Last night the man who loves me said that my recent blog posts made me sound like St. Theresa. He might have meant Mother Theresa. Then again, maybe he knows what he's talking about. What I recall from Catholic school is that the Spanish St. Theresa had visions and heard voices. She was a writer, too. She looks pretty intense and not all that much of a do-gooder in this portrait by French artist, François Gérard.
The French St. Theresa (Thérèse), also known as "the little flower" joined the convent at 15 and devoted her life to God. She's the one you often see as a plaster saint holding a bouquet of roses. Weeelll.... I like roses.
As for Mother Theresa, I've read something somewhere that while engaged in her ministries she was something of a yeller and was known to treat her underlings severely. I suppose saints are never quite as perfect as we think they are.
But just for the record, I'm no saint.
I like dogs.
I like sorting through piles of second-hand clothes and finding useful or beautiful things that have no business being sent to a landfill. I like making things with my own two hands, and I've been known to read this book on airplanes so I don't have to make pleasant conversation.
And I drank wine from both of these bottles last night.