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Life is tough. Nuns are tougher.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Padre Pio Prayer Bread

This note from a reader caused Sister St. Aloysius and I to laugh ourselves silly. We generally don't have a laugh over things involving the saints. Technically, we weren't doing that. We were having a laugh about "Amish Friendship Bread", which actually should be called "Amish I Wouldn't Wish This on My Worst Enemy Bread".

Have any of you ever had this stuff? The "Amish Friendship Bread" experience? Because it's not just bread. The bread is actually very delicious. Too delicious. The bread isn't the thing. The "friendship" is the thing.

It starts with an overly enthusiastic "friend" who thinks giving you the stuff is just the most lovely gesture on the planet.

I don't see how. It's more like a gypsy curse.

You don't just get the bread. You get the privilege of the bread and a bowl of goo. The bowl of goo is active with yeast or something. It's "alive". You have to tend it, adding something to it and stirring it, once a day every day for something like nine days, time that could be better spent on a novena not involving a bowl of goo. The bowl of goo is like "The Blob". It grows.

Then it makes something like 4 loaves of this delicious bread. It's so rich that you really only need to eat a slice a month, unless you throw a lot of tea parties.

This is where the "friendship" part comes in. You have to give away the other 3 loaves. You really do have to. It's that, or throw it out. You can't possible eat it all.

And the piece de resistance: you have more goo left over. It has multiplied! and you have to give that away too.

It's a chain letter of bread.

It's a nightmare.

When we got ours, we didn't know. Sister St. Aloysius was delighted with the concept and tended the goo faithfully for a few days. Her enthusiasm began to wane around the time she started to forget about tending it. Suddenly, she'd get this startled haunted look, late in the evening and whisper, "the batter!"

"Batter?" I'm thinking. "Did I leave some kid on the playground?"

We enjoyed the bread. But when it came time to pass on the "love" it was a lot like this song "The Thing".

Everyone on our block was already hip to "Amish Friendship Bread" and said, "Get out of here with that ___ _____ ____, and don't come back no more!"

And the whole thing just keeps multiplying! It's a horror movie of bread.

Delicious bread.

and now this:

One of my friends gave me prayer bread..er...a bowl of goo to add ingredients to, stir, and prayer over once a day for 10 or so days. This lady is a sweetheart, but I just got the directions today (it's day 5 and I am only half way through!) and see that I am to add stuff to it so I can give 4 other friends a bowl of goo to do the same process.

I really don't want to do it. In fact, I want to toss it in the trash and never look back. I love to bake, but this recipe doesn't strike me as being a delicious bread. It's The Blessed Bread of Padre Pio. I've had Amish friendship bread and it is WONDERFUL! This one has sugar, eggs, flour, cooking oil, and baking powder. It's probably tasty, but the Amish bread is a little like cinnamon roll heaven!

I feel bad for complaining, I just don't want to do it which makes me feel worse. In addition, I have so much to do that this is really not on my list of priorities and I might forget about it. What happens if I miss a step? Better yet, what happens if she finds out I didn't make it?

I feel like I have to just suck it up and make it since I don't want to hurt her feelings, but there is no way I would pass this on to my other busy mom friends who would probably feel the same way I do now. Advice?

My advice is to follow your heart. Chuck it in the trash. It may be tempting to lie to your friend about why you didn't make it by telling her the cat licked it or something like that. While the real reason you don't want to lie is that it is a sin, the fact is that if you tell her the cat licked it, she'll jump at the chance to give you a new batch.

Try not to judge her. It's the best thing that can happen to her, to give you a new batch, because she has a lot of goo to get rid of every couple of weeks and this way she won't have to go looking for new marks.

Just tell her you failed to tend it and it died. Tell her it happened quickly because you failed right away to tend it because you have such a busy schedule. And don't tell her you "forgot" to tend it. That would be a lie, too. If she tries to foist more on you, tell her you don't like to go around murdering batter.

There is a more important issue, however, that must be addressed. There is no such thing as Padre Pio Prayer Bread. It comes with a note that says it is Vatican approved. I can tell you something else the note says that proves that the bread has nothing whatsoever to do with Padre Pio or the Vatican. The note says that if you pray each day while tending the goo, you and your family will have good luck.

