Mark McNease

By Mark McNeease

Temperatures have plummeted, leaves have fallen, the gray days have taken on a certain despondency, depending on your mood. It must be November. I don’t have anything against it, and I always enjoy Thanksgiving, but there will always be something misplaced about the month, which I describe in further detail in this column from a few years ago. It still rings true.

NOVEMBER SEEMS LIKE AN ORPHAN month, stuck between the festivities of Halloween and the extravagance of Christmas. It’s that month when we wave goodbye to moderate weather, and say hello to furnaces and fireplaces. We watch leaves fall helplessly, their spectacular colors melting to a dull compost brown. November has a way of confirming our suspicions that nothing lasts forever. We get the tires checked or replaced, knowing they’ll soon be slipping and sliding in winter weather. We twiddle our thumbs, waiting for sleigh bells and gift ideas. November is just there, like a stretch of time spent in a waiting room. Eventually the door will open and we’ll be invited to the party, but in the meantime we’ll be reading a magazine on dental hygiene and hoping for the best.

November can be exciting if you celebrate a birthday, anniversary, or early retirement. But the month doesn’t offer much pizazz. It’s like February, that sad, short stretch of days sandwiched between the hopes of the new year and the tease of spring. November doesn’t announce itself with a confident, “I’m here, let’s have some fun!” It arrives with a sudden chill, reminding us to order new winter socks and get the space heater out.