In her superstitiously Catholic fashion, my mom asked if she could give me something to protect our new home. I was hoping for a bamboo plant, her traditional “luck” gift beginning with my first move post college to Chicago. In years past, with each new row home and carriage house I’ve rented, my mother would arrive pre-move-in to sprinkle holy water and throw pennies in each corner, a blessing of her own creation mixing religion and superstitious practice (contradictory as it sounds, that’s mama Tess). I’ve also carried from rental to rental (and now to mortgaged) three tiny tupperware containers she filled with sugar, rice, and salt respectively to protect from hunger. Or maybe they’re just a clever back up supply wrapped in the guise of an offering to the benevolent house gods. Her recent talisman, which she reassuringly hands to me saying “he was a carpenter, you know,” a plastic figurine of Saint Joseph to bury heads up in my yard as an underground guardian permeating double happiness fortune through the soil and up the weeds. And when the time comes to sell, mom says to turn St. Joe upside down on his head to attract buyers. At least this good luck plant – unlike the bamboo varieties I’ve laid to rest in my numerous uprootings – won’t need regular watering to keep it’s charm.
The Carpenter
New Home