On Thanksgiving Day and a Shopping Day

Thanksgiving dawned clear but chilly; wasn't sure I wanted to get up, but Tucker needed to be walked before I could even think of breakfast, so it was up at the usual time. I also picked out the Christmas cards I'm going to use for this year, and signed half of them as I was watching the Macy's parade. I don't usually see about half of the parade because I can't sit long enough to do so; I'm usually doing other things while it runs, but that's okay. Most of the parade ends up being a bunch of singing stars I'm not really interested in, and I see the good stuff like the giant turkey, the balloons, and any clever float. This way I could help James a little, fetch stuff from downstairs, and even get the bed made. By the time the dog show started, we could see a couple of the groups before it was time to get our food together and leave. We'll watch the whole show later, with at least one new dog breed, the Nederlandse Kooikerhondje (it's a bird dog). That's almost as much fun to say as "Nova Scotia Duck-Tolling Retriever." 😀

We were having dinner at Leigh Boros/Robbie Hilliard's house this year. Sadly, the crowd was small. Lin Butler was in the hospital with pneumonia, but the rest of the family came for a little while, and Leigh sent a Thanksgiving dinner home with them. We had a nice feast of turkey (which people kept snitching bits of as Mel carved it), pot roast, a lovely roast of beef, and some corned beef, plus veggie sides and rolls. Most of the guys watched whatever football was on, but I had to laugh, because in the other room we all sounded just like the adults I remember so long ago, gathered in Papà's cellar or in Anna's kitchen, talking about medical problems and crap going on at work. How true that we turn into our parents!

Before long it was after seven and we bundled up and headed home under not-quite-a-full moon. I hadn't slept well, so we just mucked about on the computers for a little while before heading to bed. Sadly, I found it hard to get to sleep, which was deadly this morning when I had an alarm set for 6:15. First thing I did was pad downstairs to the garage. Last night there was a light on my car saying one of the tires was underinflated, and I was worried it was going flat (it looked like the right front). It wasn't flat, so it can be taken care of later. I ran upstairs, got dressed, took my pill, and grabbed a BelVita bar. It was so early in the morning it just made me queasy and I couldn't finish. I did see a stunner of a sunrise, though, although by the time I emerged from Staples (all of ten minutes—I do not go to crowded places on Black Friday, and Target didn't even look that busy) the clouds were already piling up in the east.

Yesterday I had ordered three necessities online from Staples, with free shipping: two different wireless mice, one as a spare and a new smaller one, and a second backup drive. But I had to go there in person for the one thing I wanted: a Chromecast.

Back before we had a "smart" TV, we bought a small cheap computer to attach to the TV, about the size of a Roku box. This was because both GPB and WPBA kept pre-empting History Detectives for god-knows-what, and we would go online to watch the episodes by plugging the laptop into the TV. It was a great way to catch up on other PBS stuff, too, but the plugging in business was awkward. This way we just used the browser of the small computer instead. But now it's very cranky (pretty much all we use it for now is playing Region 2 DVDs). So along comes the "smart" TV. Except the browser in the "smart" TV is makes the crowd in Washington, DC, look like Nobel Prize winners, so that we're still going into the browser on the computer (like for the streaming membership we bought from DragonCon), but it jerks and judders and stutters because the processor is so slow. So I wanted the Chromecast for the same reason, as we have access to everything else it offers.

I also went to Kohl's for a small "suitcase" phonograph. This was a replacement thing: over ten years ago we had bought a combination phonograph/CD player/cassette player at Linens'n'Things. I had a stereo system and James had a turntable, but neither would play Mom's 78s. We had to return the first one we bought because it did not play sound. Well, with one thing and the other I did not try all of Mom's records on it until earlier this year and when I did realized it had an auto shut off. This meant half her records didn't finish; it shut off smack in the middle of "Deck of Cards." Also, in the intervening years the CD had quit ejecting; when I finally got it to open, it wouldn't push back in again. So we dumped it at electronics recycling day and I got this inexpensive one with no auto-shutoff.

Then I did what I usually do on Black Friday: come home, eat breakfast, and then fall asleep for a couple of hours. After that I set up the Chromecast (ridiculously easy) and just surfed over to several websites and easily "cast" to the television. Works a treat. Also plugged in the phonograph. The first Christmas music I officially played after Thanksgiving was Mom's World War II-era copy of Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas." It sounds okay. As far as I can tell from audiophile sites to properly play old 78s you need an expensive turntable and special needles made for 78s. Too rich for my blood.

