Ashes, Ashes We All Fall Down

Good Ash Wednesday Morning.

 Doan know if y'all Mardi  Gras-ed last night or not, some of y' all
may indeed feel like ashes...


 


 but anyhoo, it bears thinkin' about, no matter if ya' sing the nursery rhyme or go all high brow an' read T.S. Eliot's famous poem, Ash Wednesday or hie thee to church an get yore haid smudged wif' ashes made from burning the palms of last year's Palm Sunday palms.*

(Yore teeth is grittin'? Yep, I agree: task and grace are nouns and  should never be verbed nor should Fat Tuesday)

Flannery O' Connor, that soul of Southern Woman wit, said ours is a generation of "wingless chickens" by which she compared us to them hapless birds that can no longer jump, the better to fatten them fer the slaughter ( fer Fat Tuesday?)  

Wingless chickens lose their sense of up or down, and so has we, say Flannery.  Auntybelle ain't got no quarrel wif' Flannery on that.

 
All this by way of invitin' y'all to come visit Ether Capacious every Friday in Lent fer a looky-see into some famous an' infamous thoughts on man an' his  yearnin' fer infinity. ( or, why some confuse down wif' up)




* from the archives, an Ash Wednesday post or two

** from the archives comments on Ash Wednesday, which will helpo explain Karl's comments to the unitiatiated:

 
'Ya don't know... but I lived in Bay St. Louis for 4 yrs...was re-directed that way when gaming opened, and they fetched me from Reno for managerial experience.

I was raised a Christian, but Southern Baptists as dear as they are to me...(and we had Catholics in TX too...even more in Reno) never celebrated their beliefs like the Cajun Catholics did. We never had no umbrellas, or Jumbalaya, or Dirty Rice, or Napkins flying in the breeze on a dance... Naw...

Naw'Orleans taught me a thing or two about life. Mardi Gras is a thing to experience. But it's more than a parade, it's more than a tit or two flying. It's the whole concept...and a quite logical one at that.

Party your ass off for three weeks, then give a few weeks to the Lord for Lint. Seems like a small gift back for what the Lord has done for us all.

I remember the ashes. I remember the sentiment. I remember "getting it". I miss it all. I am sorry that somehow most of what I loved in that area is blown away by Miss Katrina.

Happy Mardi Gras to you Miss Aunty Belle... I have quite a collection of fancy beads (never showed a tit one to get 'em)... I live in Reno and get taunted and teased a bit each year when I wear them like I did today on Fat Tuesday. I have even raised a few eyebrows by bringing in a King Cake and having someone just be in bewilderment that I would endanger their health by placing a gold baby in a piece of not-so normal food.

I miss the Deep South... Wave a napkin and twirl an umbrella for me girlfriend. Try to be good for Lint... Damn...weeks are a long time :) "

Mardi Gras

Ya know, this used to be a venerable celebration.

When I was a jes' a baby chile' I loved listenin' to the growed-ups gettin' excited over Mardi Gras. We had a gran-mama livin' in Baton Rouge who was some la-di-dah thingy in the whole shebang--and fer years we had an elaborate headress in the attic--

But I digresses...these days the thang has been coopted by every type of freakazoid, an' thus, the streets of N'awlins is a human sewer. No longer fit fer famlies and decent folk, whar' the idea of excess was too much libation and a few risque costumes...now it is drugs and open debauchery-- mercy! Ain't sayin' it is so, but I could understand iffin' mama nature sent her biggest blowin' Katrina on a freshen-up mission. Good folks are driven to more private celebrations.

But chillens, this is a fine day--the day before Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. The last day to splurge on goodies before the 40 day "fast," which today is less fast and more quiet living.

But tonight? Ha! I'se having a bowl of rich gumbo an' double expresso brownie!

Does any of y'all have any Mardi Gras memories?

Mardi Gras!

Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras is today. Ya'll knows this is a whale of a party, the traditional day folks party hearty, eat plenty and revel in all manner of merriment, cause tomorrow be's Ash Wednesday.



Thas' the first day of Lent, the season when Christians observe the 40 days of prayer and fasting and abstinence until Easter Day. (lessen' youse Irish and take a day off when St. Patrick's day comes on March 17)















































In case ya ain't heard, it were the French explorer M. d'Iberville. who brung Mardi Gras to us from France--'member when he came over to New Orleans? An' lemme tell ya'...N'awlin's ain't been the same since. And other gulf cities celebrate too-Mobile and Pensacola...

Well, by the mid 1800s it were the Mystick Krewe of Comus who was the big cheese fer Mardi Gras. They ruled. Other "krewe"s developed and there was friendly rivalry ...an' ya'll knows there ain't nuthin' like a wee bit of rivalry to spur folks to put on the most lavish, outlandish, amazin' parade.


