Today was all about indulgence. My pancakes were slathered in butter and soaked in syrup. And yours? I had a slice of King Cake so whisky-soaked that I was breathing fire. And I mean that in a good way.
Tomorrow, everything goes very solemn. It's all about being constantly and uncomfortably reminded that, yes, you are human. You started as dust, and - guess what? - that's where you're ending up. Sounds like a marketing dream for funeral homes and crematoriums, but that doesn't seem to be the case. You never see them outside churches handing out flyers after Ash Wednesday services. Still, it is the one day of the year, other than update-your-will day, where you're confronted with your ultimate demise. Here are some ashes on your forehead to prove that you are, indeed, terminal.
I'm not feeling particularly desert-y Lent-y this year. Yes, I've thought of a couple of straight-jacket disciplines to squeeze myself into for six weeks, but we'll see what develops. While I think I'll survive the bi-polarity of pancakes and ashes, I'm not sure I'm ready for a tri-polar experience.
Party on for a few more hours, friends. And then get the doctor to write you a prescription for tri-polar meds. Good for six weeks.
2 comments:
Great post as always, maryb. My Lenten resolve is to write a little of my novel every day. We'll see how that goes too.
Liz - we always seem to be in sync with our Lenten disciplines (remember the no chocolate thing a few years back?). Writing is one of my two. And the hardest of the two, I might add. Moving forward.
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