Good thing it's Saturday and I'm in charge so I made it "casual Saturday." I'm down to a clean t-shirt and a hoodie. It's a nice hoodie, but a hoodie nevertheless. Guess Durwood gets to do laundry tomorrow. I left work at 7-ish last night and went straight to knitting so I was bone tired, worn out when I got home after 9. It wasn't hard to go to bed just after 10. I was bushed. Since I have to leave for work in six minutes, I'd better get cracking.
March 4--Southern Netherlands, Reliquary Bust of a Female Saint. Gina and Andy slipped through the door of the chapel and sighed when the cool air touched them. The dimness was a relief from the glare of sunlight bouncing off the white buildings of the town. As their eyes adjusted they saw that the walls were filled with ornate metal crosses and wooden frames and plaster statues of saints. Each of them featured an opening covered with glass. They all looked really old. "What are those things?" Andy asked. The shelves were closely packed and they covered the walls from shoulder height up to the roof far overhead. Gina picked up a pamphlet from the pew and scanned it. "They're," she frowned at what she read, "they're reliquaries." "What are those? Have you ever heard of them?" She nodded. "I grew up Catholic. In each one is a bit of a saint, a bone or skin or hair or blood." She wrapped her arms across her stomach and rubbed at the goosebumps that suddenly rose on her skin. "You've got to be kidding." She shook her head. "I knew the Catholics were into adoration of saints," he said, "but I had no idea of the scope of their religious creepiness." He waved his hand at the glittering display. "Someone had to cut up and parcel out dead bodies. Bodies of holy people." She looked at the sliver of Saint Agatha preserved behind glass in the bust of the saint. "I guess I never thought of how the relics got passed out. Now that you say it, it is pretty gruesome." Just then all the lights went out, even the candles, and the doors locked with an audible thunk.
Sorry to leave us all hanging but by the time I got that written I was toast. Maybe later.
--Barbara
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