Costumes were a year in the makin' and top secret besides--why the espionage in 1800s New Orleans when this'n or that'n Krewes tried to ferret out what the other was up to was the first CIA playbook.

I'se boastin' heah, but it is a true thang that mah very own Gran-Mamee was wore an elaborate costume with a headdress of a peacock to Mardi Gras (long afore Aunty was born!) when they held masked balls and had supper at midnight. I never did know iffin' she was pullin' mah lag when she tole us how one lady the year afore had partied so hard she had twins nine months later, a boy an a girl that she name Revelry and Reverie.


I wish't I could story ya'll some wif all the fine memories me and Uncle have of our times in N'awlins. Mayhap the dearest is when Uncle tole me one mornin' that he had an early meetin' with the high hats in town, but he had a potential fat cat Pork Rind buyer comin' in on the 7:30 flight an' would I go meet fat cat and keep him happy til' Uncle could shake off the city fellers?

"Nope" said Aunty, "is you fergettin' I have young'uns to git off ter school? "

But Uncle promised he would get em' off to the schoolhouse at the same time he left fer town, so I'd best be gettin' to airport and meet fat cat, load him the buggy and bring him home til' Uncle was finished wif' the high hats in town.

Aunty ain't known fer no whinin' but I was miffed. "Wait a minute ...you done promised youse gonna take off the day and play wif' me since it is our annie versry!" Aunty wailed. (Yeah, that wuz then..an' I doan NEVER wail no mo. Thas' dern so true.)

Okay, ya'll's all ahead of the story now, and ya' figgered out that when I got to the airport to fetch the fat cat they warn't no fat cat, but Uncle done raced down a backroad and beat me thar'....an' took Aunty off to N'awlins fer Breakfast at Brennan's. Iffin' that ain't enough to tickle ya' gizzard then I reckon that I can up the ante:
In mah flute of Mimosa thar' was string of
pearls. (Fellas, Uncle doan make a habit of extravagance--he was jes' feein' sorry fer havin' kept aunty bar'foot an'....well, ya' know, so he done sized up the situation an' realized how he might show a his sincerest appreciation. An' I will say that his flights of unexpected fancifulness covers a multitude of irritations. An besides, he has that Rhett Butler Gun-runner image to keep up--an N'awlins is real good fer that.)







We wuz back afore time to read Uncle Remus to the chillen's, and
when I climbed in the sheets I wondered had it all been a dream?




We done had few excursions since that time to N'awlins' --mostly to keep company wif one of mah own wild uncles --he bein' a mere 8 years older (save yore Southern jokes!). How I loved to haunt Pirate's Alley and the bookstore of Faulkner fame jes' beyond the rose garden out back of St. Louis Cathedral.

An' the ache I still get in mah heart thinkin' of
how we strolled the back streets of the Vieux Carré
lookin'g at pastel creole cottages one chilly January
afternoon, munching cheap hot dogs bought from a one eyed man with a pushcart.























But what ya'll wanna know is that Aunty has fambly over thar' and so I is proficient wif' an iron pot an I can make a gumbo that ya would sell yore soul fer-- though mah price leaves ya enough fer the fare to heaven.






I wish't all of us could meet up one misty mornin' at Cafe du Monde fer them powdered sugar'd clouds known as
beignets. They's served wif hot chocolate or coffee that will
singe yore eyebrows.

An' we'd all marvel at how funny a krewe we'uns make --all different and many of us utterly unlike we imagine from inside the blogosphere... Oh! how we'uns would laugh.

Looky heah...see how many stories I'se tryin' ter get tole to ya'll in jes' one post?

Sweet Thangs, Aunty is signin' off.

I'se ole school, an' the good nuns learn't me how to give up somethin' fer Lent that really were a sacrifice. Ya'll take it as a compliment that youse so dear to me, that youse a fittin' Lenten sacrifice. Ya'll is more of a sacrifice than Prosecco or chocolate. (or Advil!??). So, along wif' other thangs, I'se givin' up bloggin' until Easter.

Oh, I might lurk, but the house rules is I cain't blog.
I'se gonna miss all ya'll every day, miss ya'll somethin' fierce.


Ash Wednesday. "Remember Man, thou art dust and to dust thy shalt return." It is mah favorite liturgical season--a time to reflect on the meaning of it all.

AFTER MARDI GRAS

Miss Louisa, a retired professor, dropped by on her daily walk down the lane. She is frail but I bet'cha she will out last the more robust of us.

"Belle, is that a new pot of mint growing here by your back door? " she asked.

"Shure is, Louisa...puttin' some in my taboule right now," I said.

