We didn't wear Prada

Alas that I am not myself pictured in the accompanying photograph. I might well have been. For when I was about the age of these youngstersr, I too wore clothes made from flour sacks. My mother made them. She also made herself dresses from flour sacks.
    A girl cousin (now in her seventies) recently sent me the photograph, along with some verse, which I have edited a bit so as not to embarrass Moristotle unduly (with apologies to the original author, said to be Colleen B. Hubert):

In that long ago time when things were saved,
When roads were graveled and barrels were staved,
When worn-out clothing were used as rags,
And there wasn't any plastic wrap or bags,
And the well and the pump were way out back,
A versatile item to have was the flour sack.

Well, actually, I think that's quite enough of that (without including the other eight or ten verses).

My cousin wrote (or maybe it was Colleen):

All these girls' dresses were made from flour sacks...
    Panties were made from them too.
    The boys’ shirts and underwear were made from flour sacks or feed sacks also.

I don't remember any flour sack underwear myself.

Jesus Kitsch

A relative of my wife's who recently learned of my "loss of faith" (as I suppose he would term it) has sent me by attachment this Owings Mills image of Jesus. (Note the NEW ART annotation in the upper left-hand corner.)

I assume that my cousin-in-law hopes thereby to restore my "lost faith"—the faith that I finally found unsupportable by reason, evidence, or expectation. His e-mail includes the chain-mail text:

He arrived this morning, we had prayer, spent some time just talking, and then he was on his way to your house.

When he gets to your PC, escort him to the next stop. Please don't allow him to sleep on your PC. [Could I keep Jesus from sleeping if he wanted to sleep?] The message he is carrying is very important and needs to go round. May God bless you as you do this—Amen.

This image of Jesus is a piece of sentimental "art" in the class of other Owings Mills pieces, such as "Sunset Grandeur," "Evening's Promise," "A Little Piece of Heaven," and "Home of Plenty" (which I quickly found on the web):

Even their titles express the sentiment, as does "Softly Knocking Jesus," which might well be the title of the religious kitsch.

Such popular sentiment doesn't claim me. I can't muster the requisite faithful response.