Anyway, last week James got a Very Interesting Phone Call. (That's "interesting" as in "may you live in interesting times.") You know you are in trouble when the first thing your supervisor asks you is "Are you sitting down?" IBM was cutting everyone's hours to 24/week through the end of the year. So we are now on short commons for Christmas, and it explains why he was not working today.

Instead, for lunch we went out to Hiram and had our big meal at Folks. We both brought something home and had that for supper as well. Michael's had all regularly priced items on sale 40 percent off. I didn't get a lot; just some things to make a gift and a container for some beads. James got some spray paint and wooden bases that looked like a shield. We also went up to Five Below to buy some chocolate for dessert, as they are the only ones who sell dark chocolate Reese's peanut butter cups anymore. And I stopped at Best Buy to pick up our annual copy of the newest season of Big Bang Theory on DVD. Next year will be our last.

It was drizzly raining when we got home. When it got to be dinner time we had our Folks leftovers and did our exercises for the evening. The visiting nurse gave James exercises to do back in May. I knew it's easier to do with a buddy, so I've been doing them with him. We do mostly sitting exercises and then about five minutes of all he can stand on his feet. Tonight we started using weights with our arm lifts. James was lifting five-pound weights at night while I walked Tucker, then he got the rotator cuff injury and had to quit. He has gone back to three pounds and I use the two pound ones. Not much but better than nothing.

Later we watched Masterchef Junior: Celebrity Showdown with celebrities (football players and things and Alyson Hannigan with her daughter). Unfortunately it ran late due to stupid football and the DVR stopped recording just as they were about to announce the winners. I had to look it up the results online. Also watched last night's Murphy Brown.

Happy Thanksgiving to All!

On Thanksgiving Eve

Just finished watching one of my Thanksgiving delights, the Addie Mills story The Thanksgiving Treasure, and thinking of the sheer breathless motion that has been this autumn. Everything, except perhaps the hours James was in surgery (and those awful few days when the temperature soared back up to 90 degrees, despite the fact the summer had been mostly temperate), has gone by so quickly. I can't believe the Yellow Daisy Festival and the Georgia Apple Festival and the Green Ginger reunion (Louis Robinson's old band) have whisked by so fast; one moment it was hot, and then it went cold and the trees started to turn with fierce abandon, as if eager to get to their winter sleep. All of a sudden geese were hurrying south, and last week I was lucky enough to be outside when the big flock of sandhill cranes I saw winging north in February followed the same flyway and came coo-honking overhead as I was walking the dog, beating their way southward. Fallen leaves carpet the ground, people have been burning them, and everywhere is the nostalgic aroma of leaf mould. I've gone from tank tops to sweatsuits, and Snowy is moulting in a hurry to get some extra down under his feathers. Outside the birds argue over the suet at the feeders. What a change from the life-smothering torture chamber that is summer, moving with the endless speed of a constipated sloth with a mobility impairment.

It's been a long and difficult year. I remember on January 31 dreaming of all the things I wanted to accomplish in my retirement. True, I've done that decluttering I wanted to get to so badly for years. Bags of junk have left the house in the trash, good items have been donated to Goodwill, electronic and electric items have gone to recycling. There are fewer things to trip over or bump into. But the creative aspects had to take a backseat to a crash course in practical nursing, as each month brought some fresh medical challenge for James, no matter how hard he has tried to be healthier. It didn't seem fair. And then through my own carelessness I lost my beautiful Twilight, the best car I have ever owned. If there is any three seconds in this life I wish I could get back, it would be those. I lost a dependable car, ruined my insurance driving record, had to go to court and pay a fine, and spent money out of my savings account I really wanted to preserve. I will never forgive myself for it.

But I am thankful for James, and for Tucker, and for Snowy, for our friends, for Kaiser-Permanente, for cool days and brisk breezes, and for a whole lot of other things currently scribbled on squares of paper and stuffed into the "Thanks Jar," which appears to have a bumper crop this year. I am thankful for every morning, even if it rains, and every evening, even if in midsummer when the dark doesn't start until ten o'clock.

I am thankful for life.

