For Lent, I gave up critiquing people. Well, actually I adopted a practice of launching into a critique only to pop my hand over my mouth and say, “Oh, sh!t. I gave up critiquing people for Lent.” So, in fact, for Lent, I took on cursing.
I hate to announce my intent because, as my husband correctly points out, my creations often end up looking different than intended, but I’m gonna make a bread heart today for a bar. The heart-shaped bread is for the Love Lost Lounge in the Marigny. The bar hosts a St. Joseph Day altar tomorrow. I want to give the bar a gift because I love that a bar offers a St. Joseph altar and feast for the neighborhood. I’ve given bars gifts before. I picked the heart because the bar’s logo is a heart . . . with a stake in it. If the gift ends up looking like an olive on a toothpick, I’m giving the bar an olive on a toothpick.
Wednesday and Fridays, until Easter sets us free, we’re eating vegan. Vegan means no animal products. No cheese, no eggs, no butter, no mayonnaise. No Greek yogurt. I have come to hate Wednesdays and Fridays. In a panic, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I eat like a glutton. This Lent, I have given a new name to Fat Tuesday. On the other hand, I will never take animals for granted again.
“No alleluias in Lent.” That’s a staple of the Episcopal Church. To make sure we get the point, we ceremoniously bury the Hallelujah banner. (Yes, I’m spelling alleluia differently just to mess with you). We Episcopalians don’t have parties during Lent—when my first book came out and the Episcopal Bookshop wanted to give me a book launch, the Dean said “No book party during Lent.” Lent is soup and bread and DOUR. So yesterday when I jooked to the bands at the St. Paddy’s Day Parade, I did not shout Hallelujah! I take my Lent seriously.
here’s to creative synthesis . . .