Second week of Lent

In my last post, one of my Lenten fasts was from driving to church. Today marks ten days since Ash Wednesday (eight not counting the Sundays, as is proper) - I'm 20% of the way through the season. And I have not honored that fast once.

I tried, today. I even got off to a decent start, waking up at the right time to get out the door... and then promptly rolling over to go back to sleep. Dragged myself out, got into the shower, and was out the door... about fifteen minutes too late, so I hopped in the car to go...

...but as I was leaving, I was asked, very abruptly, if I could run across the street and pick up ten (10) rolls of paper towels and cranberry juice. Why didn't they get them last night, when they were at the grocery store? Bugger if I know, but it's never the day to argue this stuff.

So I ran the hell across the street, picked up the ten (10) rolls of paper towels, and eight-pack and two loose ones, and the bottle of cranberry juice, and made haste to church, letting them know that the change was in the bag.

By the time I arrived, I was fifteen minutes late. Just late enough to completely miss out on the video that was being discussed, and to sit in silence as my fellow parishioners discussed grace, the past catching up with us... prison. And I dwelled on the gracelessness of that night in Miami, when I came on vacation and left on probation.

For all that I contributed, I could've - should've - just walked it like I was planning to.

Lent 2013

Thanks to the Anarchist Reverend for providing a prompt. My writing here is an expansion of my comment there.

I grew up honoring Lent in the breach. It was the time to set aside bad habits, or try to, or pretend to, or want to really hard. It was a selfish thing, or I was selfish and made it so, or I was clueless and didn't pick up that it wasn't supposed to be. It was so long ago I don't really remember now. 2002 was the last time I became anything more than an obligatory Christmas-and-Easter churchgoer, and with that Lent fell by the wayside too, unnoticed and unmissed.

Last year, the year of constellations, was the year that saw me back to church - but I still managed to miss Lent. (I actually came back on Pentecost, and started seriously attending on Trinity Sunday.) This is easily the 23rd Lent of my life, certainly of the life I can remember; but this Lent is different from the ones that came before. This is the first Lenten fast of my adult life. This is the first Lent since I grew into my baptism; my first as an Episcopalian; my first where I understood why I was fasting.

This Lent is going to be special.

Breakfast for dinner

I have celebrated Mardi Gras a few times before. Until last night I'd never celebrated Shrove Tuesday.

I've had more than my share of pancakes in church, granted. It was part of the understanding by which my Boy Scout troop could use the church facilities; we'd do brunches after church a few times a year. Last night was also the first night I've had pancakes and sausages in a church building.

An entire room, half-empty, a number of people I don't know, introversion, what to do? Gamer wisdom kicked in: Sit with my back to a wall. And so I did, as best I could. (Gamer wisdom is actually sit with your back to a corner. There weren't nearly enough.)

I chose an empty table. Simply by showing up I'd left H. stranded at the health office; not having anybody directly sit next to me would give me an excuse should I suddenly need to excuse myself. So of course it filled up incredibly quickly.

Shrove Tuesday dinner was quite enjoyable. The only hitch came in turning off the fire alarm at the end; I'm not sure if the church was able to before the fire department arrived.

Standing vigil for the dying

Standing vigil for the dying
Comes a time past rhyming when
There are no words to say

So weary and worn away
Are litany and commendation
Standing vigil for the dying

And no toil and no trying
Can yield them a worthy creation
There are no words to say

Then lexicons betray
They dawdle in the time of desperation
Standing vigil for the dying

When comes the time of crying
Unprepared are words of consolation
There are no words to say

All the time to pray
But waiting for the last amen
Standing vigil for the dying
There are no words to say.

Darkonian funeral prayer

Powers dark that no-one knows,
Hear our petition that you might
Now grant our dead their blessed repose.

Unending stillness now impose,
And rest unending, as is right,
O Powers dark that no-one knows.

In summer sun and winter snows,
In longest day, in Darkest Night
Now grant our dead their blessed repose

For peace beyond their dying throes,
For those that live, grant this respite,
O powers dark that no-one knows.

And as their sightless eyes we close
Accept, we ask, this offered rite
And grant our dead their blessed repose.

May liturgy and prayers and prose
Be satisfying in your sight,
Powers dark that no one knows:
Now grant our dead their blessed repose.

It was seven days delayed

I don't recall the last time I signed in
Before this afternoon. I should have known
That there would be a message in the bin,
Unanswered long enough to be a sin.
So, breathing tight and zeroed at the bone,
I clicked as though the message was a stray
And armed explosive shell. You were alone
And on the train, and missed me; on your phone
You said as much, and sent it on its way
A week ago.

I started to reply,
And wrote you all that I could think to say
Before remembering that half a day
Of time lag separated you and I,
Deleted my response and wrote a poem
To pass the time and let my sleeper lie.

Baked potatoes

Shortly after the groom-to-be left the premises, the rest of us realized that we had no plans for dining that night - and all of us were hungry. To prevent any dithering, R. quickly suggested a baked potato bar. And so we did.

Idaho potatoes, wrapped in foil, baked for half an hour... and then another ten... and then maybe another ten, to be sure the biggest ones were completely cooked through. Sour cream, shredded cheese, chopped scallions in the absence of seasonal chives... and bacon, per R.'s request (although I suspect that he was the only person to actually have any, or maybe he and the bride-to-be.) Probably a bit too fattening, but altogether satisfying.

I didn't know the baked potato bar existed before that night. I'll have to remember it for the future.