Ashed & Smashed: DC Edition

Today is the first annual DC Ashed & Smashed, and if you are not familiar, it is a holiday in which Dana and I created ourselves. It’s been so long now that I do not remember what year it was, but Dana came to hear me sing at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral and then we went to Jake’s Grill in the Governor Hotel for drinks. We both had Hurricanes, which were inexplicably blue (Portland, eh), but the way the holiday got started is that the hostess saw the ashes on our foreheads and said, “Happy Ash Wednesday!” I turned to Dana and said, “is that like Happy Root Canal?” We went over and over what our holiday should be called.

Blessed and Blasted

Kneeling and Reeling

I’m sure there were a few others, but “Ashed and Smashed” won by a landslide. It’s been at least ten years, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I was reminded of it as I passed the Lutheran church, because their priests were ashing people in their cars as they went by. I am not sure of the theological precedence of that, because my tongue-in-cheek smartass answer (always) is “would you like fries with that?” I think it has more to do with thinking that the ashes are more to show off for your coworkers than you could possibly get in an run-by ashing. But I could be wrong. Lots of churches have had success with it, but it is not my theological cup of tea.

Tonight at CCC we are combining the Ash Wednesday service with pancakes, which is also theologically weird, but it has been proven over and over that people will not show up to things two nights a week at church. For those not in the know, pancakes on Fat Tuesday got started because during Passover, you could not make anything leavened. Pancakes were a way to use up all the yeast, fat, etc. before the penitential season.

Emotionally, I am trimming all my own fat this year. I think I’m going to give up my old stories to make room for new ones. I can’t really give up alcohol. I don’t drink enough for it to really cost me anything. For most people, it would be like giving up broccoli when they don’t eat it, anyway….. like George H.W. Bush. 😛

Time to run for the train.

Love you miss you mean it.



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