Moose Factory Journal

ASH WEDNESDAY

Custom provides that on Shrove Tuesday — Fat Tuesday — Mardi Gras — we eat pancakes. Last night we ate pancakes — and sausage — and bacon — at the Parish Hall. Lots of warm fellowship and hot tea.

Custom also provides that on Shrove Tuesday we burn the palms used in last year’s Palm Sunday procession and celebration. The ashes, then, are used on the next day at the Ash Wednesday Liturgy — when we make a little smudge on our foreheads — a little reminder of where we came from and where we will all end up — someday.

Up here, however, we don’t use palms. We use cedar branches. For my last two Ash Wednesdays here I had used palm ashes that I had brought with me from the States. Yesterday, however, I burned cedar branches, so that we might have cedar ashes today.

I had a plastic bag with several of the cedar branches left over from last year. I rummaged around in the bag; whatever wouldn’t ‘snap’ came out; the rest I poured into an old roasting pan. Most of what I had was the dried out foliage from the branches. Anything amounting to a stem would break easily. I figured I had a combustible mix here.

It was a warm day — only around 0* (F). The sun was out. I brought roaster and cedar outside. I wasn’t going to take any chances so I poured some rubbing alcohol on the pile and lit a match. The mixture definitely burned! With a stick I mixed it around while it was burning. I wanted everything to burn as much as it could.

Within the hour I had a roaster with lots of ashes. Now came the hard part. I brought everything inside and mushed the cinders around with a spoon. I then ran them through a rough meshed sieve. That took another half hour. I would have done better if i had worn a mask. A lot of the dust went up my nose. My work resulted in a pickle jar full of fresh good ashes.

St. Thomas’ now has ashes enough for the next 25 years. But maybe I’ll try to talk the kids into doing it next year. It’s easy, and it’s fun.

Elsie has been agitating — or politiking — since August 2002 to DO SOMETHING about the carpet in the Rectory. She has not been without just cause.

The Rectory was carpeted — top to bottom — wall to wall — maybe in the late eighties or early nineties with an indoor/outdoor/industrial variety of carpet. When I arrived, it was dark green — sort of beige/green — and singularly unattractive. The carpet just killed light.

Also, the carpet was not properly installed — at least in the Living Room. Large wrinkles or carpet wandered through the center of the room.

And that’s not all! The carpet in the basement was subjected to a number of nasty floods and never quite recovered. It DID breed mold — lots of it. By the time I came on the scene several devout souls could not enter the building without enduring asthmatic attacks.

The Vestry finally was compelled to meet upstairs in my living room, because of the foul & moldy air in the basement. This provoked two reactions. One was guilt. The Sunday School meets in the basement. “If we can’t stand it, what must it be like for those poor dear children?” So folks started thinking about fixing up the basement.

However, when we met upstairs in the living room of the Rectory, people didn’t like that either. The Vestry found the carpet distracting.

At Annual Meeting, somehow, the subject came up. Instantly there was a pledge of a donation for a new floor in the living room. Bobby became a man with a purpose. The next day he went out and bought new tiles for the living room floor.

I’m afraid I may have done Bobby wrong at that point. There were ladies in the Rectory soon after the tiles arrived. I showed them the tiles. THEY disapproved of the tiles. The color was wrong. AND they objected to not being consulted about the color of the tiles in the first place. When did men ever know anything about the proper color?

Bobby heard of this and announced that what he got was what was within the budget. And that was that. More ladies visited and inspected and discussed the matter.

Then another donation came in — for a better floor.

So Bobby went out and bought better tiles for a better floor.

The originally purchased floor went to the basement for installation there.

This last week, Lawrence and Bobby put in the new floor.

Somehow a new floor wants new furniture. Another donation came in. New furniture was ordered and arrived yesterday. Everyone seems content. If, indeed, furniture (or floor) maketh the man, I am reborn! It’s better than anything I was ever used to!