Why is it that our holidays revolve around stuffing ourselves senseless with foods that we only eat once or twice a year? Thanksgiving may be the poster-child of disgusting overeating, wallowing somewhere in between the pain of stomach lining splitting and euphoric, momentary bliss in the sensation that one may actually never have to eat again. New Year's Eve is an all-out hedonistic bender, but New Year's day? Yep. New Year's Day, too.
Why did I eat two entire cans of blackeyed peas and a ream of collards today? Tradition. Because I'm supposed to on New Year's day. Because I'm superstitious that, after missing 2009's New Year's face-stuffing, if I miss 2010's, my prospects for any degree of luck (peas) or money (collards) will lillipute itself right off the map. My dad told me this afternoon something to the effect that no one needs the luck of the blackeyed pea more than I do. I think he's right, but as I slowly worked my way to the bottom of the bowl, forkful by forkful, I began questioning this hocus-pocus.
And by the bottom of the bowl, as my stomach stretched in bean-weight measure and I realized I was a little grouchy at having to partake, I thought: This is nothing more than voo-doo. I might as well throw the beans over my left shoulder or draw my adversary's face on the collard leaf to stick pins through it. In this dyspeptic revelation, I think how ridiculous it is to rely on a tradition like this uncomfortable and soon-to-be explosive gorging for a year's worth of good fortune. Why can't I make my own good fortune from pure intentions and effort?
As the end of 2009 showed me, that just doesn't work sometimes...
So, then again, flatulence and over-regularity seems a small price to pay for the assurance of a good year. Eat up. Gurgle gurgle.
Happy New Year!
