Much to celebrate

Some sort of harmonic convergence has created a glut of specialness in the crowded February calendar. I don't recall as close a concentration of holidays, both civil and religious, in such a short period of time. Or maybe, since I have no life to speak of, I'm more acutely aware of this abundance of red-letter days to sit up and take notice.

Imbolc is a new one in my recovering-Protestant consciousness. It falls halfway between winter solstice and spring equinox and marks the returning light following the darkest part of the year. They say that in agrarian societies it was the time when the new lambs were born, another sign of renewed life and growth. Also called St. Brigid's Day by later Christian cultures, Imbolc is associated with fire and healing and poetry.

Super Sunday, a modern made-for-TV holiday, is the biggest annual event in the civil religious spectacle that is professional sport, and therefore it qualifies as a holiday for purposes of circling the date, planting oneself in front of the tube, and celebrating with friends, or lacking friends, with one's spouse, who has the patience of Job and rarely gets one's undivided attention so she'll take what she can get, especially if the New York State of Mind Giants pull an amazing upset of the bad-guy cheating megalamaniacal New England USA Patriot Acts, infamous for their domestic surveillance and subsequent wrist-slap and destruction of evidence. Serves 'em right.

Mardi Gras, aka Fat aka Shrove Tuesday, happens to be Super Duper Tuesday on the political calendar, a biggie regardless of your personal disposition toward Lent, piety, Carnaval, dancing in the street with your krewe, or poll-driven party politics. It will be wild and fractious, especially on the Democratic side, and will probably get a little out of hand, so what else is new in the world of pseudo-events that responsible adults are supposed to take seriously.

In both cases, wretched excess is the order of the day. I can't help but wonder about the fallout from staging a de facto national primary election in about half of the states on the same day our neighbors to the south have the biggest party of the year. Okay, maybe that's only fitting, and it's a time to party for the Party of your choice, but if you're going to stay up late, do you really want to be watching talking haircuts tally delegates in front of a color-coded map?

Ash Wednesday, of course, is the day after Fat Tuesday, and where I come from this is only slightly less exotic than Imbolc. Something about a smudge denoting penitence and humility. Help me out here, my Catholic friends, I was raised to not know about such things. As the follow-up to Mardi Gras and its indulgence, Ash Wednesday involves fasting and quiet, the yin to Tuesday's yang, the ascetic follow-up to the ecstatic revelry. Okay, I think I get it.

The very next day is the beginning of the lunar new year, or Tet, which this year brings the Year of the Rat. Like Carnaval season, this is more than a holiday, it's a couple of weeks of celebrating for those who really get into it. And, like Imbolc, it is connected with the big wheel of the sky turning in its regular cycle. And like both, it probably means more to those born to the culture, which means the rest of us can have, at best, a once-removed appreciation, which is still worthwhile.

Lest we forget the big patriotic days - Lincoln's birthday, Washington's birthday, and the lame official compromise known as President's Day, whereupon Abe and George and their parents can commmence turning over in their graves. My calendar also says Flag Day is coming, too, so I should expect some earnest flag-waving in Methodistville.

Not to mention the ultimate Hallmark holiday, also important for florists and candy makers, smack in the middle of the month, Valentine's Day. Call me unromantic.