"St. Nicholas," November 1919

New Thanksgiving Reading

Thanksgiving: The True Story, Penny Colman
This is billed as a children's book, but I think that's in vocabulary only, as the author takes time to mention her own celebrations and memories, and to relate the results of a survey she sent to people ages nine to eighty-nine. It just doesn't strike me as a "children's book," just one written in very simple vocabulary. In any case, I welcome any book about Thanksgiving that isn't about recipes! Sure, we celebrate by eating, but Thanksgiving is about more than that.

I'm watching the History Channel's old special about Thanksgiving and it pretty well parallels this book in that it opens talking about what was "really" the first Thanksgiving: was it celebrated by the Spanish in Texas? Or the English in Virginia? Or the French in Florida? But the story that "stuck" was the traditional one about the Pilgrims (Separatists from the Anglican church of England) who held a great feast (not an actual Thanksgiving; that was a church service) in celebration of a good harvest, known as a "Harvest Home." As Colman mentions, today we're not even sure the Native Americans were invited; the settlers were having a celebration that included target shooting, and the natives may have simply showed up to see what they were up to. However, the account of this celebration wasn't rediscovered until 1841, and the Thanksgiving custom was already well entrenched by then, especially as a family celebration in New England where they didn't celebrate Christmas and in the "Ohio country" and other states made out of the old "Western Reserve" where New Englanders moved. Other Thanksgivings, like one in Boston, and harvest festivals were actually the genesis of our modern holiday. Pilgrims and Indians didn't enter the Thanksgiving mythos until late Victorian times.

Of course Colman talks about Sarah Josepha Hale's successful campaign to make Thanksgiving a national holiday—Hale led a very unconventional life for a 19th century lady: she was tutored not only in housewifery and the Bible, but also read Milton, Addison, Pope, Johnson, Cowper, Burns, and Shakespeare in an era where girls just learned housekeeping, and her brother also came home from his studies at Harvard and let her study his books, and then later she and her husband, an attorney, studied in the evenings together, including botany, French, and minerology; when her husband died she made her living as a magazine editor—and also about the proliferation of sports, especially football, on Thanksgiving day, and the development of the Thanksgiving parade that led into the Christmas season.

I could wish for clearer prints of the etchings and other printed illustrations included in the book. Otherwise I enjoyed the heck out of it, and learned a lot about Sarah Hale that I didn't know before.

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, Robert M. Grippo and Christopher Hoskins
This is another of Arcadia Publishing's wonderful "images of America" books with (mostly) black and white illustrations chronicling the history of the Macy's parade, originally the Macy's Christmas Parade in its first ten years, starting in 1924 when Macy's employees asked to put on a parade like they did in the old country. Each chapter presents a dense summary of each year, one decade to a chapter, where you'll discover when the famous balloons first joined the march and how they were dealt with originally at the end of the parade and when it was first televised and how a 1947 film made it famous, and the book is chock-full of photos and vintage Macy's posters advertising the parade. If you're into vintage photographs or the Macy's parade, this should definitely be on your Christmas list, and you can hold it, if you like, as I did with both of these books, until next November to read.

"The Pumpkin"

verse by John Greenleaf Whittier

Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun,

The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run,

And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold,

With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold,

Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew,

While he waited to know that his warning was true,

And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain

For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain.

On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden

Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden;

And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold

Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold;

Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North,

On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth,

Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines,

And the sun of September melts down on his vines.

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,

From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest,

When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board

The old broken links of affection restored,

When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,

And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before,

What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye?

What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie?

Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling,

When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling!

When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin,

Glaring out through the dark with a candle within!

When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune,

Our chair a broad pumpkin,—our lantern the moon,

Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam,

In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team!

Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better

E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter!

Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine,

Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than thine!

And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express,

Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less,

That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below,

And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow,

And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky

Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie!

How About A Feast Pig?

"The first piggy banks were part of European children's preparations for Christmas. The children were taught to save their coins in earthenware "feast pigs," which were to be opened as part of the Christmas Day celebrations. A modern version of this tradition could encourage the family to save money for Christmas. The collected coins might be used for a special Christmas offering or sharing project. Rinsed-out bleach bottles or papier-mâché layered over an inflated balloon, can be transformed into great "feast pigs." Adding cork legs and decorating with acrylic paints or scraps of felt or calico will give each pig its own personality!"

from Celebrate the Wonder: A Family Christmas Treasury 

Here's a "feast pig" made from a plastic milk jug. Your pig need not be pink; a Christmas pig could be red and green, or blue and covered with snowflakes. Glitter will make him—or her!—shine. The money raised could be donated to Toys for Tots or some other children's charity. 

