I’m an old atheist.

Non-Belief runs in my family as strongly as the acceptance of the Divine.

I was raised a Catholic.

The Old Religion.

My rejection of faith at the age of eight failed to deter my buying into the celebrations of the saints throughout the Church calendar; St. Brigid’s Day, St. Padraic’s Day, the Blessing of Throats, the Immaculate Conception, and most recently Ash Wednesday.

“Remember, man, ashes to ashes and dust to dust.”

Who could reject such certitude.

Aside from the burnt offering of incinerated Palm Sunday palms I have always attempted the second most important aspect of Lent i.e. the giving up of a pleasure and this year the old reprobate has decided to stop drinking beer, the holiest liquid of pagans and non-believers.

This evening in the Fort Greene Observatory I informed my landlord/friend AP about this attempt and asked, “You think I can get to the end of Lent without drinking beer?”

“When’s the end of Lent?” AP was spiritual, but not religious.

“Holy Thursday.” Some sinners regarded Palm Sunday as the finish line.

Not me.

“And when is that?”

“April 2nd.”

“That’s six weeks away.” AP was an architect and had a good head for numbers.

“Over forty days.” Jesus had gone forty days in the desert without succumbing to the temptation of Lucifer. “You think I can make it?”

“Not a chance.” AP hooted in derision, but he wasn’t taking into consideration the frigid weather. Beer below zero was ‘tref’, plus I like my wine in the cold climes.

“You wanna bet?’

“No way.”

His son James stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the Forth Greene Observatory.

“James, you think I can not drink beer for forty days.”

“No way.”

“You want to bet your allowance.” I gave him and Hippie Girl, his sister, a dollar each every week.

“No way.” Like father like son, but I’m sure I’ll find a sucker to take my bet.

I didn’t drink beer on Ash Wednesday and I made it through today.

Only forty days to go.

Like the rain of Noah and the fast of Jesus.

If those two can do it, then I can too.