"That is one of your Lebanese dishes, is not?"

"Thas' right. Today is a day of fast and abstinence, so taboule is one the menu," I replied.


"A day of fasting, my dear?"

" Why yes, Ash Wednesday, no meat today" I looked at her, puzzled that she had forgotten.

" Well, I declare, I had not remembered. Do people still observe Ash Wednesday? Oh, I see...I suppose that is the smudge on your forehead, ashes?"

"Of course folks still observe Ash Wednesday--same day it has been fer'ever...the day after Mardi Gras," I smiled slyly.

"Mardi Gras?
But, with New Orleans rather out of sorts, is there still a Mardi Gras?"

Now ain't that an odd question, I thought ter myself.
"Well," I said patiently to a professor who ought to have knowed better, "Mardi Gras ain't akshully about N'awlins, though the city made it sorta famous, I reckon. No, Mardi Gras--means Fat Tuesday in French--is the pig out day before Lent begins. Folks eat rich food and gorge a bit, an' mayhap they party a wee mite more'n they oughta since Lent means days of fast and abstinence, and simple livin'.

Miss Louisa looked aghast. "Do people do that still? How punitive!"

I tried to hide mah smile, "Why shure they do 'that' still. An' of course it is 'punitive' cause that is the whole idea--it is a penitential season. Doan look so surprised--looky, folks is always fastin' and abstainin' fer they own causes--to git skinny as linguine. So, why not fast fer Lent?"

"But why the ashes? You look dirty, you know."

"Louisa, I knows youse raised a Christian woman an' you must know the words: Man, thou art dust and to dust thy shalt return."

She looked out the doorway..."I recall--vaguely. I suppose I am just past smearing dirt on my head, Belle."

I was choppin' parsley and mint on the cuttin' board. "Ashes--not dirt," I said, "the ashes are from the palms of last years' Palm Sunday--we burn the leftover palms, bless the ashes and use them on Ash Wednesday. "

"Belle, my dear, I mean no disrespect, but why? Really, what is the point?"

She were lookin' out the door still, and I was quiet. Finally she turned to see why I was silent.

"Because I ain't been so good this year, thas' why, Louisa. Some days I try hard, thas' so...but many days I doan. Truth is some days my heart jes' ain't soft, but stony and proud. I ain't loved my neighbor as I ought, ain't always been kind when kindness were called fer...and I is guilty of smugness here and there...why I even entertained a few hateful thoughts toward Uncle when he set his dern jaw, stubborn as a baboon.

"I'se wearin' these ashes for the times I did the least I could git away with when I shoulda and coulda done a heap more. Fer the days I'se mewlin' around thinkin' about what I did not have when I have such a wealth of love and light and laughter that I need ter count my blessin's, but was blind to 'em. These ashes keep me from flights of fancy about my own worthiness.

"Why Lent is a time we'uns is called away from our self-absorption, excesses, and petty complaints about each 0ther. We'uns is called out of our dark lairs, out of our comfort zones, out of the moldy corners where we hide what we don't want to admit about ourselves--Ya' could say Lent is a house cleanin'! We are called in from the cold, off the moor, out of alienation, away from the precipice.....invited to come sit by warmth and light of the hearth, be kind to our neighbor, do good to our crotchety boss, forgive our mother-in-law, encourage the fainthearted, console the grieving....see how we can be good and useful to those around us.

"These ashes remind me that I did not make myself. Know what I heard right before I got these ashes? Listen now, Louisa, how true these words is:

"Almighty and everlasting God, you hate nothing you have made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen."


Louisa turned her head again, lookin' back out the open door, over the trees beyond. She stood still, jes' lookin'. I worried I had sounded real preachy. (Ya'll knows how Aunty Belle is!)

After a minute she stooped over and picked a sprig of mint. I could smell its fresh clean fragrance. She put the herb ter her nose and smiled as if rememberin' ....then she said,

" We rubbed our Easter Lamb with mint and pepper. I used to give up chocolates for Lent when I was a girl. Easter Morning the smell of chocolate bunnies was intoxicating!

"Well..." she mused, "do people still give up something for Lent, Belle?"

I laughed, "Why, yes, some do. But others try to do something positive, like visit the nursin' homes or serve food to the homeless down at Daily Bread."

She looked back at me, "What have you given up for Lent, Belle? Something more difficult that chocolate, I hope?"

I glanced across the kitchen at the computer. A lump formed in my throat an' I almost choked. Forty days!! Groan.....

"I'se givin' up bloggin' fer Lent, Louisa, an' it is shure is harder to let go of than chocolate."








Pssst!! Not blogging? What about reading blogs, huh? Huh?