Worst. Lent. Ever.

I'm not very bright, to be fair I do only have an eighth grade education, so hopefully my lack of sophistication has more to do with ignorance rather than sheer native stupidity.

I bring this up because I just discovered from Lisa on the Apron Stage, and mind you I am almost thirty, just discovered what Fat Tuesday or Shrove Tuesday, or what have you, and Lent are. I also just learned that they have any relation to Mardi Gra.

For those that don't know, Lent is essentially a forty day fast from your favorite sin. I have a pretty religiously inclusive view of eternity and found this to be wonderfully in keeping with my Mormon beliefs - very "I would give away all of my sins to know thee". Also a great way to keep in mind, as was noted by Lisa, that while we sacrifice, Christ made the ultimate sacrifice, which is much more observant of the Atonement and Resurrection then my traditional ritual of crying over Easter dresses I'll never finish and then binging until I'm in a chocolate bunny coma.

But here's the kicker - the day before the start of Lent, Fat Tuesday - and New Orleans' Mardi Gra, is the observance of the fact that you are about to do without for forty days, so why not start with a little oomph to usher you in, or, depending on how you look at it, it's time to get your forty days into one night -very "eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die".

I don't know if you can guess which one I'm better at. Hint - it has the word "Fat" in it.

Last night I had a party sized bag of Mini Eggs.

Today I gave up sweets for Lent, for twelve hours. Eight of which I slept through.

It turns out that my religious inclusivity mixed with my absolute inability to keep commitments has me feeling like a failure in two religions. And I was so wanting to feel Southern (aka interesting).

Oh, fiddle dee dee!

I have long suspected that I am a misplaced Southern Belle that, like Lambert, was dropped off by some incompetent stork into the lovingly blind arms of another species, in this case Mormon Northerners. While I am pretty sure I ended up much better off where I landed something about the South calls to me in a native croon, and I'm pretty sure it's two most appealing notes are big hair and addiction.

That darn addiction part got me this morning.

So I've decided I need to enlarge my idea of Lent for those of us sitting at the kids table, spiritually. The Lent Mulligan. I'm just going to look ahead and keep trying.

After all, tomorrow is another day.

I ran into a friend from a couple of years ago the other day at the movies. She was a super hot, super sweet, gallery owning wonder divorcee when I knew her, but at the movies last week I got to meet her new husband.


They were the perfect couple. She runs an artist's retreat in Italy for a couple of weeks every year. They met there. They are clearly in love, he clearly feels lucky to have her, and she was at a very attractive level of modesty in accepting it.


I know I should spend more time focusing on the ideal, but I can't. Things broken and rebuilt are the most beautiful to me and I love, love, love when divorced people find love again. It makes me hopeful. Things gone terribly wrong in act two can find in act three their right.


My parents are a prime example. Is it sacralige to say I'm glad they are not together (forget I asked, better to ask forgiveness than permission, especially when that honestly is how I feel and no amount of pretty lies will make me truly righteous about it.)? I see them with my step parents and feel that we are at the end of A Mid Summer Nights Dream, things were extremely turned around, one or more parties might have indeed been an ass, but everyone found their proper place in the end.

My Dad and I just got off the phone. His wife (my Step Mommy) has put him on a diet. He is so excited to tell me "we have turkey bacon, and you know what? We barely notice a difference!", they go shopping for healthy meals, they have lost thirty lbs. each. I know that they must have their own problems, but they have enthusiasm that they share together. They tell us about their favorite places to go, why we should watch The Amazing Race, the home remodeling and hunting and fishing expos they attend. They are in love. Hope springs eternal. All is right with the world.

My Mom and my Step Dad are the same, they improve each other. They work in the temple, they go on long road trips, he tries to make her more punctual and she tries to get him to eat different foods. She laughs at cats on Youtube and he laughs at her laughing at cats.

I'm happy for them, I'm happy for me, because there is nothing so bad that life stops, it keeps moving, it keeps changing, there are always chances left to take, there will always be opportunity for heveanly respite after terrible storms. There will always be turkey bacon left to discover, both actual turkey bacon and the metaphorical, undiscovered tukey bacon in your soul.

They are both delicious.

Things Big and Great

I have lived in a kind of self imposed state of claustrophobia for a little while. I am actually a little bit surprised that I have picked up writing at this brief stage of my life, because so rarely do I feel like myself. I often feel like I'm myself under glass, like the things that should be touching me I can see, but just can't quite touch. I don't know if I'm coming back out, but I feel hope bubbling to the surface of my skin. I'm seeing things open up.

I'm seeing the sun shine of friendly faces. Old and new, the possibility of things that are warm and inviting. I am feeling tiny urgings, to cook (repent now, I'm pretty sure that a Traci cooking is one of the first signs of the Apocalypse), to maybe ask friends over to dinner, to play games and to dance and even clean. I think showering and doing my hair might take more prominent roles in my future.

I am hopeful.

I am hopeful because there is a life of Big Things waiting for a prodigal me. Those big things, I think more often now, are probably things I will witness rather than do. And that makes me happy. I don't know if that can sound as happy as I feel it. I have love to feel. I have people to watch and wonder at. I have God's beauties to behold. I am taking feeble steps at being bounteous in spirit again. I don't have a lot to give, but it's getting to be more, and I think I am on the mend.