When I peeked into Facebook last night, I was rather baffled to find that nearly everyone was talking about pancakes for dinner.  Huh? Pancakes? Sure, we like to have breakfast-for-dinner as much as the next family, but why on earth was everyone doing it at the same time?

Apparently, it was Fat Tuesday and according to tradition,  we were all supposed to eat pancakes to use up all the butter, eggs and sugar in the house.  (Of course, there was another small group that were dining on Jambalaya, and one healthy soul who showed off her lovely stir fry. It was definitely the night to show-off dinner.)  Before my addiction to mild interest in Facebook, I would have been perfectly happy with my dinner of tepid gruel. Suddenly, I felt terribly left out. 

I was still thinking about my lack of pancakes when I texted my friend Sue an hour of so later.  I needed to confirm that we were indeed meeting at the gym in the wee hours of the morning as we had tentatively agreed on.  (I have to admit that I was secretly hoping she had broken her toe or something so that we could postpone our commitment to daily workouts again.)  Sue answered that she was perfectly healthy and was ready to meet me at the gym.  Then, good sport as she is, without even asking why I wanted to know, she let me know that her family had not eaten pancakes, nor jambalaya.

As I stumbled along on a treadmill to nowhere this morning, I told Sue that it was Lent and we had to give something up.  My friend just looked at me for a moment, before shaking her head and reminded me that I don’t celebrate Lent. 

She was right.  I don’t celebrate Lent. 

In fact, growing up, the only family I knew that celebrated it happened to be my best friend that lived two houses away from me.  Mostly what I remember was the feeling of special celebration and the palm fronds her mother reverently placed behind the crucifix hanging on the living room wall.   I vaguely remember she had to give up something important to her.  I’m pretty sure they didn’t have pancakes though.  

It didn’t matter to me.  I hate feeling left out and felt I had to give something up.  Sue sighed in that patient way she has and said that we could both give up being lazy.

Rats.  I was hoping it could be more along the lines of giving up pancakes…which I don’t particularly care for anyways. 

I need to get to bed as the new non-lazy Susan has to be back at the gym in the wee hours of the morning for the second day in a row.

This is going to be harder than I thought. 



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4 Responses to Pancakes

  1. Brenda Vanderloop says:

    yup…Lent meant we gave up all sweets, Mass every morning, a rosary every night (on our knees…yes one of the contributing factors to my lack of knee cartilage today) and of course, only fish on Friday. And the palm fronds were from Palm Sunday and hung on our wall a good share of the year as they probably did hers. Guess I would have rather had pancakes!!

  2. Susan says:

    I don’t know that they went to Mass every morning…I guess I didn’t pay that much attention. I was always facinated by the palm fronds though…especially as we lived in San Diego and palm trees were everywhere outside.

  3. I used to be fascinated by Lent as well, not so much that I wanted to give something up as I thought it was cool to say, “I can’t, I gave that up for Lent.”

  4. Dave says:

    I’m glad I found this blog, what a cute story and I was laughing out loud reading the part about Lent and how for a split second you thought you’d have to give something up for it. 🙂

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