Boring November

The month of November has always been blah to me. Even its name seems boring and dark. As a child, October was filled with falling leaves, orange, yellow and red flames in unsuspecting places on city streets, and sweater-worthy temperatures. If I was lucky, I would see the first snowflakes in October. December was a stellar month. It was the month of more likelihood of snow, of Christmas morning and Christmas vacation. December was like a crisp apple, sweet and challenging to the teeth. But all November had was Thanksgiving, a boring brown celebration filled only with food that would last for a week in the fridge.

November had grey skies and cold rain. Temperatures would fall low enough for a hat, but there would be little chance of white fluffy streets. Yes, it might snow, but it wouldn't last long, and it would likely be washed away the next day by cold rain. My childhood November was an eternal wait between bright October and sparkling December.

Of late, November has kept its spirit of blah. The normal November weather in this corner of Spain is grey skies and cold rain. Though that's the usual weather during all of winter. November is the month of dwindling days and waxing darkness, when it seems summer has betrayed us and surrendered us to a dark, damp room. It's getting colder, but it's an annoying cold, damp and just cool enough to shiver in the house, but not cold enough to turn on the heaters as well as the wood stove. It's the month of remembering to visit the cemetery between rain storms to take away the sad, brown, moldy flower arrangements that have languished in the rain since All Saints' Day. It's the month of watching the sun appear later and later on the bedroom wall, when it appears. It's the month of sighing as I look at the calendar and realize there are still many months to spring and new life.

I suppose it's the growing lack of light that affects me. It's always been a boring month, and has gotten only more boring with time. Nothing special happens in November. I never really liked Thanksgiving when we were in Boston, and I don't particularly like All Saints' Day other than seeing the twinkly lights in the cemeteries when darkness falls. I don't like stepping out of bed to a cold room, either, and then deciding which layers to put on, rejecting garments that don't marry well together. Summer is the season to stick my feet in slip-ons, chuck on shorts and a t-shirt and head downstairs for breakfast. From November or October onwards I have to put on socks, tie up shoes, put on t-shirts, blouses, turtlenecks or sweaters, and jeans. 

I suppose, though, that I should savor each day that appears. Whether cloudy, rainy or sunny, it is another day to live and perhaps laugh at something. As the years go on, the days in my future become less. Even boring November should be appreciated.