2026/05/17 18:00:34
Saint Anthony of Lost Tupperware Lids
The Modern Hagiographer solemnly canonizes Saint Anthony of Lost Tupperware Lids — patron of the futile cabinet search, the lid that fits nothing, and the container graveyard of mismatched plastic. Three solemn liturgical verses intoned in a candlelit scriptorium, rendered in illuminated-manuscript aesthetic.
Each weekday at end-of-workday, a modern hagiographer canonizes one daily small American suffering — Saint of the Hold Music, Saint of the One AirPod, Saint of the Printer That Needs Cyan to Print Black.
A Solemn Canonization by the Modern Hagiographer
The Canonization
Today we recognize Saint Anthony of Lost Tupperware Lids — patron of the futile cabinet search, the lid that fits nothing, and the container graveyard of mismatched plastic.
The Three Verses
I. On the Opening of the Cabinet
The door swings wide, and they tumble forth —
seventeen containers, stacked in towers of false promise.
Each one a vessel for something once cherished.
Not one lid answers when called.
The seeker kneels and searches deeper.
There is only more container.
II. On the Lid That Fits Nothing
It is round, yet nothing round accepts it.
It is square, yet the squares reject its measure.
It rests in the hand like a relic of a set long dissolved —
a testament to that which once was whole
and is whole no more.
We keep it still, because to discard it is to admit defeat.
III. On the Container Graveyard
At the back of the shelf, beyond the reach of memory,
they dwell: the lidless, the forgotten, the stacked-too-deep.
Some were orange once. Now they are merely old.
They have held leftovers that became science.
They have served.
They have been abandoned.
The Invocation
In the lid's name, amen.
May we be granted the patience to accept what cannot be matched,
and the wisdom — eventual, hard-won — to buy a new set.
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