To Mazu, goddess of the seas, hear my plea for calm waters because I’m not 100% sure I filled out the insurance claim properly and we are all desperately sick of wearing the same clothes we’ve been wearing for the past twelve weeks.
To St. Maersk of the Shipping, hear my prayer: May our shipment arrive on schedule and not get held up in customs because some asshat lost the paperwork or confused the date format or went on strike right before it was scheduled to arrive.
To St. Frances of Rome, patron saint of drivers, may the roads be well-lit, the tolls pre-paid, the MPG good, and the cubic footage within limits. May the antique Balinese desk and the Danish designed sideboard survive unharmed and the movers gentle and kind to the kitchenware, hear my prayer.
Dear St. Anthony, please come around…to help me with the one box I’ve not found, you know, the one with the coffee pot and the corkscrew, not the bartender’s friend either, the easy one.
To Vesta and Frigg, Goddesses of the hearth, I humbly offer you my tin of spare coinage from my travels and a return trip ticket on the Gatwick Express. For those gifts I ask you find us a place to call home. Also, if you could see to it that our temporary accommodation is, indeed, temporary and not too grotty and cramped because you know how the children fight when they’re cramped in small spaces.
To Ribba, God of Allen Wrenches and Malm, Goddess of Flat-pack furniture, hear my prayer that the nuts and bolts will still be taped to the back of the bookcases.
To St. Ikea of Meatballs, may I ever be close to your big-box emporium by for re-purchasing of the storage units we sold in the old country before we moved to the new one.
To Bacchus, God of wine, hear my self-explanatory prayer…
To St. Galentine, patron saint of female friendships and rosé, please find me a group of friends who are generous and who don’t hoard the names of their hairdresser, doctor or babysitter.
To Saint Anne, patron saint of movers, grant me the patience to unpack the 183 boxes which have just landed in my living room.
To St. Tesco of Britain and St. Joe of the Trader’s, hear my prayer for a local supermarket which stocks the basic necessities, in packaging I can understand without having learned the language, with shoppers who don’t behave like zoo animals on a day trip.
To the Goddess Curricula, hear my prayer that the school the kids are enrolled in will teach offers something transferable to the next place we land.
To Baal Shamin, the weather God, hear my prayer for meteorology which is not extreme rain, cold, or heat. Really, is a temperate four seasons too much to ask for???
To Saint Rita, patron saint of difficult marriages, grant me the serenity to avoid killing my spouse during this move.
To St. Dymphna, patron saint of mental illness hear my prayer: Keep me sane during these crazy days, protect me from wanting to murder John in Human Resources or leave my family Shirley Valentine style, until the dust–and we–settle.
NB: WE haven’t moved, but there are plenty out there who are touching down in new homes, getting ready to navigate a new place, a new culture, a new language and a whole new set of rules. This is for all of you.
Goddess of Wine and Cheese (Doodles), wishing you safe travels and soft landings.