There is no such thing as luck in the teachings of the Catholic Church. "Luck" is a superstition and this chain letter of bread is exactly that. It might be a good idea to let your friend the Gyspy in on that fact as well.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009


A reader commented:

Lawrence said...

"It was a duel monastery" I think you meant dual monastery.

Maybe I did.

Maybe I didn't.....

Happy Thanksgiving!

Monday, November 23, 2009

St. Aebbe's Nose

I think I am just a little behind in answering questions. Please forgive me if I skipped a question or two, but I just had to answer this one that came in just today:

Hi Sister Mary Martha, relatively new reader, first-time questioner here.

I was double checking the phrase "cutting off your nose to spite your face" at Google to find out the story behind it. It's a crazy story involving a Saint so I had to come here to ask you about it.

Here's what Wikipedia printed -- take it with a grain of salt.

"The phrase is believed[citation needed] to have originated from an event that was said to have taken place in AD 867:
Viking pirates from Sjaelland and Uppsala landed in Scotland and raided the monastery of Coldingham. When news of the raid reached Aebbe the Younger (the Mother Superior), she gathered her nuns together and urged them to disfigure themselves, so that they might be unappealing to the Vikings. In this way, they hoped to protect their chastity. Saint Aebbe accomplished this by cutting off her nose and upper lip,[2] and the nuns proceeded to do the same. The Viking raiders were so disgusted by the resulting scene that they burned the entire building to the ground. Ironically, the phrase as understood today does not really apply to Saint Aebbe, since she did not cut off her nose in an effort literally to "spite her face".

Have you ever heard that story and if so, what is Saint Aebbe the patron saint of. (Terrible sentence construction, I know. One should never end on a preposition. Forgive me.)
Thank you!

I don't know whether to start at the end or the beginning. I feel like I should get out the ironing board to smooth out all the wrinkles of this story.

The beginning:

There are two St. Aebbe's. St. Aebbe the Elder and St. Aebbe the Younger.

St. Aebbe the Elder founded a monastery in Scotland in around 642 AD that eventually did burn down in around 680 AD. It was a duel monastery, monks in one part, nuns in the other. It was also the local watering hole and the celibacy rules were not strictly enforced. St. Aebbe was a pious and chaste woman, but she couldn't control the rowdy Scots.
I say that makes her the patron saint of classroom teachers and reformed bikers.

The Viking story swirls around St. Aebbe the Younger, but it can't be true, because the monastery had burned down 200 years before the Vikings supposedly burned it down. It had never been rebuilt. The Vikings were only ransacking Scotland in 870 AD or so.

To confuse things further there is also St. Aewthryn, who is apparently one of the pupils of St. Aebbe the Elder. She had men chasing after her as well and a story that is attributed to St. Aebbe is also attributed to St. Aewthyrn, which is that the sea rose up around wherever the women lived and kept the boys away. Maybe the sea did rise up to protect both of them on two separate occasions in two different places. Or maybe the sea rises up a lot along the coast of Scotland.

There is historical evidence that the Vikings did sack the place St. Aewthyrn founded, but again, they did that long after St. Aewthyrn had gone to her Heavenly reward.

The end:

It may be true that the saying did actually come from the Viking incident and St. Aebbe the Younger, it's just that the saying is based on a very confused legend and not an actual historical occurance.

Meanwhile, poor St. Aewthryn, was also called "Audrey" and, also according to Wikipedia, this is where we get the word "tawdry". I'll let them explain:

The common version of Æthelthryth's name was St. Awdrey, which is the origin of the word tawdry. Her admirers bought modestly concealing lace goods at an annual fair held in her name in Ely. As years passed, this lacework came to be seen as old-fashioned or cheap and poor quality goods.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Non Guilty Pleasure

Today dear readers, I'll have to ask you to answer a question for me!

Mr. Rodriguez returned today with the compost bin can and a zip lock bag with two honey combs. He was as tickled as we were that our bees were making honey.

I miss them. If I see a bee now I wonder if it's not some little lost bee looking for his hive.

But I digress. The honey is deliciously light and sweet. Here is the question: How do we eat it? It's in it's waxy honey comb. Are we supposed to eat the waxy honey comb, or somehow let the honey drip out of it first. It's really not dripping anywhere, I don't think.

I know there are some bee savvy readers out there!

