I am somewhat of a spiritual person, although I wouldn’t call myself religious. I was raised a Catholic but don’t practice much of the rituals nor subscribed to a variety of the beliefs now in my twilight years. But I prepared myself when I visited aunt Sophie. Now here’s a lady that could serve mass and give communion, remembering to wash the chalice with the holy water that must go directly into the ground. Don’t ask me, it’s a legitimate belief. If you looked up the meaning of Catholic in your wikipedia you’ll probably find her photo there. She’ll sit at the right hand of the Father when she travels up above at a later date. So we pulled into her locked community, stopping at the gatehouse and answering a multitude or questions before proving with my license that I was really who I said I was. I imagine the safety factor lends a grand sense of security to the inhabitants but the interrogation was a bit foreboding. Once there, my aunt kissed and hugged and gleamed in announcing Fat Tuesday would commence in preparation of Wednesday’s meatless meals. Appetizers made from plant life was followed by a sweet and sour salad that tantalized the taste buds to extremes. The entree was homemade stuffed peppers the size of cannonballs of the Army of the Republic.
Tomorrow would be Ash Wednesday, and with the soot adorning her forehead, she announced we would prepare for a the beginning of the fish fry season in America.