I don't have the heart to tell my parents Moses died. And by Moses of course I mean Charlton Heston. Easter wasn't exactly a festive affair in my childhood. As Protestants we weren't subjected to the self denying ritual of Lent. Matter of fact I doubt my family even knew of Lent, or else they would have gladly embraced the practice of publicly renouncing a worldly pleasure for the designated 40 days.
My family LIVED for self denial. New car? No no. We can do with that 2nd hand 1968 Chevy just fine. Mom actually denied herself food Friday nights in hopes of inducing a pious, penitant state for Sabbath the following day. I think all it induced was fatigue and hunger so rampant that she sat in a dazed hypnotic trance all through Church. When lunchtime arrived Mom would finally eat, and then collapse into the sofa while we did 'sabbath like things'. Such as listen to talk radio, play nature card games or take long naps.
All which explain my rampant hunger for all things wicked and pagan. Self denial, moi? Forsooth. Which is why I snack on teeny dense dark chocolate brownies for breakfast. Why I sip a glass of Kali Hart Chardonnay (or three) while I cook lunch, or dinner, or vacuum for that matter.
