I have on my desk a small statuette given to me by my son on his return from Argentina. It is of a man with a dog, and on one leg he displays an open wound. He is St. Roque, (Rock, Rocco) and he reminds me every morning that very few of us get through life without a physical or mental malady. (I’ve had a quadruple bypass operation for mine.)
There is a Catholic church named after him in Glen Cove, and it has an annual festival famous for the cooking of its parishioners, besides the usual carnival. You can have a Sunday dinner, home cooked, if the weather is good.
I pray to him to keep myself spiritually alert. I am far from superstitious. It’s good to have a company of saints looking after you.