Meanwhile, I'll go back to my post on the watchtower (not the Jehovah's Witness one):

Dear Sister MM, Why is a fish sandwich outside of Lent a guilty pleasure? Shouldn't we thank God for the occasional small pleasure?

Of course we should thank God for all pleasures small and large. Our bees have been relocated! They made honey! We got some!

But that fish sandwich? Probably no one should ever eat that. It's a pile of grease and processed food. White bread, fried, breaded. With tar tar sauce. Do you know how to make tar tar sauce? I actually do. It's a lot of mayonnaise with some pickle relish and Worcester sauce. That's all you need to make it. Do you know how to make mayonnaise? I actually know that too. You get a lot of eggs and even more oil and you whip it together. That's mayonnaise.

There is just not one good thing about that sandwich except the taste of it. Hence: guilty pleasure. My other guilty sandwich pleasure is a baloney sandwich with a ton of mustard on white bread. My dad was a butcher and told be all about baloney.

You don't want to know.

Sister, my daughter has asked for a patron saint medal for figure skating. Could you please help me find one? Thanks.

Done and done! Talk about small pleasures! The story of St. Ludwina is not very pleasant, though. She had a skating accident when she was 16 years old and it left her in pain and an invalid the rest of her life. She spent the rest of her life offering up her pain and misery to the Poor Souls in Purgatory.

It wasn't all bad. She did have some ecstasies. She went for a visit to Purgatory. Always better to simply visit than to have a stay. She also visited Heaven. That would have been a nice break from the daily grind of the sickbed. St. Ludwina lived only on the Host and lived quite a while, especially given that she was paralyzed and it was 1433AD.

She is also known as Lidwina, Lydwina...apparently you can spell her name any old which way.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Bee Gone!

The bees are gone.


I had been hoping that once the weather turned cool, they would migrate or something, like they did the last time. After spending that summer, they left as mysteriously as they had arrived. Had we not been so afraid that some of them might still be in there, we could have had some honey. By the time we peeked in the can again, they were long gone, their hive gone to ruin.

No such luck this year. The nights are cold now, the days cool, the flowering plants dormant, and the bees are as busy as ever. Not that we really minded. They never gave us any trouble, until recently.

It was Halloween night. It was "The Amityville Horror" bee behavior. I believe in that story, flies or bees or some flying menace blackened the windows.

On Halloween night, when the door hung open to give out treats, and while we were oohing and ahhing at little Harry Potters and dozens of fairy princesses, the bees came in. In two's and threes, every time the door opened, they flew straight to the kitchen lights until we had a little mini swarm banging into the fixtures like moths.

I said, "They're going for the lights. We'll just turn the light off."

Sister St. Aloysius said, "No! They'll just go all over the house after the other lights that are on."

I had already turned off the kitchen lights and the bees were flying around in confusion, and heading in two's and three's to the living room area. I turned the kitchen light back on. The bees came back into the kitchen.

At this point the kitchen sounded like a beehive, the buzzing was getting louder. Sister St. Aloysius dug out the fly swatter.

"Wait!" I said. "Leave this to me."

I shuffled her out the front door with the candy bowl. I found a clamp lamp in the garage and plugged it in by the compost bin. I turned out every light in the house and opened the front door. Sister Mary Fiacre dozed in front of the glow of the TV.

All the bees were out in seconds flat. Seconds!

Since Halloween, we've had to shoo them out in the evening with less trouble when we take out the trash or let the cat in.

Yesterday a man came to the door in the middle of the afternoon. "Do you want me to take these bees away."

"What?" I said. "Take them where?"

"I'll take them and bring the can back to you."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"I'll take them and make them a box. It will take a couple of days for them to transfer to the new place and then I'll bring the can back. I'll have to do it early in the morning or in the evening when they're all home."


He said he had done just that with three of our neighbors who also had hives. One family could no longer sit on their deck because the hive was in the eave overhead. They would have had to sit and sip lemonade in a cloud of bees.

Mr. Rodriguez gave me his phone number and said he would be back in the evening. At 7pm the bees were still with us. I thought maybe he was going to come for them in the morning. At 9pm when I put the trash cans out at the curb, the bees and the compost bin were gone.

"I didn't hear Mr. Rodriguez take the can away!"

"I did, I saw him." Sister St. Aloysius, as far as I knew, had been at the other end of the house all evening. In fact, I was in the front room all evening and I never saw her go by. You have to go through the whole house to go out the front door or the back door. They used to call this a 'shot gun' house.

