I meant to write this post almost a week ago, and I have Saint Joseph to thank for my tardiness.
Before my husband and I moved, I wrote a post for English Historical Fiction Authors about the various origin stories for burying a Saint Joseph statue to sell property. Then we resumed packing.
The post for EHFA ran on time. The post I was planning for Outtakes didn’t get written. We were at that stage in the packing where we were lucky if we labeled the boxes with the rooms they should go to. No time for the sorting what to keep or trash and write detailed lists as we did at the start of the process.
So we are now in our new home busily unpacking boxes and Saint Joseph’s statue is watching over this chaos from the mantle. Did he sell our house? I don’t know, but both times I’ve buried him, the property sold just in time to avoid our paying two mortgages.
