Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, so I'll no doubt be seeing a few of the Catholic faithful roaming around Boston with ashes smudged on their foreheads.
Been there, done that. In the way, way, wayback.
I will be observing the day by eating a hot cross bun. Or two. I realize that hot cross buns are supposed to be eaten on Good Friday, but why wait? When I was growing up, we had them on Ash Wednesday. Or Shrove Tuesday. Which is today.
I don't do Mardi Gras, or Carnivale. And god forbid I'd do Fasching, which sounds way, way, way too much like fascism. Which I don't do. And won't do.
Since it's Shrove Tuesday, which is associated with pancakes, I may make blueberry pancakes for dinner tonight.
Other than that, my Lenten observance will be zilch.
Even when I was a blazing Catholic, I was never much good at giving anything up.
Candy? Other than on Halloween and Easter, we never had candy around the house. In the summertime, if anyone had a few pennies, a nickel, or a dime, we'd stop by Carrera's Spa for penny candy. But giving up candy was pretty easy.
Giving up dessert would have been hard, as we had dessert every evening with dinner, and my mother was an excellent scratch baker. So I didn't. No way I was going to forego a piece of her cake, a Congo Bar, or even one of her no-time-to-bake desserts. Like a baked apple or jello with fruit cocktail suspended in it.
Giving up TV? I wasn't about to miss an episode of Dr. Kildare or Wagon Train. But if given a choice between reading a book or watching television, it would have been no contest. I never, ever, ever would have given reading up. So I didn't. And I didn't give up TV, either.
Giving up, I always felt, was over-rated.
Doing something proactive would have been better. But I never gave that a thought. Other than the one year, when I was at near peak piety, I started out going to daily Mass. I actually enjoyed being out and about early, the long, cold walk down the hill to church for the 7 a.m. when there weren't a lot of folks around. The long cold walk up the hill for a quick breakfast before heading out the door for school. It all made me feel very saintly and smug.
Then halfway through Lent, I came down with scarlet fever.
I'm not saying it was caused by getting up early to go to Mass. But you never know.
There were a few religious observances associated with Lent that, as a kid, I did enjoy, if only because they were a break from the routine. Ashes on the forehead. Weekly Stations of the Cross. The annual St. Francis Xavier Novena, when some Jesuit who was apparently not needed for (or up to) teaching at a Jebbie school or college hunkered down for nine days to run the novena for the parish. Each year, we'd hope for a priest with a sense of humor, who'd at least try to tell some lame religo joke. Most years, we got a hellfire and brimstome guy. Look to your left. Look to your right. One of you could die at any moment if God decided to forget you existed. Well, bless me, Father... (I blogged about Lent during my childhood last year on Ash Wednesday, which in 2024 was coincident with Valentine's Day. This year, we're getting a late Easter, but I must note that, as of a couple of weeks ago, Easter candy was already out in my grocery store. Heart shaped Reeses, out! Peeps and Cadbury Eggs in!)
So, Lent.
I'm giving up nothing. (Already gave up watching the news last November, and gave up my religion many years ago. And have concluded that having faith is like being able to curl your tongue. You can do it or you can't.) But I'm feeling in the giving mood, so I'm giving you something: an earworm! That's me in the corner, losing my religion...)
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