November

Here's a column I've submitted to The Tinytown Gazette, but I wanted to share it early:

November, November. It’s not balmy like August or glittery like December. Bare trees stand under often-gray skies, and the flowers have all gone by. It’s not the prettiest month, but I love November for a cornucopia of reasons.

It begins with my favorite church feasts: All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. I love thinking of all the good people who have gone before us and who surely are in Heaven. In particular, I remember my dear grandmother, whom I love and miss so much. I think of my uncle Howard, who died far too young (at 37) from cancer. I think of my aunt Charlene, who joined her husband a few years later. And I still remember Brian Campbell, a middle-school friend who carried around a heart problem that killed him after we had gone our separate ways in high school. I hope his little heart has been filled with joy for the twenty-something years he’s been gone.

November also brings school conferences, when I get to talk to my kids’ teachers for more than a hurried greeting on the playground. This is a new pleasure, with Abby in first grade and Brian in preschool. Even if the news isn’t all glowing, I like hearing from the people who spend the most time with my children, outside of our family. As the kids get older and more independent, conferences with their teachers give me a window on their developing lives.

The November air is crisp and chilly. No chance of sweating between the house and the car now. The leaves crackle underfoot and the sun is still warm. And when the rain comes down sideways, soaking every inch not wrapped in a raincoat, the fireside is perfect for drying out.

Of course, November’s defining holiday is Thanksgiving. That Thursday has become my favorite holiday in adulthood, replacing Christmas, which is more busy than fun. Part of the reason is that Thanksgiving always meant a four-day weekend when I was a corporate worker bee. But now that I make my own work schedule and typically host the dinner, it’s really all about the food.

For someone who likes to cook, Thanksgiving is the Super Bowl and the Fourth of July rolled into one. There’s the busy-ness of planning and preparation, trying to find the right balance of traditional favorites and horizon-expanders. There’s the shopping – done early to avoid the crowds – and delegation to guests who are eager to contribute (since I don’t make pies, it’s up to my mother-in-law. Otherwise we’ll eat Oreos for dessert.)

Then it’s game day. My master schedule is taped to the cabinet doors, and the oven is cranked. I’m happily chopping and stirring and basting all day. I usually forget to iron the tablecloth, but once it’s covered with platters and plates, no one will see the wrinkles, anyway.

Finally, the bird has rested and it’s dinnertime. Amid the culinary fireworks, there’s usually a dud, but by that time I can let it go. The wine is poured, the turkey carved, and we’re thankful for each others’ company.

After dinner, I don’t look at the reams of sale flyers that come with the newspaper. I’m a master online shopper, and already have a growing stash of gifts squirreled away. So I can enjoy the day without getting lost in anticipation of that other holiday in December.

So pour me another glass of wine, and leave the dishes, for now. Don’t mention a word about Christmas shopping. Let’s just be thankful for the people, both here and in the hereafter, that gather together with us in November.