here comes November, but it might as well be spring

Tuesday was cool and sunny although from the terrace we could see threatening black and grey clouds doing what they do, that is, threaten - and overnight I heard thunder, heavy emphatic rain (no sprinkles) and hail. Wednesday it went from wet to dreary to misty to foggy and back to wet without dropping the dreary, and so I am reminded that November is coming. Thursday's rain started with noisy drumming after midnight, followed by hail, followed by more rain, drizzle and clouds.
I finally stepped out on the terrace, sullenly wondering whether if I had stuck to my 7th grade decision to stop getting haircuts, I would have had hair like Rapunzel's by now.
I went to school in Olden Times, variously also known as The Days of Yore or The Dark Ages. Just like the overworked serfs, we had to get up and walk over to the television to change the channel. In school, the class system was feudal: we had poor peasants - girls whose mothers didn't allow them to wear ballerinas to school because they gave the feet no support, boys whose social life was limited by the ownership of only one dinner jacket, teachers who parked their cars in nearby church parking lots and walked the rest of the way to school so they wouldn't be ashamed as they chugged past the students' parking lot. We had freaks, lepers, madmen, saints and outcasts, too, but although there were classes we did not have class solidarity. One learns early that junior high is practice for high school and high school is a brutal combat sport, you play hurt and no prisoners are taken. Rugby is for wimps. Endurance is finishing 10th grade.
Teachers who were afraid of the rose-lipped maids and lightfoot lads assigned Poems rather than ask for original products that had to be graded subjectively and therefore might lead to disagreement. In case you didn't know, a Poem is a collection of words that must be memorized in their exact order so that the words can be recited back on command lest another Poem be assigned.
I was an exceptionally good student in English, but spoke up too often because I had trouble connecting words with consequences. One morning it was announced that the school auditorium was going to be named, with great ceremony, after a distinguished graduate. After lunch in the school cafeteria, I suggested naming the cafeteria Dotheboys Hall. The English teacher was within earshot. In consequence I learned this Poem about November.

No sun--no moon!
No morn--no noon!
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--
No sky--no earthly view--
No distance looking blue--

No road--no street--
No "t'other side the way"--
No end to any Row--
No indications where the Crescents go--

No top to any steeple--
No recognitions of familiar people--
No courtesies for showing 'em--
No knowing 'em!

No mail--no post--
No news from any foreign coast--
No park--no ring--no afternoon gentility--
No company--no nobility--

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,

November!

Thomas Hood         

Adding to the bereft atmosphere that is this week's premature November, there are no more Hallowe'en decorations in the stores, apparently they were sold out by Labor Day. There are no more Thanksgiving decorations, either, except for the themed dishes. It appears that this isn't going to be a year when people decide that their Thanksgiving feast would be more festive if they invested in a set of dishes for 8 or 12, decorated with turkeys. There are plenty of such dishes marked down and lingering even though Thanksgiving is November 27th this year. A really grim sign: stores that were fully stocked with Christmas merchandise a week ago are already starting to mark it down.  I imagine we'll be looking at bunnies in February and back-to-school sales in April.

not fifty years. not really.

We thought you would not die—we were sure you would not go,
And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell’s cruel blow—
Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky—
O! why did you leave us, Eoghan? Why did you die?

My first crush was a little-girl crush on Our President. I had a crush on his whole family. The men were tall, the women were beautiful, the kids were adorable. Like the positive of Lake Wobegon, I think now. I loved how they all took care of each other, and how they all gave the impression of liking to hang around with one another. I imagined they were like our family, we had our differences, but we didn't talk trash about each other in front of strangers. Of course I loved hanging with my cousins, we were all goofy little kids, one of the aunts said watching us chase each other around a pile of leaves was like watching a pet shop window at feeding time. I figured one of our boys could grow up to be president, and my sister and I would get to have snappy clothes and a boat. I truly believed good things could happen and our handsome fearless President would protect us from bad guys.

Jack got good grades and went into politics,
so he didn't have to go on the force

Our President died young and died horribly. Dr. King died horribly. Our President's brother died horribly. Bad guys got badder. The world just stopped, and even after everyone stopped crying, things were never quite on track. Three of my five boy cousins died young. Neither of the remaining two became President, nor did I nor did my sister.

yes, he was a handsome lad

As an adult, you hear things that are not mentioned in front of children, you analyze history, facts, results in a way that children do not know. But not today, not this day, not now.

At this time of year, I bristle at things I might otherwise let go. I quiver when people speak disrespectfully of our elected officials, because I learned early on that disrespect leads to contempt and contempt can lead to terrifying tragedy. I know that we are entitled to express disagreement, and, especially at the state and municipal level, disagreement is often most accurately expressed with laughter. At the federal level, things are much more serious, and this calls for reason and cooperation, not contempt.

Defenceless under the night 

Our world in stupor lies; 

Yet, dotted everywhere, 

Ironic points of light

 Flash out wherever the Just 

Exchange their messages: 

May I, composed like them 

Of Eros and of dust, 

Beleaguered by the same 

Negation and despair, 

Show an affirming flame. 

In tragedy, I learned to pray for the President when I was quite young. Today in hope I pray for another president and his family, and I pray for peace. It's what we do in our family - we love one another.