NOVEMBER

November is my favorite month of all, Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. I muddle through October. October is when I first encountered the teacher. October was also the final "IT" with Daniel, the priest. The colors and smells are quite provoking. October is also the month my Dad died, October 22nd to be exact. It is 25 years this year - a very odd and distant, yet 'only yesterday' marker. My Mom 'sees' him and 'talks' to him on a regular basis. I love her stories of such meetings. I hang on every word. He has visited her while she was hanging clothes on the line. He wrapped his arms around her and whispered, "Don't cry, I can't stay long". She has felt him in their bed, full form, lying next to her, his breath on her neck. He told her it takes three days to get to heaven and that everyone has their own room and an assigned job. He said his room is next to a room in waiting for her and that his job is building bridges. It seems there is a fine and cross-able line between 'here' and there' and my Dad crosses over often. For those of you who believe, this is comforting. For those of you who don't, - this is all hooey and I imagine disturbing.
I love ominous days with dark clouds and crisp air while the wind forces leaves to scatter and fall. I enjoy wearing jean jackets and thick socks with boots and bulky sweaters with sleeves long enough to hide my hands. When my long dark wavy hair gets tussled in a breeze I am empowered as I lift my head to experience the full impact. Once the leaves have all fallen and the trees are bare I am completely at peace. I purchase gourds and pumpkins and burn candles with spiced scents such as cinnamon, ginger, maple, clove, apple and pumpkin. Coffee tastes better sipped slowly while out on our deck, seeing my breath and steam from my cup as I take in the calm mystery of November.
November is the month I write my "Why I am Thankful For You Letters". I have been writing these for over 10 years. My Mom has every one I wrote about her neatly tucked in her very worn and very old Bible. I write a letter to everyone who graces our Thanksgiving table at dinner. The cast of characters have been many along with the wonderful constants. Some years, if one of my daughters were dating a, shall we say, questionable type, I would struggle to find words of Thanksgiving. But I did.
I can't write about Thanksgiving without mentioning my "famous stuffing". Folks that know me well put in requests for 'to go' containers to be sure they get some regardless if they are having Thanksgiving dinner with us, or not. I love the sounds and smells of the day. Our home is filled with the aroma of the turkey sizzling wrapped in the warm sounds and smells of our wood burning stove filling the air with warm earthy comfort. The Macy's Day parade marches on as we unwrap gold flatware and our Indian dishes and hope we have enough wine glasses for the beau je' lais. Each persons letter of "Why I Am Thankful For Them" is proudly placed on their plate. I believe tradition is so important My family has come to count on these simple and purposeful traditional acts of kindness. Each person reads their letter out loud before the eating begins and it is then known, by all at our table, with whom they are breaking bread. There are tears and laughter, alike. Time stands still, or so it seems.
This year someone new will be at our table. Not new to our family, but rather their first time coming for Thanksgiving dinner. I always get a little more excited about the 'new letters' I need to write.
And so November is a very special and savored month for me. Every year I am renewed at this time. Faith and hope abounds despite any harsh realities we are facing. November and what it means to me, provides balance between the two. Not to say I don't find balance the rest of the year, but rather November is more like an annual event, a fund raiser for all that is good and 'just'.
Don't you think we all need a personal fundraiser to restore harmony? I do, I truly do.

Here's to whatever works for you. Cheers!

Gail
peace.....