Martinmas

Celebrated on November 11, "Martinmas" is the feast day of St. Martin of Tours, a Roman shoulder who showed kindness to a barely-clad poor man by giving him half of his voluminous Roman cloak. In a dream, Martin found out the "beggar" he had helped was Jesus Christ in disguise, who had baptized him as a Christian. He later became a bishop.

Martinmas was originally the beginning of a fasting season that lasted from November 11 through the Epiphany (forty days, like Lent, with Saturday and Sunday as free from fasting). This period has been known as "Old Advent." Later, Advent was shortened to the four-week period it holds now, although some Christian churches are calling for a return to the forty-day fasting period as in Lent.

A traditional food for Martinmas is roast goose. It was said Martin, a modest man, did not feel himself worthy to be a bishop, so he hid from the elders sent to inform him of the appointment by secreting himself in a goose pen. However, the honking and chattering of the goose gave him away.

St. Martin is traditionally shown riding a white horse (probably a dapple grey horse that has grown white with age), and the saying "St. Martin is coming on his white horse" is used in some European countries to indicate that it is going to snow. Agriculturally, St. Martin's Day represents the first day of winter, so the saying is very apt.

Martinmas is still celebrated extensively in Europe, especially Germany and eastern European countries. The Germans light bonfires in his honor. Beef can also be a traditional meal on Martinmas since, as the beginning of winter, you would have to dispassionately calculate how many animals you could support during the cold season, so cows, pigs, sheep, and other livestock might be slaughtered and preserved at Martinmas so others would survive and so the humans would have food to eat during a time of year when crops did not grow.

Armistice Day

Today in the United States we call this date Veterans Day as it celebrates the veterans who have served in all the armed forces (Memorial Day is our day for all those who died in performance of their duty). The British celebrate this day as Remembrance Day and have an annual ceremony at the Cenotaph, their memorial to the dead of the first World War.

This year, of course, is special as it is the 100th anniversary of the armistice that ended "the Great War." At "the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month," the rifles and grenades and artillery went silent. I had the great pleasure of being able to watch the British ceremony at the Cenotaph this morning via Britbox. It was lovely, a beautiful day with no rain, and after all the dignitaries and various service groups and associated service groups marched, 10,000 people who are "just folks," not famous at all, followed marching for an ancestor who was involved with the war, just to commemorate them. So touching.

I walked the dog this morning under a beautiful sky, able to do so because of the people who have served, and continue to serve, their country in military service. Yesterday I bought a poppy from a veteran, who thanked me for buying it. I didn't do anything but sit around on my fanny. THANK YOU.

Armistice Day Definition

"The Day The Guns Fell Silent"

How it might have sounded when the guns went silent.

British Remembrance Day Ceremony in Pictures

All About Hallowe'en: Nonfiction Books

Halloween: An American Holiday, an American History, Lesley Pratt Bannatyne
This seems to have become one of the definitive historical texts about Hallowe'en in the United States; Bannatyne was interviewed for the History Channel's A Haunted History of Halloween.

Hallowe'en originated in the combined customs of the Celts, who celebrated Samhain (pronounced "sow-wen") as autumn turned cold and darkness approached, and of the Romans who invaded the British isles. When Christianity appeared, instead of disposing of pagan rituals, Pope Gregory asked that the church find some way to incorporate the old rituals into the new so that people might be gently persuaded to accept the way of Christ. Both beliefs incorporated the concept of an afterlife; the Celtic philosophy stated that on certain nights (like Samhain), the barrier between the physical world and the spiritual world was at its "thinnest," allowing spectral figures to come through (Christmas Eve is another of these events, which is why ghost stories like A Christmas Carol were once popular at the holidays). This combined Celtic/Roman/Christian fall festival was imported to the U.S. with the British colonists, but it was not until Irish immigrants arrived in the 19th century that other elements, like the jack o'lantern, came to the fore. In succession, Hallowe'en became a holiday for divination of fortunes, for costumes and increasingly childlike parties, for pranks that grew increasingly malicious, and finally for trick-or-treating.

