Punctuation Marks, and Jesus.
Well, as I continue on my quest to learn how to write proper, I've now successfully reached page 547 of 'Punctuation Marks - And How To Use Them'. It won't be long now before I'll be on 'Grammar for Dummies' - and something called 'Syntax'. No, me neither. Ah well, never let it be said I'm someone who would deny myself a challenge, and if you bear with for the next decade my ambition to write for 'The Sunday Sport' may just come to fruition. In the meantime, I'm still hopeful of receiving the 'Joe Biden Literacy Award' for achievements in blogging.
Well, what do you know? Apparently, today is Palm Sunday and there isn't a palmist open anywhere! So, it looks like the reading of my life, heart, marriage, head, and money lines will have to wait for another day when no pun intended, I have less time on my hands. Almost coincidentally, it is a day when Catholics everywhere, and some even of the Roman variety, attend church for a ceremony that can involve processions and the distribution of blessed palm leaves. In some churches, the palms are saved and burned into ashes to be used on Ash Wednesday of the next year - and although there is no clear evidence to support it, Catholics in Amsterdam enjoy a similar ceremony in the spirit of Jesus, and call it Hash Wednesday.
Anyway, according to folklore, Palm Sunday commemorates the Christian belief in the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, when he was greeted by cheering crowds waving palm branches that set out the ground along his path. Well, at least traditionally that's how it went. Whereas nowadays you're more likely to find people marching through the streets shouting "Free Palestine", with poor old Jesus not even getting a look in. Mind you, this particular ceremony is usually only reserved for a Saturday, in all fairness.
How do I know so much, you may well ask? Well, to be honest, I'm what is called a 'lapsed Catholic'. Actually no, that isn't true at all. I'm more of a prolapsed Catholic. You know, prolapsed, like the rear end of a gay male. Or, not to be taken as sexist, the front lower middle region of the female.
Yes, you've got it, that part. By the way, was any of that offensive, and should I move hastily on now? Okay then, I will. We'll perhaps leave Jesus until this time next week when he's over 2,000 years old, and Christians the world over will be celebrating his birthday with chocolate eggs, because, as we all know he was rather partial to a 'Celebration'. Although, perhaps not so much the one where he was nailed to a cross - a tradition still seemingly carried on by courts in Saudi Arabia from time to time, and Sudan, I believe.
Old habits die hard, huh?
On reflection, I think I've done rather well this week. So far, at least, I've probably gained several fatwahs from our Muslim friends, and now I face being completely excommunicated by the religion of my childhood. Can life get much better, I ask myself? Well, it sure ain't for the want of trying.
Meanwhile, life will go on, as per usual, and for the time being, other stories will tickle my humour genes, because every hour of every day issues are pretty much deliberately hurled at me to catch and make light of in the moment, for the delectation of me, and you.
In an increasingly insane world where stupid people who deserve to have their toenails clipped by a chainsaw live among us and are allowed to vote, isn't it good to know that the one real salvation we have is a sense of humour that will enable us through any, and all situations when put to work?
So, I find myself full circle now, and back where I started. Punctuation marks, and Jesus.