Ash Wednesday

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. It snuck up on me like a Mardi Gras reveler who realizes that the last float has passed and it is time to put down the bottle of Captain Morgan's (remember, Joel?) and go home. We had church last night, but we also had the requisite potluck that comes with every evening service. Don't get me wrong, I love potluck, but my pastor's wife guilt was out in full force because I only brought a salad. A salad that consisted of greens that were pre-washed and in a bag, along with a container of blue cheese, a pint of strawberries, a handful of pecans, and a bottle of Newman's Own Balsamic Vinegar. It took me five minutes to put it together.

I felt guilty.

Guilty that the salad dressing wasn't homemade. The strawberries had not been dug from the dirt by my own hands. The cheese was not made from milk from my own cow. I know I wrote a post last week bragging about my pantry and how I could make a vat of tuna fish to feed the 5,000. Well, people, I just got back from vacation and went straight to work. I was supposed to be in Idaho this week, so everyone better be happy I made it to church, okay? Anyway, the salad looked so lovely on the plate, right next to the Church's fried chicken somebody else brought.

I am not alone.