The Lean Days of Lent

ROWING UP in St. James Parish in the 1950s, my siblings and I were not aware of the festivities of Mardi Gras 55 miles downriver in New Orleans. All we knew was that when Ash Wednesday rolled around, my mother had all eight of us lined up at the altar rail to get ashes. Thus began the holiest season of the year, when the church was draped in purple cloth to represent mourning and our Friday evenings were spent praying the Way of the Cross and attending adoration, which was truly a sacrifice