Pan­cake Day

The Compass - - Editorial - Harold Wal­ters My Im­per­fect Slant

was ex­ceed­ingly stund.

man honey,” says Dear­est Duck, “are you sure you have out­grown…”

mit me my delu­sions.” Start again.

- en­light­ened scholar, the road from school to home passed Granny’s door. Fre­quently, she’d call me in to lunch rather than have her favourite grand­child trudge all the way home and back for af­ter­noon classes.

Bet your loonies, Granny never missed beck­on­ing me from her kitchen win­dow on Pan­cake Day even though she

- cakes stacked high for sup­per. pan­cake con­tain­ing money — of­ten a 50 cent piece the size and thick­ness of half an Oreo.

ma­neu­vered the serv­ing plate so that Pop found the nail, she

couldn’t miss the money prize. See, stund as a stump. Nowa­days, if Dear­est Duck cooks a batch of flap­jacks she doesn’t tuck in the tra­di­tional good­ies. Not only that, but she

- cakes with half a jug of Aunt Jemima.

Of course, if our grand­daugh­ters hap­pen to be vis­it­ing, she heaves in a dou­ble load of good­ies and passes the plat­ter in a

find a prize.

Well, maybe the nail. -

nary a clue about the re­li­gious bay-boys ought not know.

that…” “Don’t say the

- nes­day fol­lowed Shrove Tues-

about the busi­ness of hav­ing one’s brow crossed with ashes as a sign of re­pen­tance.

Our cove was shore-to-shore got too close to the stove and re­ceived a face full of soot, for frig sake.

says Dear­est Duck. word, my

gi­ant leap.

The sea­son of Lent — which knowl­edge­able folks know com­mences with the feed of pan­cakes on Shrove Tues­day — be­gins just in time for back-slid­ers who have bro­ken

re­new their vows, so to speak.

As an act of faith, as an act of sac­ri­fice, peo­ple pledge to for­sake pas­times both sin­ful and plea­sur­able — not al­ways the same thing.

Smok­ing was, and is, a pop­u­lar vice to lay aside for 40 days in hope — p’raps — of break­ing the habit.

Eat­ing too much yummy grub — from su­gar bick­ies to boiled beef — is an­other favourite, a means of over­com­ing the a re­cent No­ble prize-win­ning poet, “Things have changed.”

there are lists posted of pos­si­ble things to con­sider do­ing without for Lent.

the op­tion of quit­ting ob­ses­sive Twit­ter­ing and play­ing games on smart­phones and tablets.

With this sign of the times

Dear­est Duck’s rocker/glider where she moved back and forth — rocky, rocky — all the while con­cen­trat­ing on her iPad’s screen.

“Soon be Lent, my Duck,”

“Umm,” said Dear­est Duck, glid­ing and rock­ing. “Since my occasional in­ter- cau­tiously, “do you think you

Glid­ing and rock­ing ceased. Dear­est Duck glared at me as if she were imag­in­ing her Prince as a hoppy- be­come a stony statue. Truly.

“Okay, some­thing else then,” daily dram of Ten­sion Tamer tea.

Aban­don­ing the daily hunt for frozen cho­co­late chip cook­ies is an­other pos­si­bil­ity. eyes that’s not go­ing to hap­pen.

My stund­ness was ev­i­dent dur­ing dinner at Granny’s. I be­lieved I was Lady Luck’s bay-boy be­cause I al­ways got the pan­cake con­tain­ing money — of­ten a 50 cent piece the size and thick­ness of half an Oreo.

sin­ful man.

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