Leeches and so forth

Warning: Long post ahead - take a bathroom break first

I was a little sad today to realize that Ash Wednesday had come and gone without me realizing it. I had been hoping to give something up for Lent. Even though we Mormons don't formally observe Lent, it's as good a time as any to renounce a vice. I briefly toyed with giving up TV, but Lost is back and American Idol is in full swing and there's a new episode of The Office on tonight and it gets dark really early here and.... I just couldn't do it.

I also considered giving up procrastination, but that problem is much too intractible to be summarily done away with in a mere forty days. I'll be chipping away on that one from various angles for the next forty years, if I last that long. So I'll keep mulling it over and if I come up with something today, I'll get on board with Lent.

The other reason I was disappointed about missing Ash Wednesday is that it always brings back a handful of memories with startling clarity and gives me a chance to reminisce. A few memories that always come to mind:

1. Getting on the bus in Mexico on my mission and seeing all the other passengers filing on with gray smudges on their foreheads, and briefly wondering what that was all about. It did eventually dawn on me after I had rudely stared at a lot of people.

2. The year when one of my coworkers was in the process of converting to Catholicism in order to assuage her future in-laws with a church wedding. As I recall, leading up to the whole shabang, she brought in a pamphlet for me to read that explained the origins of and meaning of Ash Wednesday. She was totally on board with giving up Coke for 40 days; not so much the fornication.

3. The memory to which I shall dedicate the remainder of this post: My First and Last Bunco Night. This is my favorite of all Ash Wednesday memories.

My bestest of friends and long-time roommate, whom I shall refer to here as Jen Cool Um, was just commencing what she described as her "PR" year, or her first year of teaching at a local elementary school. She liked the job and really wanted to have her contract renewed and so she was bending over backward to please everybody in sight, up to and including her part-time teacher's aide. It turned out that the TA, a middle-aged woman with a lot of time on her hands, was part of a Bunco group, and she invited Jen to join.

Jen just didn't have the heart -- or the guts -- to turn down an offer like that at this delicate point in her career, so she agreed to join. She soon discovered that her membership in the Bunco group entailed not only attending the semi-monthly Bunco Evenings, but also hosting said evenings on a rotational basis. After unsuccessfully trying to envision a couple of dozen middle-aged ladies cramming into our two-bedroom apartment, Jen was able to arrange to host her evening at the TA's house. She still fulfilled her hostess duties by providing refreshments and the traditional three Bunco prizes, which as I recall came straight out of the re-gift box (I'll write a separate post on that box sometime).

By this time Jen was pretty seriously regretting this commitment and, since misery loves company, she talked me into going to Bunco with her. So we showed up on Ash Wednesday six (I can hardly believe it myself as I am typing it) long years ago. I don't know how to even begin to describe the evening, except to say that it was like being transported back in time, or maybe accelerated forward a few decades.

Jen Cool Um and I were younger than everyone in the Bunco group by at least a couple of decades, and the median age was significantly higher than that of our own parents. We stuck out like sore thumbs. Fortunately, the TA's house was tastefully decorated with crystal unicorn figurines, St. Louis Arch commemorative spoons, and the like, so at least there was plenty to look at and admire while we stood around awkwardly. After taking in the decor, we busied ourselves with the refreshments and the prize table and then mingled a bit.

I was almost immediately swept into a conversation dominated by a woman we'll call Gertrude. Apparently Gertrude's husband Bob had been hospitalized with heart trouble not too long before, and had only recently returned home from the hospital. Gertrude was sharing with us the details of Bob's condition, as well as several dismaying realizations she had had during Bob's absence. She always knew she was reliant on Bob ("He always opened the mail and paid all the bills") but when she "had to figure out how to gas up the Buick," she really knew she couldn't get along without him. That I didn't laugh out loud is a tribute to my impeccable tact, not to mention self-control.

The conversation soon drifted from Bob's health problems to those of Virginia, a member of the group who apparently was conspicuously absent. Virginia, from what I gathered, was something of a Bunco legend; she ran a couple of Bunco groups and belonged to several more. Unfortunately, she had recently undergone a mastectomy and Bunco was on hold while she recovered. Virginia's sister recounted the latest details of Virginia's post-surgical recovery. She was having periodic treatments in a hyperbaric chamber, but the most exciting aspect of her treatment was the leeching of her surgical incisions. We were all regaled with details of the leech application, which I shall spare you here. (Not to worry -- these are specially-raised, highly sterile, extremely professional medical leeches.) (Also, the only thing that makes me more squeamish than medical leeches are medical maggots.)

I could go on, but suffice it to say I spent the evening in a state alternating between bemusement and bewilderment. Somewhere in there a bunch of ladies showed up with ashes, bringing to my attention that it was Ash Wednesday.

Not too long after that memorable evening, Jen discovered that some previous commitments were going to conflict with Bunco evenings pretty routinely, and as it hardly seemed fair to frequently leave the group one person short, she reluctantly agreed to be demoted to "alternate". Thus ended our exciting foray into the geriatric Bunco community. It was a brief, exhilirating ride, and if I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that on evenings when I feel a touch of ennui, I sometimes wonder if Virginia or Gertrude might not be good company.

Next up -- Jen Cool Um and I Attend a PartyLite Event, or Exploiting Friends and Family for Fun and Profit