Bannatyne's brisk, good-natured narrative is supported by magazine excerpts and illustrations from vintage magazines and books, a great basic primer on the haunted holiday.

Halloween: From Pagan Ritual to Party Night, Nicholas Rogers
There is little overlap between the Bannatyne book and this book, which concentrates on certain aspects of the holiday; for instance, was human sacrifice at Samhain as prevalent in Celtic times as folklore indicates, or was this Roman propaganda (touching on the stories of the Wicker Man)? He also goes into detail on Hallowe'en celebrations among the Irish in which customs later became incorporated into the British Guy Fawkes celebration, keeping Hallowe'en as a latecomer holiday in England; how a night of fortunetelling for girls and women was also a night for "innocent" mischief by boys and men that was instead often malicious and damaging, which communities turned into a less damaging evening of fun by the acceptance of the trick or treat custom (and how scare stories like razor blades in apples almost drove trick or treat away); how horror films taking place at Hallowe'en set the stage for bloodier frights in costumes and haunted houses; about the Day of the Dead customs and how some Mexicans feel that the American Hallowe'en has diluted (or polluted) their Day of the Dead; and how the LGBTQ community has embraced the holiday. Since Rogers is Canadian, he also brings a perspective on Canadian Hallowe'en celebrations. A great companion volume to the Bannatyne text.

The Halloween Encyclopedia, Lisa Morton
This is an A-to-Z history of the holiday, from acorns (a fall symbol and also a means of divination) to zoos (which often incorporate Hallowe'en exhibitions, and everything in between, including cross references between holidays which once had rituals that are now exclusive to Hallowe'en (trick or treat, for instance, resembling the "ragamuffin" custom so lovingly narrated by Betty Smith in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn where the children dressed in costumes and were given outdated baked goods and old candies by the local merchants, while also tied back to the custom of "souling" for All Souls Day, or the customs shared by both Guy Fawkes Day/Bonfire Night and Hallowe'en in the British isles.

The nice thing about this reference is that Morton doesn't just mention old tales (like "Tam Lin" and "Tam O'Shanter") and rhymes, she summarizes the tales and prints the verses, and she doesn't just briefly chat about all the old fortune-telling methods, but mentions all of them and compares one to the other. The other quarter holidays, like Lammas and Beltane, are given entries, and even Christmas customs like mumming which resemble "guising" on Hallowe'en is included. She also mentions modern customs both good (the gay community's embracement of the holiday) and bad (Devil's Night in Detroit and other cities in which fires are set and property destroyed). The text is liberally illustrated with vintage woodcuts and old Hallowe'en postcards (sadly, however, in black and white rather than in color). This is a great text reference to all symbols and customs Hallowe'en and should be in every spook lover's library!

Here are more items you can read online:

The Book of Hallowe'en by Ruth Edna Kelley is a classic text from 1919.

The first account of an American Hallowe'en party was written by Helen Elliott for "Godey's Lady's Book" (the bestselling women's magazine of the 19th century). Here is "Hallowe'en" in its entirety.

Here is the story of a boys' Hallowe'en party in Hallowe'en at Merryvale by Alice Hale Burns from 1916.

Souling and Other Old Hallowe'en Customs

Today Hallowe'en is best known for children "trick or treating" door to door or possibly going to a community center or church event, and adults having costume parties. The trick or treat tradition goes back centuries when the poor went door to door begging for food and were given "soul cakes." In exchange, the poor person would pray for the soul of someone who had passed on.

Soul Cake Recipe

Ingredients:

• 8 cups flour
• 2 cups milk
• 4 yeast cakes
• 8 egg yolks
• 2 cups sugar
• 1 teaspoon grated orange rind
• 1 teaspoon grated lemon rind
• 1/2 cup soft butter
• 1 teaspoon salt

Dissolve yeast cakes in 1/2 cup of the milk. Make thin sponge by mixing yeast with rest of milk and 1 cup of flour. Mix thoroughly, sprinkle top lightly with flour and set aside to rise. Add salt to egg yolks, beat until thick and lemon-colored. Add sugar, rinds, and mix with sponge. Add two cups of flour, alternating with the milk, and knead for half-hour

Add remaining flour and butter and continue to knead until the dough comes away from the hand. Set in warm place to rise until double in bulk. Separate dough into four parts, roll into long strips and braid into loaf. Brush top with lightly beaten egg yolk and sprinkle with poppy seed. Let rise. Bake in 350° oven for one hour.