"I asked him if he got stung. I meant, just now when he was moving our bees, since they have been so pleasant with us."

This is true. They are right next to the trash cans, and when we take out the trash or sweep up or wash the car, they just bumble around our heads.

"He said yes, he got stung a lot. But I think he meant in general and not just now. He wasn't wincing."

I wanted to ask her how he 'sealed up the can', which is something that he had mentioned to me, that he would seal up the can and then just pick it up and take it with him, but I was stopped cold by the pressing thought of how Sister St. Aloysius had ended up viewing the bee removal.

Was she bi-locating? Was she both in the back of the house saying a rosary and in the front of the house talking bees with Mr. Rodriguez?

I had asked Mr. Rodriguez, if there is any honey, could he bring us a little. I hope I manage to be available when the can is returned. Or I can just send Sister St. Aloysius over to see how the bees are fairing in their new digs while she is making lunch here at home.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

E Freezing

I think today, since it's not Lent, we'll have a McDonald's fish fillet sandwich. I don't eat them during Lent, even though they were made for Catholics to eat during Lent, as they are actually a guilty pleasure of mine (of course nuns have a guilty pleasure or two).

The 'fish on Friday' debacle has raged on for years. Finally, whether or not you eat meat on Friday is left up to the local Bishop. We can eat meat on Friday if we choose. But we are still expected to do some type of penance on Friday.

So...I guess I won't have a McDonald's fish fillet sandwich. Again.

Have you considered offering the St. Isidore medal in a color other than pink? I'm not sure how many computer geeks are into hot pink medals. I'd probably buy a silver one.

Glad you asked! For one thing, we do more custom orders than just about anything! We are always glad to oblige. And perhaps you missed our Heaven for Men section. It's for men and plain Janes.

My son is in grad school and one of his friends was raised Catholic, when she went to college the E-Frees got her to convert. My husband says they have a method to their madness. He says they have a regular process they use to undermine the Catholic faith, also abusing the fact that the student is away from family and home. What I need to know is what is the Catholic antidote? Thank you.

E-Frees? Am I living under a rock? Are they a church that's just on the internet, like an E-Mail, or and E-Vite?

Oh well, perhaps it's not important to know exactly what they're on about.

I wouldn't worry about making them sound so sinister with their "process". We all have a process we use to evangelize. In the Catholic Church we call them apologetics, although I have always thought that is just the...what do the kids say?...lamest word to use for the Herculean job of defending the Faith that they undertake.

(Defender of the Faith raises hand sheepishly): Excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt your tirade about praying to the saints to suggest that you have it completely wrong and don't for one second understand what you're talking about even though it has no doubt been explained to you hundreds of times and you just hold your ears and hum...but you have it completely wrong. Sorry. Sorry to bring it up again...pardon me, please...

In case, to answer your question "What I need to know is what is the Catholic antidote?" yes.

That would be you. How well you've taught, shown by example and prayed for your children. We should change the concept of 'child rearing' to 'adult rearing'. Your whole goal as you school your children in the Faith is for this day when they are out on their own, that they are impervious to the ramblings and the arguments and the doubts and the threats.

It's the argument both for and against 'home schooling'. For: it gives you all the time in the world to teach them, by word and example, everything they need to know with no interruption. Against: less practice for what they will encounter every single day as adults out on their own.

It's not as though, once they're out there you're done. Your job is never done. In fact, it's only going to get harder. You can tell a kid just about anything and they'll believe you because mommy and daddy (or Sister) said so. They don't need anything more. Santa Claus, tooth fairies....

Speaking of the tooth fairy...I have heard from some moms that they have switched from the tooth fairy to St. Apollonia for the tooth under the pillow drill. And while that' s all well and good, (although I hope no one is telling a child young enough to put baby teeth under a pillow the actual story of St. Apollonia) the fact is St. Apollonia is not out collecting teeth anymore than some fairy. Ever notice that kids never ask why a fairy or a saint buys their baby teeth? It's because they are kids and they'll believe anything.

It's also the reason I can't bear it when young people are tried 'as adults' for some heinous crime. They may know the difference between right and wrong, but we still don't let them vote, drink, or drive a car. Why? Because they're KIDS and they don't have the judgement of adults.

