear pantyhose or any variety of uniform provided by Cintas. It's also a great situation because I get to interact with all walks of life and generally clown all day and get paid to do it. Chopper is 18 and going to college. She could easily be America's Next Top Model only her snark is much more understated than those rookies that Tyra is coaching. For my old HCC pals, you've seen Michaela around town a million times and probably wondered how a young woman with so much sophistication landed in St. Louis. Val is an outstanding student, a cheerleader, a competitive diver and a careful driver. Alas, she hasn't dragged home any young man who deserves her company yet. I have threatened a few with my Louisville Slugger and a shovel. No, I've threatened ALL of them with the slugger/shovel combo. It's my obligation as her mother to mortify her. When I'm bored and starved for attention I still perform in community theatre. You know, so I can clown and NOT get paid for it. Volunteer clowning for the amusement of the people. I am also trying to wiggle my way onto the Marine Villa Neighborhood Association board because I feel a call to get my 'hood working together toward a greater good and I'm pretty sure I'm just the man for the job. Some things are different and some are just the same. But, nothing is as certain as change. Stay tuned for some stories, some giggles and some social commentary provided by yours truly.