A few weeks back, I was cleaning up the garden for winter (which turns out to be a good thing because we’re in full-blown blizzard conditions right now) and I managed to gouge my hand on a garden stake. Right in the center of my palm. It wasn’t a bad scrape, but it looked unsettlingly like a stigmata.
Naturally, being a Twitter junkie, I tweeted about my new stigmata (stigmatum?) and dubbed myself #HolyJeffe.
I have it on good authority that several people took up the epithet and used it in good health.
Now, a number of people asked if they should worship me, which is just wrong, wrong, wrong. No, I said, you should worship that which gave me the stigmatum (“stigmata” sounds better), from whom all holiness flows. The garden stake.
Being in The Netherlands, Sullivan McPig, somewhat anxiously inquired if any garden stake would do. I had to deliver the bad news that, while all garden stakes are images of the One, True Garden Stake and one should always express courtesy and reverence towards them, that only the One, True Garden Stake would do for offerings.
Being the generous soul that I am, I agreed to be a conduit for all such offerings.
Holy Jeffe cares about you.
So, Sullivan, and his cohort, Voodoo Bride, who does book reviews here, got their owner to send tribute to the One, True Garden Stake.
It was acceptable.
Good Sinterklaasavond to Sullivan, Voodoo Bride and Carien and her partner today!