Well November, yes. Not at first, because at first, just like a newborn, you're gorgeous! Bright, vivid, oranges, reds, yellers, and then blah.. and then double blah as in whereinthehell is my rake. Finally, barren. Kinda like us old farts on Social Security.
Novem is Latin for 'nine', so, I tucked my hair up under my hat, got both hands out... started counting, got to ten and I was still on October.. the hell? I guess the very first Roman Calendar, November was actually the 9th month, then, January and February were added later, but, November kept being called November. Learn something new every... well, every 50 or 60 blogs.
November is when the ladies (mom ladies too) neatly put away shorts, short sleeve goodies to be preserved for Spring, the closet is transitioned, very neat and orderly. We men, on the other hand, have 113 hanging clothes in our closet when there is space for 47.. so, one by one, as Winter happens and we take out the shirt for the day, we peek so see if it needs a quick 4 minutes in the dryer.
November brings us Sadie Hawkins Day (too late chickies, it was on the 3rd... Election Day (next subject PLEASE), Will Rogers Day, Veteran'd Day (Yay! and thanks!).. of course Thanksgiving Day.. the start of Hanukkah, and the first Sunday of Advent.
Hardware stores are busy stocking ice melt, snow shovels, ice scrapers, sleds, saucers.. Most clothing chains already have their long sleeve junk on display, meanwhile, WalMart has pulled their second (and last) cashier so they can setup and display Spring Clothing.
Pumpkins still left out across town resemble us Senior Citizens, getting smaller, shorter by the day. Eager beavers already have the dadgum Christmas lights up which lends to "Please say no" and "oh, so pretty, I can't wait."
The World Series is old news... football is midseason... at least College Basketball is cause for excitement.. (Give me a program please, with all this transfer portal crap I have no idea who is even on our team.) Hockey and Soccer... well, I have no idea where they're at.
Speaking of eager beavers.. November brings us the full moon called The Beaver Moon. How come? I asked too.. it's because this time of year the beavers get ready to retire to their lodges, so... in the Colonial era, it urged hunters to get out, set their traps before the swamps froze. Imagine that, TWO I never knew that's within one blog. I'll seeya in 2025 or so. jk
Folklore: November take flail, let ships no more sail.. If the trees show buds in November, Winter will last until May.. Ice in November brings mud in December.. A heavy November snow will last until April. There is no better month to cut wood.
Thanksgiving. Kudos to all the women (and you men) that fix a turkey from start to scratch. Double kudos to my cousin's kid's hubby who posted a video of his wife cleaning the body cavity of the turkey out with her entire right hand entered whilst he played a Barry White love song. Maybe you had to see it. Twas fun.
OK, impetus behind this blog - twofold. One, I was bored. Two, to say thanks.
Thanksgiving for a long, long, long time was my favorite Holiday - and still ranks up there. Marriages, divorces, moving here and there, and sadly 'attrition' no longer afford (me at least) place settings for 20 or so relatives all sharing one table and a couplea turkeys. (That's grocery turkeys, not referring to relative turkeys).. God Bless each who still do this - and, like anything I guess, be thankful.
The past year and a half has been really tough for America. We've suffered loss, division and freedom to go do many things. May we pray for health and happiness for 2022.
This blog has been, can be a savior for me. Being divorced (and still no kitty cat, gotta work on that), normal discussion doesn't happen in the living room so I'm led here. Apologies, not really, if I overdo it. I love to write and I am so very thankful for your eyeballs here. In addition to a big belly, I've got a big keyboard, so to speak. I am honored by your presence - and I love you all.
Happy November....now... get your butt out there and rake the damn leaves from YOUR tree that are in the McIntire's yard.
By Henry (call me Turkey) Gibson,
Love, Victurd
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