November

  As I visited Jodi's lovely blog today, I was inspired to write about the beauties of November myself.  Contrary to the dark forebodings of some, I look on this month as a relished, not to say essential part of the year.

 For me it is the bridge between beloved Autumn and the Joyous season, encompassing both in its slate-colored days.  Not that this time cannot glow with an Octoberish brightness, but after all I like the colors of frost and bare-trees and woodsmoke.  Centuries of 'nesting' (harvesting, storing, and tucking in for the winter) has graced the arch of this bridge, and the air is sweet with the first preparations and expectancies of the coming One.

Among the Novemberish beauties is our First Snow.  It actually happened in October this year, and not a flake stayed on the ground, but it still fits the category.  I hope I never forget the thrill of joy and sparkle that comes with each year's first snow.  Some years it starts with a blizzard, and sometimes we only have a few flurries before December, but it's always an occasion.

 Dad noticed it first from work, and called home.  I ran out to make sure, and watched with glee as a few white specks flew down and melted on my hand.  I then called Katie, and she hurried to show Greta before they stopped falling: our day was made. 
Of course I hurried to the attic right away for the Charlie Brown Christmas CD--we always get to listen to that on the first day of snow.  It was chilly up there, and the light was dim.  I had no idea where it would be, and ended up finding it in the bottom of three stacked storage bins (which I balanced on another pile while pulling out the box).  But I wouldn't have missed that moment for anything.  That old red box has held our Christmas music for as long as I can remember, and just last year Mama glued a vintage magazine clipping over the ripped spot on top.  I put the bins back and opened the red lid.  Each CD and cassette in that box is as familiar to me as any Christmas tradition, and I fingered lovingly the worn and cracked cases that reminded me of my whole life.  Everything from Bing Crosby & Nat King Cole, to Handel's Messiah is in that box.  And right there, under a few others, is the one I am looking for: Charlie Brown Christmas.

I thought for a moment of how many times I have retrieved that CD on the first day of snow, and how comforting traditions are, even in a new and different home.  Somehow I'm surprised we have lived here less than a year!

I carefully replaced the lid on the special box and left it in the attic, but easily retrievable this time.  I creaked down the stairs, turned off the light, shut the ceiling door, and glanced for a moment out the window at the sky that begins to look wintry.  Then I hurried down to the kitchen to push play on O Tannenbaum.