Mardi Gras in My Mouth

It’s Ash Wednesday tomorrow. Which means that for the first time in a long time, the church season will mirror my mood: Lent, the time of intentionality and going without. The time of waiting and praying and remembering 40 years of wandering frustrated and aimless through the endless desert.

But that’s tomorrow. Today is Fat Tuesday, a day to celebrate the bounties, a day for debauchery and revelry and carefree belly laughter. The whole country puts on gaily colored costumes and eats jelly doughnuts with sprinkles and lets its hair down a little. So I did my best to make Mardi Gras happen for me too.

We had homemade tiramisu in our staff meeting today, and we laughed. Not belly laughter, but sincere at least.

In choir, we three brave sopranos held our own with the rest of the choir and I grinned my way through the pronunciation lessons for “I Want Jesus to Walk With Me”.

I’m gonna have amazing roommates. And a house!

I went to the gym and I can feel my muscles in there now, murmuring. Hey, Jess… remember that marathon? I’m feeling the energy. The restlessness. A party welling up inside, raring to go.

Even the weather is getting into the Mardi Gras spirit. The air smells of chocolate, a Mardi Gras gift from the cookie factory west of town and a just-right breeze.

And in possibly the weirdest holiday preparation event ever, I ate a *really* hot bratwurst yesterday, right off the grill, and it’s now Mardi Gras in my mouth. I burned off a layer of hard palate and it’s hanging down in festive streamers.

Laissez les bons temps roulez. Or however that goes. :-)