Sunday with the church triumphant

This weekend was kind of just me hanging out and catching up on a million chores.

Oh, and taking care of the guinea pigs…

Guinea pig update: Kiwi is happy that there’s another guinea pig because it means less attention for her…she can do little doses of affection, but not the amount we lavished upon her before. Franklin, however, is greedy for all-affection, all-the-time, even if it’s 2 a.m. and you just got up for a drink of water. They’re adjusting. 🙂

And on Sunday, I went to the cemetery.

I went because I’m working on a (long overdue) project for a friend of mine and I needed some pictures of things that were serious but artistic both, so I kind of elected the route of “church art,” but I didn’t want anything to end up too girlie, so I figured stone statuary was a great way to go–not too girlie, not too masculine. I still need to do some editing and you’re definitely not seeing finished products here today. But, I thought you might like to see them anyway.

I brought my mom along with me. On one hand, she wanted to come, and I was happy to have her. Things seems less questionable when you’ve got several generations visiting a cemetery together. 🙂 Like, if I came by myself to take pictures–questionable. If my mom is there–no one cares. She was kind of like a undercover agent.

I really liked the grave site my mom is checking out above…apparently it was the location where a local priest was buried. I believe that his grave isn’t fully buried? Maybe there’s cause to believe he’s incorruptible? I don’t know. But! Check out that kneeler! And places to sit! I imagine he was a well-loved man, if his death warranted a place people wanted to hang out. Also–I’m digging that altar-like set-up.

Visiting cemeteries is helpful to me for prioritizing my life and what not. They remind me of my own mortality. Like: SO FEW THINGS ACTUALLY MATTER, you know? Who are all of those people? I don’t know. Most people have no idea. And the ones with the tiny marble squares? No one really remembers. And the ones with the giant, giant statues? No one really remembers. They’re all united in obscurity. It reminds me to be realistic about my life…and to give it to God, for real.

Enough, enough of the death-talk, though.

Above: isn’t that child-statue the creepiest? First of all: from far away it looks semi-lifelike around all the other boxy graves and you’re like, “What in the world is a child doing over there unsupervised?”

And then you’re like, “Why is there a nude child-statue in the cemetery?”

Turns out the child had a stone-skirt of sorts…and a plant growing out of the crotch. Totes awk, totes weird, but my mom and I left it anyway because we don’t know how to respect the dead, APPARENTLY.

So, I read other blogs, too, including some Mormon blogs. And I was just reading one that was like, “Hey, I’m about to disspell a commonly-held superstition about Mormonism,” but I didn’t feel like she did an excellent job.

But then I realized I’m over here posting statues of saints and stuff, so I’m not exactly helping the, “Gasp! Catholics WORSHIP STATUES!!11!” cause.

Sorry, team Catholicism.

Here’s St. Anthony holding the Christ-child.

As you research the saints, you begin to know their imagery and certain things become “clues” as to which saint is which. St. Anthony was a Franciscan (holler!), and that outfit is a dead giveaway. I believe he had a vision of the Christ-child, which is why he’s shown holding the child Jesus. 🙂

For the record: we don’t worship statues or saints. We just think they’re neat and we like to commemorate them through art.

Just like I took this picture of my mom cleaning off her father’s grave. I’m commemorating the moment and my mom, even though I’m not worshiping her. But, she is a nice lady.

My mom was like, “DON’T POST THAT PICTURE OF ME!”

But, I’m doing it anyway because: memories.

My mom, my car and the ancestors.

Maybe one day I’ll tell you stories about them or something.