November: That 'inbetween month'

Mr London Street

   in his post Thirty Day Trailer says - [why am I always quoting him? Well, he is a source of interesting ideas and he doesn’t squeak if one steals an idea as long as he is linked] -that he has a lot against November; calls it the ugly sister of the calender.

What I have against November is that it has come too soon, the way that Friday seems to come straight after Monday most weeks, and I'm buggered if I know what happened to Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday.

Of course I totally lost a month when I lost my place in blogland, but that does not explain what happened to September and August, or the 9am that becomes noon, missing out ten and eleven o/clock in the process, then in a twinkling it’s time for bed and I have done nothing to make this particular day any more remarkable than those which preceded it.

November is a sad month coming as it often does after the joys of an Indian summer and seeming to stave off the Christmas Season with an outstretched hand and a screaming ‘noooooo, not yet, please!’. It reminds us that once again we have not fulfilled the promise we made after last years frantic rush, never to leave it all to the last minute, again.

November causes havoc in the gardens and in leafy glens. After the splendour of autumnal colours the leaves fall and turn to squidgy slimy muck underfoot.

November is the month of remembrance. November the 11^th is marked by a two minutes silence, and the Sunday nearest to it is marked with pomp and ceremony, wreaths of Poppies, solemn marches to War Memorials all over the country and nationwide two minutes silence.

One year, on the 11^th I was in Canterbury, browsing around the Saturday market. I was totally absorbed in my own company and my search for something or other that was terribly important to me at the time. Truthfully, I had not noticed the date and wondered why so many people were standing around as if deep in thought. I wove in and out of them, a little irritated at the slow pace of everyone, or almost everyone; the fact that there were those who were going about their business continued to lull my dull senses. There were a few ‘tuts’ and some black looks but it wasn’t until the Cathedral Bell tolled the ending of  the silence and everyone moved that the enormity of my behaviour brought on a rush a shame and sick sweat and a wave of red that crept over me from head to toe. I abandoned my shopping a drove home.

But there is something good that happened in November. I least I think so.

I was conceived on November the 11^th 1933. No doubt about it, it was a good month for me.