What was I talking about...oh yes, your grown children.

Once your children are grown up you're not going to be able to use the 'because I said so' method of education any longer. Now you're going to have to know your stuff and engage! Be ready to do battle!

In other words, your going to have to switch patron saints from St. Nicholas, the jolly lover of little children to St. Joan of Arc, defender of an entire country.

The job of a marriage is to get your spouse into heaven and the job of a family is to get the kids there, too.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

St. Forbes

Speaking of rich people, a loyal reader recently sent me this article. I'll go get a cup of coffee while you have a read.

Whatdya think?

I was very surprised. Of course, I'm in my own little world. Even the man from the Patron Saint Medal Shop surprised me. He said St. Jude and St. Rita were his most popular saints because they tackle the tough problems. I sell very few St. Jude medals and St. Rita is somewhat popular.

I can't keep Stella Maris, Mary Star of the Sea in the shop. What's the deal there? It is a very pretty medal. Is that it? Or are there way more sailors wives on the internet than we ever imagined.

I think my favorite part of the article is how they really thought outside the box, at least my box. I only think in terms of medals and car keys. Even though I often write about movies about saints and nuns, that was the last thing I would have thought to include in the Forbes Saints listings.

St. Joan of Arc! Of course! What a load of movies have been made about her!

Did they mention St. Joseph real estate kits? I have an endless parade of The Faithful who would swear by burying St. Joseph upside down in the front yard for a quick sale. They would swear by it, if they could swear.

By swear, of course, I mean "take an oath".

For a while there, I couldn't keep St. Dymphna in the shop and lately, it's been St. Genesius for some reason. I don't know if the customers are actors or attorneys or both. Is there a certain time of year that folks are taking the bar exam?

I have been continually surprised by the saints that sit around for awhile. For example, with the millions of IBS sufferers in the world, St. Charles Borromeo is rarely chosen. And for the gazillions of knitters and weavers on the world wide web, St. Blaise is a slow mover.

Perhaps I should change his listing to "H1N1", since he is also the patron saint of sore throats, and by extrapolation, colds and flu.

I also think that with the divorce rate as terrible as it is, St. Thomas More, the patron saint of blended families, would be a no brainer. Although, he wasn't divorced, he was a widower. He still was a champ at blending his old family with his new one.

But then, I'm sure my St. Helen's go out to more divorcees than archeologists.

Now that the whole Forbes Saints list has come to my attention, I believe far more research needs to be done. After all, they only checked some old box office receipts and one patron saint medal website. What about all the aspirin? They also need to gather data from these folks. (Click a picture to visit the site!)

Friday, November 06, 2009

The Patron Saint of Paris Hilton

Just when you think something will be easy breezy lemon squeezy, it isn't. I really thought today's question from a reader would be a quick click on the internet to heavenly glory. No such luck.

If there was luck. I hope Catholics realize we don't believe in luck. Luck is off the list of things for which to wish.

I march on, undaunted.
What, if anything, is St. Agnes of Assisi (Clare's younger sister) the patron saint of?
Pace e bene

Pace e bene to you to!

Sad news. She isn't the patron saint of anything. This is a real shame, in my opinion, because she was quite a pistol.

Let's go back for a moment and fill in the blanks about St. Agnes of Assisi. We never hear a peep about her, overshadowed as she is by her older sister St. Clare, founder of the Poor Clares (and the patron saint of needleworkers and television), and their loving mentor and guiding light, St. Francis of Assisi.

By the time Agnes, whose original name was Caterina, was 22, she was off traveling around Italy establishing Poor Clare convents. She was especially good at it, because she was a very kind person who had the ability to make the life style she was offering very attractive.

And that is remarkable, because it wasn't a very attractive lifestyle, as lifestyles go. The Poor Clares weren't really called the Poor Clares. That was not the name of their order. They got the nickname "Poor Clares" by the people who lived around them. What kind of impoverished lifestyle causes people who are dirt poor to call you 'the poor people'?

Whenever I read about St. Francis, St. Clare and little sister Agnes, I always feel something very important is lost in the telling.

These were rich kids. Really, really rich kids. St. Agnes grew up in her father's castle when she wasn't at the villa. When her older sister ran off to follow St. Francis, Agnes, then Caterina, ran off after her. Their father, who wasn't very pleased about Clare, completely blew his top and sent someone to go fetch her out of there.

