This blog has been dormant for a few weeks, but today seemed like a good day to continue the saga of the much-married Jane. As you may have gathered from previous posts, Jane’s unusually eventful life has taught her the value of a sense of humor and a roll-with-the-punches attitude. When the subject of money comes up, she just laughs and says, “I could retire tomorrow – as long as I was dead by Friday.”
Developing this kind of stoicism requires a certain amount of liquid encouragement, and Jane’s stimulant of choice is boxed wine. (It’s cheap enough that she can have as much as she wants, and the quality is low enough that she never has to share with her more discriminating friends.) So when Jane gave up wine for Lent last year it was a genuine sacrifice. By happy coincidence, though, it allowed her to devote herself to fulfilling her New Year’s resolution: to learn how to drink bourbon straight. So while most people’s resolutions fall by the wayside after the first few months, Jane had achieved her goal by Easter. “I still don’t like bourbon, but I can drink it,” she told us during a visit. “And now I can go into a bar and order bourbon on the rocks, which just sounds incredibly sexy.”
The next morning Jane was telling us about a Southern folk artist she likes. The conversation was perfectly innocuous, and for a full five minutes she lulled us into believing that she was less colorful when separated from her vinous muse. These illusions were quickly dispelled, however, when someone asked how she’d found out about the artist.
“I heard about him from these two retired nuns that I buy birdhouses from,” she said, which is a wonderful sentence in itself, and added musingly, “Of course, I didn’t even know that nuns could retire. I thought they just died and went to hell.”
It seems Jane had some unpleasant schoolgirl experiences involving cranky nuns with rulers. She told us that she had recently asked one of the ex-nuns about why they were so mean and the woman of God replied, “We never had sex and we didn’t get chocolate all that often. You’re lucky we didn’t kill one of you little brats.”