For Christians around the world, Fat Tuesday is seen as a day to commit sins just before beginning repentance on Ash Wednesday. Luckily, these sins usually involve indulgences with drink, gluttony with food and, of course, flashing strangers if you’re in New Orleans for Mardi Gras.

When I was living in London, I was introduced to yesterday’s holiday through a different name. The Brits — and citizens of former British colonies around the world — call the day of festive and digestive delights Shrove Tuesday. They also refer to the holiday by its nickname: Pancake Day. As the name implies, on the Tuesday before Lent begins, the Brits eat pancakes. They nosh on them in pubs, in palaces and in parks. It’s theoretically the final opportunity for people to indulge in sugar, fat, flour and eggs, which are restricted during Lenten fasting.

In Germany Shrove Tuesday is known as Fastnacht, and German Americans call Fastnacht by a different nickname: Donut Day.

I have friends from college who grew up in parts of Pennsylvania with large Pennsylvania Dutch populations, and they celebrate the holiday with nearly as much zeal as the Germans themselves. While most of the Pennsylvania Dutch are Lutheran, Reformed or even Anabaptist, they celebrate Fastnacht because the Catholic custom, which dates from the Middle Ages, survived in Protestant Pennsylvania. Similar to the Brit’s pancakes, the making of fasnachts (donuts) helps to use up fat and sugar prior to fasting.

Yesterday I ate a donut for a snack and pancakes for supper because I love any reason to celebrate a holiday with special food. I also needed a little more fuel in my body because while I knew Lent was approaching, I had Feb. 21 marked on my calendar for another special reason.

A couple weeks ago I attended my work health fair and signed up to donate blood at a later date. My blood type is O negative, which is something I mentioned on this blog a couple years ago. Blood banks are always thankful to replenish their universal stock, and I try to donate as often as I can.

The odd thing about the blood drive yesterday was that it was hosted on a blood mobile where I was actually supposed to donate right on a coach-style, medically equipped bus.

Notice how I said, “was.”

When I was sitting in the consultation room talking to the screening nurse about my health history I began to feel peculiar. The little room looked and felt like an airplane bathroom except that it was sterile rather than germ-invested like most corporate jet restrooms.

While I was speaking with the nurse my ears felt as if they had filled with cotton and my palms began to sweat. I saw a ring of glimmering stars and the floating diamonds formed a circle around my sight, eventually narrowing my focus to a small peephole and then blacking out my vision completely.

You would think that the final darkness I experienced was when I fell down in a faint as a limp puddle of bone and flesh on the ground, but I never lost consciousness.

Instead I was stuck in dreamy middle consciousness where my eyes were still open, and I kept blinking them hoping – and willing – my sight to come back. I could still hear everyone around me, speak and walked to a cot 10 feet down the narrow bus aisle. Granted, I was being led by the cautious nurse who I doubt understood that my eyes were open but I couldn’t see a thing.

Once I was sprawled out on the cot my vision came back after a few minutes. I was able to explain to the nurse that I’d never reacted like this during any of my previous donation attempts and had actually given blood a half dozen times in three different states. The nurse seemed a bit skeptical about my alleged success and said my black pupil had gotten so big that my iris wasn’t visible at all.

How’s that for creepy?

The nurse tried to calm my fears (and her own) and offer suggestions for the blind spell. She prompted me to wonder:

• Had I developed a sensitivity to needles suddenly and for no reason?
• Did I have “white coat syndrome” like another nurse offered as an explanation?
• Was I overheated…dehydrated…overly tired?
• Had I developed claustrophobia?

I don’t have an answer for any of these questions, so I’m going to assume that a ghost interfered with my blood drive. It is Savannah, America’s most haunted city, after all. Now, out with the ghosts and in with the Holy Spirit!

Happy Ash Wednesday, ya’ll.

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• Fat Tuesday
• Ash Wednesday
• religion
• holiday
• blood drive

I am incredibly excited for my upcoming Thanksgiving trip to Minnesota. Tonight I began filling my suitcase even though I don’t fly out until Wednesday, which means my level of anticipation has somehow overcome my intense hatred for packing.

Two of my coworkers took trips to the Midwest within the past few weeks, and they made me jealous with tales from Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota and South Dakota. It’s always hilarious to hear a Southerner recount experiences from up north. My coworker Travis attempted to test the authenticity of my Minnesotan farm girl-ness by texting me a photo of a calf from Wisconsin and asking, “What kind of cow is this?”

It was a Dutch Belted. He really should have chosen a more difficult breed.

Travis also did some philosophizing while he sat in his hotel room trying to escape the temperatures that seemed frigid to a South Carolinian but undoubtedly mild to everyone else in Wisconsin, I’m sure. He said:

The people of the Midwest are too d@mn nice. I think it’s the cold. I think their preservation instinct compels them to work as a unit because they know that’s the only way they’ll make it.

I don’t care what causes the “Minnesota nice,” but I feel long overdue for a giant dose of it. Also, I just might freeze my buns off this week.

• Tags
• minnesota
• weather
• thanksgiving
• holiday
• midwest