Relic

A blogstress I follow says that even if you don’t have anything pithy to write, you should try to write just a little something. (My words, not hers, because she also says to write in your own voice.) She admitted that she has actually blogged about her laundry, rather than end her day sans pith. (Again, my words. And no smart-aleck remarks about “pith,” please.)

I decided not to go to the basement to photograph laundry. There probably isn’t any. But if there was, I’d have to pony up and run a load. And because it’s kinda late, I’d go to bed and leave wet clothes in the washing-machine. For days. And then I’d have to throw away otherwise perfectly good clothes, because I’d always smell a whiff of mildew on them. And that means I’d have to go shopping. And the injustice of that is…now that I can finally afford to shop, I now hate shopping. So no laundry blog for you. Not tonight, anyway.

Let’s check out the bookshelves instead. Oh look, here’s a little nun wearing a sequined habit! Given to me by Kate. (Hi, Kate.) Her arms are fuzzy pipe-cleaners with teeny little hands attached. (The nun’s, not Kate’s. Kate has lovely, human arms, with normal hands attached.) And the nun’s skirt is made from black sequins that are stuck into styrofoam with straight pins. Her wimple is also held in place by straight pins, which are stabbed into her temples. Kate was correct in assuming that I’d find this little curiosity completely puzzling and entertaining.

Because you just have to laugh: When the volcano buries us all in molten lava, and the archeologists dig us up a billion years from now, what will they make of little Sister Disco?