From The Holyday Book by Francis X. Weiser, S.J.

Soul cakes were also given out near Christmas on December 21st, which was formerly St. Thomas' Day.

While everyone now associates hollowed-out pumpkins with frightening faces as "jack o'lanterns," the original "jack" was a huge, hollowed-out turnip that looked like this. The jack o'lantern custom was brought from Ireland, where pumpkins did not exist at that time. Photos of carved turnips from that time were quite creepy!

At Hallowe'en parties in the late 19th and early 20th century, it was almost de rigueur to perform fortune-telling games. Tea leaves (back before the days of tea bags) were read, hot lead was melted and dripped into cold water to form shapes, women walked backward with mirrors in order to see their future husbands, and more. Read about these games here!

Rudolph Day, October 2018

"Rudolph Day" is a way of keeping the Christmas spirit alive all year long. You can read a Christmas book, work on a Christmas craft project, listen to Christmas music or watch a Christmas movie.

Autumn makes me nostalgic for days gone by: going to the Scituate Reservoir to gather autumn leaves, taking a yearly trek to New Hampshire on Columbus Day weekend to "see the colors," buying fresh-picked apples at Highland Orchards, putting the summer clothes in the attic and retrieving the winter ones from the same place, your winter coat needing airing because it reeked of camphor. Autumn was new school shoes, and a new skirt and/or jumper or two (no pants allowed on girls back then!) and a blouse or sweater or two to go with them, and new knee socks for when the snow began to fly. By the time Thanksgiving was over it was time to seriously think about Christmas: what you could get mom and dad with your meager allowance, what you wanted to ask Santa Claus for (and was he real, anyway?), dreaming about decorating the tree and putting up the Nativity set and dinner with the relatives.

So I picked up this book I found in an antique shop a few years ago and started to read.


Merry Christmas, Mr. Baxter, Edward Streeter
Perhaps you had to read it when it was published.

This humorous Christmas-themed novel was written back in 1956 by Streeter, who wrote two books which were later made into the much-remembered classic films Father of the Bride and Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation. I've never read any of his books, but if the description of them holds he seems to write about good-natured businessmen who like their lives to proceed in orderly fashion, nice fellows who love their wives and their children, but who are sometimes bewildered by them and the fuss that goes on around certain events. In this case, George Baxter is once again overwhelmed by the Christmas season. He wishes to spend less money and have less fuss, but there are traditions to uphold and people you don't want to forget, even if you can't make out their signature on a Christmas card or don't want to attend that one more office Christmas party.

So George pretty much just goes with the flow—or perhaps the inexorable tide or flood—as October leads into November, thence to December and finally to Christmas Eve.

Streeter makes some funny commentary on the Christmas rush we push ourselves into because it's "traditional," including the tipping of service employees (who apparently multiply at the holidays), going to office parties where they're just waiting for the boss to leave, and leaving one's shopping until Christmas Eve and coping with hysterical crowds in packed stores while churchbells ring out "Silent Night." (There's also a bit of pointed commentary about salesladies who misconstrue Baxter's shopping for his wife as shopping for Someone Else.) He also paints a vivid picture of New York City's hustle and bustle and sheer claustrophobic feeling, interspersed with brief minutes of beauty, like choirboys singing carols at Grand Central Station. I guess I just kept waiting for something unexpected or heartwarming to happen. (Nothing sentimental or corny, mind you; it's not that type od humor, but more like Saki or Thurber.) It didn't. Christmas went on as usual, his wife was tired out, but somehow they loved it all the same. So I apologize to fans of this book if I didn't like it quite as well as you did, as it seems to be much beloved.

However, my favorite passages in this book were these, which I felt kinship with: "In New York the fall was to the year what morning was to the day and youth to a lifetime. It was a beginning time, a time of adventure, a period when the city became like ancient Bagdad—a place of mystery and romance where anything might happen.

