A Saint I Ain't...

St Andrew fresco (Kintsvisi, Georgia)

...but according to this quiz, I'm like Saint Andrew, patron saint of a country I ache to visit (Scotland), of my parents' village in Portugal, and ALSO of singers, sore throats, happy marriages, AND spinsters!

(How all those fit in with one another, I've no idea, but I'm a singer-who-wants-to-get-back-to-singing, I've been experiencing sore throats and, as things stand, I'm riding hell for leather down Spinster Road, so it does all rather seem to fit me.)

I luuuuurve taking quizzes, it's so fascinating to learn what these arbitrary responses on my part reveal about me and the inner workings of my psyche, according to some stranger whose credentials, if any, are shrouded in mystery.

:-)

Anyway, it occurs to me that, if I were to be a patron saint of stuff, it'd probably be:

• Ex-smokers and/or folks trying to quit.
• Mothers of teenagers who think they're smarter than their moms (so, like, every teenager ever).
• Lovers of Duran Duran, Depeche Mode, and Blondie.
• Folks who chuckle/snort over a solid pun.
• Peeps who obsess over other peeps to the point that they can't focus on the things they need to be doing with their lives and seem to require repeated boots to their bottoms to aid them in getting their respective (and collective, if applicable) shit together.

Or similar.

How about y'all: of what would YOU be a patron saint???

Snow tired...

...of all this motherfucking snow. For reals...

...I mean, I dig winter, and I sure as shit prefer it to NY summer, with its 90-plus temps and 90-plus humidity, day after day after day after...

What love is...

By Durdana shoshe (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0
(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)],
via Wikimedia Commons

In a previous post, I bitched about how ruinous loving is. And it is.

But that's not all it is.

In my late 30s, I began to draw parallels between romantic and paternal love. Not in an Oedipus/Electra kinda way, 'cause that's gross. The love my parents (who are not perfect people) show me and my sis, and even more, the love I feel for my son, is straightforward and manifests in obvious ways: