Lenten rose.

For a girl raised in a deity-free liberal religious community, I've got a real thing for Christianity. I think it's kind of on par with kids who are denied sugary treats in their youth becoming total candy monsters later in life, but I have some serious Christian wannabe tendencies. Especially at this time of year, the darkest point in the calendar, Holy Week. I wrote about this last year, but I think it bears repeating. Maybe it's the masochist in me, but I love the whole idea of Lent, of giving something up and really missing it. None of this lame "oooh I'm giving up chocolate" bullshit--I think Lent should be about letting go of something that really brings you joy, like smelling the flowers, or giving yourself half an hour of solitude every morning to drink coffee and read the paper, or whatever. Not that I ever actually give these things up, but I sure admire the notion.

I used to think it was because suffering was just important, something that people should learn to do because life's just such a rotten thing and you're bound to be miserable in the end. But lately I've realized this kind of giving up is about more than just suffering--it's about acknowledging that things go away. When you give something up, you recognize that you're not always going to have it. You detach from the things that give you comfort (and the things that don't) and if you really commit to it, in the end, you find that all you have left is yourself, your choices, your life. It's not such a bad way to be.

Enough philosophizing for now. I'm reading Mommie Dearest and I cannot recommend it highly enough. Joan Crawford was a DOG, man!

Clearly I've given up intellectual content for Lent too. With that in mind, I leave you with David Brent.

Holy Thursday, Batman.

In case you didn't know, it's Holy Thursday today. Holy Thursday is kind of like the Christmas Eve of Good Friday, the saddest day in all the year for anyone who believes in Jesus. I am by no means a god-fearer, but something about this time of year really gets to me. I know a few wannabe Jewish folks, but not very many wannabe Anglicans. I may be one of the only ones. I blame my upbringing in Anglican choirs and my years spent at a quasi-Anglican college, and also the hymns. I am a sucker for a good hymn. I was in the chapel choir at Trinity College for a year, and while my attendance was spotty at best (Friday afternoon rehearsals? That's momma's drinkin' time.), the power of the music was the spiritual equivalent of a punch in the gut. I had no idea how many random feast days there were on the church calendar, how many incredibly particular songs were written for incredibly particular points in the year. Something about the detail and the devotion just really struck a chord with me. At the same time, though, I always felt a little weird and guilty about singing these songs that I'd never really believe in. I felt like an impostor.

Anyway, this time of year always gets me thinking about all those Lent hymns, the weeks of reflection and sadness leading up to the most horrible day of the year, followed by complete rebirth. I always think of the opening of The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot, another wannabe Anglican who actually followed through and converted. I love those first lines:

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory with desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

As lovely as springtime is, as much of a relief as it is to see the snow melt away, there's something vulnerable about this time of year. Coming out of hibernation is scary. You never know what you're going to find under that blanket of ice. Here's hoping for something amazing.

Happy Holy Thursday. I'll be celebrating by driving down the 401 with my fur baby crying in the back seat, listening to the entire Bob Dylan catalogue, and wishing I'd given up lone wolves and bad ideas for Lent.