It's Raining Cats and Apples

The same issue of Time Magazine that told of fifteen pounds of frozen pork finding its way onto a fellow’s Ft. Lauderdale roof in mid-July (See When Pigs Flew) also noted:

Rush-hour motorists were alarmed when it began raining apples over a main road in Coventry, England, in 2011.                                                                                                           

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen it raining apples, though we’ve all seen it raining cats and dogs so often that it's become cliché, and we’re exhorted by the guardians of the language to euthanize the expression.  In fact, here's the message that the retired English teacher who monitors my laptop sent me the moment I typed the words raining cats and dogs, which she underlined in green.

The marked word or phrase may be overused or unnecessary to the meaning of your sentence. For a more forceful and convincing sentence, consider replacing or shortening the word or phrase.

Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. If I had known you would have to keep working into your eighties, I might have been a bit more respectful in high school. Perhaps you’ll allow this shortened version:                

We’ve all seen it raining cats.

Okay. That worked.  No objections from Mrs. Hughes.                                                                                She’s the one, by the way, who couldn’t help but notice that one of her most promising students, Donna Kilmer, Secretary of the Lyman High School chapter of the National Honor Society, and voted Best-All-Around by her classmates, was fraternizing with one of Mrs. Hughes' least promising students, voted Most Likely to be Mauled by a Bear. She took Donna aside and tried to tell her, tactfully, that she could do better.  I remember the day distinctly; it was raining Calicoes. Thankfully for me, Donna did not act on our teacher’s wise counsel. Excuse me. My laptop is sending me another message:

When Pigs Flew

Time Magazine reported several months ago that a homeowner in Ft. Lauderdale was trying to determine how 15 pounds of frozen pork landed on the roof of his home one sunny day in mid-July.  This piqued my interest, not just for the obvious mystery---how and why did the pork end up on the guy’s roof, but also because, having lived in South Florida, I recall how unlikely it was to find anything frozen outside in July (or, come to think of it, in any other month). 

But because Wry Bread connoisseurs (yes, I had to spell-check it) have learned to look here for answers to life’s mysteries, such as, “Who in his right mind would get within ten yards of a wild bear just for a better photo?” Answer:  No one in his right mind; and, “What idiot would conclude that dropping campaign materials from a plane onto his high school campus would persuade his classmates to elect him their president?” Answer: Just one idiot I know of; the idiot in question will here propose explanations for what shall now (and never again) be called the Porcine Parapet Predicament.  (No, technically a parapet is not a roof, but it’s close enough.) 

How did 15 pounds of frozen pork end up on this fellow’s roof?

Explanation 1: A south Florida Congressman, returning from a DC budget battle with his carry-on luggage filled with pork for a major donor, spotted Scott Pelley of CBS’s Sixty Minutes on the plane, and jettisoned the pork. (No, I don’t know how he got the pork off the plane, but then neither does Scott Pelley.)

                                                                                                                                                                    Explanation 2: A Ft. Lauderdale High School student was running for class president.  The school’s rivals were the Bradenton Wild Boars.  He thought he might create some buzz and win some votes if he dropped a frozen pig from a plane onto the campus.  Unfortunately, not only did he miss the campus, he missed the start of the school year by about six weeks.  His political life came to a swift and sudden end, not unlike that of the pig. (No, I don’t know what office the pig was running for.  I can’t solve ALL the mysteries for you).

ST. ISADOR THE FARMER CHURCH

Driving on Rt. 15 in Virginia, I did a double-take when I passed a church named "St. Isador the Farmer." So, we're naming churches after farmers now?  How long has this been going on?  Why don’t you people tell me anything?  No, it wasn't called the “Old McDonald had a Farm Church," but it was close enough. It got me wondering how many other churches are named after farmers.  Is there a “Farmer John Church,” a “Farmer Brown Church,” or a Farmer in the Dell Church,” maybe one with a sanctuary sponsored by Farmers Insurance, and hymnals courtesy of The Farmers' Almanac?

What about other vocations?  If there's a "St. Isador the Farmer Church" in Virginia, maybe there's a "St. Donald the Developer Church” in New York, or a "St. Mario the Plumber Church” in Florence, or a "St. Bob the Builder Church" in Indiana. Perhaps, somewhere in Maryland, there's a "St. Brooks the Third Baseman Church," and if New England still has any churches, one of them may be named "St. Brady the Patriot."