Ash Wednesday Diary

Like most plain women, I'm incurably vain. (We primp more than natural beauties do, because we must). So this is my least favourite day of the year.

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, six weeks of almsgiving and self-denial ending Easter Sunday. Today Catholic priests rub a cross of ashes on the foreheads of the faithful-a sign of penitence, and a reminder of our mortality.

I walk up Bay St to St Basil's, part of a dense, urgent stream of strangers. As the noon bells toll, we hustle toward the church, like movie peasants trotting toward a miracle, The Song of Bernadette in modern dress. St Basil's is standing room only, practically unheard of during "ordinary time." A few hundred growling stomachs. (I only remembered this was a fast day after eating my morning banana.) I must be in the "zealous young priest" ash line-those returning to their seats seem to have barbecue briquettes glued to their foreheads. Why oh why did I grow out my bangs?

After Mass I run some errands. A couple of clerks glance up at my blackened brow, wink and ask, not unkindly, "How was Mass?" It's a relief to feel understood. Mostly, passersby register looks ranging from soon-to-be roadkill alarm to urbane indifference.

At Yonge and Bloor a guy dressed as a chubby brown pint of Guinness bounces around, handing out flyers. Finally, someone who looks weirder than I do. If I still drank, the sight would inspire me to quit. Which reminds me: what to give up for Lent? I don't smoke anymore, am down to one coffee and a couple of Cokes a week. One year, I gave up "hating Malcolm," one of my comrades-in-disarmament in the Reagan era peace movement. He was bombastic, furious (and I see now, terribly lonely). So for Lent I stopped calling him nasty names behind his knapsacked back. And, oddly enough, Malcolm in turn got nicer and nicer. Which freaked us all out so much I had to start being mean to him again... I could stand to lose a few pounds of pride, by asking people I've harmed to forgive me. As I write this, the Pope's delivering his sweeping mea culpa, asking the world's forgiveness for past sins committed by Catholic "brothers and sisters," "sons and daughters." Funny how women share 50% of the guilt, but 0% of the power...

Hey, maybe I should give up sarcasm. Oh, yeah, sure...

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