You’re right, Maria. I never could figure out that rabbit’s foot though. The rabbit is dead and it’s just a furry foot. How is there luck in that? Now if the rabbit is alive and you’re carrying it around without it biting you, well DAMN! You’re one lucky person.

LOL, I agree

“If I ever catch any of you buying this #@&% to sell your house, you will be receiving a blogly smackdown.”

I’m sure your using rhetorical over expression here, but is a “smackdown” because someone buried a statue in their front yard, really all that “intelligent”?

What if buring the statue made them feel better- is it really that unintelligent then?

The columnist may have been joking-I have several friends in Denver and they tell me that the media out there tends to have a very sarcastic sense of humor. I definitely know they to blast religion sometimes b/c I have seen Mormonism get blasted many times-though they’re right next to Utah so that steps things up a notch.

As for the statues-yeah, this is a big thing with some Catholics. Admiring saints didn’t bother me, but when I would see people getting all worked up over statues I thought it was dumb, even when I was still a practicing Catholic. I thought the statues were pretty-that’s about it. I certainly didn’t think I needed a certain number of them or had to put them in a particular place. If there really is someone listening to your prayers, shouldn’t what you feel and say in your head and heart, and how you treat others matter more than what you do with a statue or how many of them you have? I always wondered this.

And it is true, as the article says, that not just Catholics do it-I actually witnessed a family of Wiccans buying a statue of Saint Anthony to put in front of their house (to guard the house). I couldn’t quite figure out why, especially when someone made off with saint Anthony’s head. Oops. These superstitions are usually harmless, until people base their whole lives around them, push them on others, or spend ridiculous amounts of money on them.

You see with not just religion-you see it with all kinds of “good luck charms” that are supposed to help you and tend to be seem to me to be superstitions (like certain types of herbs, it’s big with new age people). 20/20 had a thing on it a couple of months ago.

He had buried three under the kitchen, one of Saint Lawrence and one of Saint Martha, both the patron saints of cooks, as well as one of Saint Anne, the patron saint of housewives. Under the baby’s room he had buried a figurine of Saint Sebastian, the patron saint of cranky children. For burying under the master bedroom he had purchased a figurine of Saint Valentine of course, and as an afterthought also included one of Saint Thomas More, the patron saint of difficult marriages. The extra bedroom, which served as his home office now had buried under it figurines of Saint Lucy and Saint Catherine Sienna, both patron saints of writers. Saint Clara, the patron saint of television lay buried under the TV in the living room, or as close as he could determine.

He couldn’t get to the dirt under the concrete slab that was the floor of the garage, so he’d have to figure out some other way to bury a second figurine of Saint Sebastian, the patron saint of hardware, as well as one each of Saint Christopher, the patron saint of truck drivers, and Saint Fiacre, the patron saint of cab drivers. He didn’t drive a truck or a cab, but he hoped they would be close enough for his S.U.V. Burying another figurine of Saint Fiacre, the patron saint of gardeners and one of Saint Roch, the patron saint of dog lovers in the backyard would have to wait until tomorrow. He could tell he was going to be sore from all the awkward crawling around.

Finally, into the biggest hole dug under the bathroom he had buried figurines of Saint Patrick, the patron saint of toothache, Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of throat trouble, Saint Charles, the patron saint of stomach trouble, Saint Peregrine, the patron saint of skin disease, and Saint Rita, the patron saint of healing of wounds. He should have included another figurine of Saint Lawrence, the patron saint of lumbago, because when, covered with dust, he finally emerged from the crawlspace and stood up, he felt a searing pain explode in his lower back and fainted.

Al woke up in the hospital with his wife at his side, a worried look on her face. He was in traction with an I.V in his arm. While crawling around under the house digging all those holes he had ruptured one of his lumbar disks. The pain meds were making him groggy so he didn’t notice as his wife placed a small figurine on the floor under his bed. It was of Saint Dymphna, the patron saint of mental illness.