He also sent several armed men in case Caterina didn't want to come.

She didn't want to come.

So they tried to remove her by force. A man who raised his sword against her lost the use of that arm for a while. Caterina, now Agnes, suddenly weighed a ton and no one could lift her. They dragged her away and beat her in the process but finally dumped her in a nearby field because they just couldn't get her any further, what with her weighing a ton and all.

She was 15 years old.

She spent her life founding Poor Clare convents until she was called back to Assisi to nurse her dying sister. St. Agnes died two months after the death of her sister, St. Clare. She was 56 years old.

What patronage should she have? I leave it up to you, dear readers.

I cast my vote for the patron saint of the hopelessly rich kids for whom there is always hope.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

Speck Tater

Of course it has occurred to me to stick a witch hat on my head for Halloween and call it a day, costume wise. Okay....I've actually done that.

But then, everyone has an opinion. They say, "A nun shouldn't be dressing like a witch, a person who invokes Satan!"

And I say, "There are no witches, you silly goose, just people who wish they were witches or think they are witches. These people have no actual power other than perhaps leading the weak minded astray. And although that is a bad thing, we all understand that I am not a witch, I am not trying to lead anyone astray and that this is merely a hat posing as a costume for one day of some fun with candy. Go park your high horse somewhere else."

Truth be told, sometimes my sense of humor does give people a comedy hair cut as it slides over their heads. My witch hat is a joke on myself and my ability to scare little children senseless by merely showing up anywhere. I've often thought to myself, "All I need is a pointy hat."

So for one day a year, I go for it while I pass out candy.

To be honest, I've never known any nuns who dressed up for Halloween, save maybe putting on some type of hat. Apparently I lead a sheltered life, as a dear reader sent me this gem.

Holy Toledo! They even have tiny eyes glued on there! We had to laugh at the number of tiny eyes. Can you tell that nuns are always on a budget? "We have six doll eyes, Sister. You take three and I'll have three."

"Oh no, Sister, you have all six!"

"I wouldn't dream of it. If I have all six, how will anyone know you are a potato?"

Slow as I am, it took me several minutes to understand what those signs meant.

Poor sad old me.

And so, with All Souls Day and All Saints Day behind us, we press on:

Hi Sr. I just love your blog! I have a saint-match question for you, if you do not mind. I am expecting our 8th child in June (we just found out) and I'm worried we will not be able to pick out a name for him/her. It has gotten harder every time! Can you recommend a patron saint for choosing a child's name?

What an odd problem! Too many cooks? Here's the thing: You will be able to pick out a name for him/her. The child will not go through life nameless. No one will be referring to the child as "Child 8" or "Hey You".

You might need a patron saint for needless worry. St. Teresa of Avila, I think, the patron saint of perfectionists who are not perfect.

Meanwhile, I'm going to suggest St. Raymond Nonnatus who is the patron saint of tiny babies.

My thought process is thus: Babies are named when they are tiny, sometimes even before they are born. Whatever havoc is wreaked on a child by the name with which he is saddled starts right there.

There was a mayor of Pittsburgh, for example, whose name was Mayor Barr. He named his two children "Candy" and "Clark". I wish I were joking. What fun it must have been for Candy Barr and Clark Barr to introduce themselves all their lives!

Meanwhile, may I suggest that if you are actually at a loss for names you simply go to the list of saints of the Catholic Church. Your head will spin.

Sister, I'm in a quandary...There's a young man in my confirmation class. He's looking for a patron saint. He is an avid snowboarder...and he insists that this is in no way the same as skiing! So, St. Bernard and even JP II are out (although I assured him that if JP II were young today, he would definitely be a snowboarder!) Can you help me out please?

I'm not certain that my answer will actually please him anymore than yours does. He clearly doesn't understand the concept of patron saint extrapolation. There is no actual saint of snowboarders and the only way he will find one is through extrapolation, poor thing. Hopefully, one day he himself will become a saint and we will finally have a patron saint of snow boarding.

However, I do believe I can bring him one step closer to the right saint. Here is where my years on the coast of California finally pay off!

Surfers have a patron saint! They have officially adopted St. Christopher, who bore Christ across the water. They all wear St. Christopher medals!

Snowboarding is surfing on snow. I recommend St. Christopher. And I'm apparently not alone in my assessment.