"In the fall Mr. Baxter felt ready for the world, vigorous, as after a good night's sleep. He was always full of resolutions and determinations in the fall, unperturbed by previous failures. It was then that one renewed business connections and picked up the friendly threads of social intercourse. It was the time when new plays appeared, new books were published, football games were played, and the countryside burst into vivid reds and yellows. Elections were at hand. Then came Thanksgiving and before you knew it Christmas had caught  you completely unprepared as usual.

"Then, right in the middle of everything, came that thing called New Year's Day. What was new about it? Mid-year's Day perhaps if you had to have a holiday so soon after Christmas. Certainly it didn't mark the beginning of anything, except, possibly, that by the first of January everyone was beginning to pant slightly and to think of winter vacations. To call this New Year's Day was like firing a starting gun in the middle of a race."

Past Pursuits: Nutting

Judging by its appearance in old literature, "going nutting" was a prime pursuit for both boys and girls (while references usually peg this as a boy's sport, I have seen stories in which girls go nutting as well, although they are frequently left at a campsite to sort out the nuts) in the 19th century. Perhaps "city folk" could get nuts in the big markets that existed—Dickens mentions nuts being sold in the London markets at Christmastime—but others who went to the country or lived in rural areas with woods nearby preferred to find theirs fresh and free. Butternuts, a type of walnut, and walnuts themselves (also black walnuts, which are a different nut) were popular, as were beechnuts. In this poem, chestnuts were also harvested; once plentiful across the United States, the majority were killed by a chestnut blight that arrived via ships trading in Asia. There are such a thing as "horse chestnuts," but these are not the edible goodies that show up in the supermarkets in the fall. Those come from Europe, and there are still sold by hot chestnut vendors on the street, especially at German Christmas markets. Chestnut dressing to go in the Thanksgiving turkey used to be very popular before the blight, but is now fairly rare.

Once harvested, the nuts would be kept in an attic or root cellar and brought out as treats in the winter. As noted in this poem, the nuts provided pleasure twice, once by the gathering, then by the eating.

"Nutting-Time" is from the November 1883 issue of "St. Nicholas," its author listed merely as "H.I."

The month was October, the frosts had come down,
The woodlands were scarlet and yellow and brown;
The harvests were gathered, the nights had grown chill,
But warm was the day on the south of the hill.

'T was there with our bags and our baskets we went,
And searching the dry leaves we busily bent;
The chestnuts were big and the beech-nuts were small,
But both sorts were welcome to boys in the fall.

And when, in the ashes beneath the bright flame,
On eves of November, with laughter and game,
The sweetmeats are roasted, we recollect still
How fine was the day on the south of the hill.

Boo-Tiful

I haven't put up my Hallowe'en decorations in a while because we were either otherwise occupied (like hospitals), on vacation in October, or because I didn't have time. I decided I needed to cull out my stuff since I wasn't putting it up, to just keep what I loved. So that's done, and I have a nice, reasonable amount of decorations up without having to take all the autumn things down.

In the foyer.

The witch has a color-changing LED.

Hallowe'en tree. Mini-bat, Snoopy, owl, raven and big owl from Hallmark.

Kitchen pass-through. "I got a rock" ornament center, Harry at left, Renfield at right.

The glass pumpkin and friends. The lights are encased in plastic leaves.

Old vintage reproductions (cat, pumpkin goblin, cornucopia) with new (children at rear).

Autumn Lends Itself to Poetry

"Poem Beginning with a Line from It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown"
Maggie Smith

Just look—nothing but sincerity 

as far as the eye can see—

the way the changed leaves,

flapping their yellow underbellies

in the wind, glitter. The tree

looks sequined wherever

the sun touches. Does anyone

not see it? Driving by a field

of spray-painted sheep, I think

the world is not all changed.

The air still ruffles wool

the way a mother’s hand

busies itself lovingly in the hair

of her small boy. The sun

lifts itself up, grows heavy

treading there, then lets itself

off the hook. Just look at it

leaving—the sky a tigereye

banded five kinds of gold

and bronze—and the sequin tree

shaking its spangles like a girl

on the high school drill team,

nothing but sincerity. It glitters

whether we’re looking or not.


"Merry Autumn"
Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1872 - 1906

It’s all a farce,—these tales they tell
      About the breezes sighing,

And moans astir o’er field and dell,

     Because the year is dying.

Such principles are most absurd,—

     I care not who first taught ’em;

There’s nothing known to beast or bird

     To make a solemn autumn.

In solemn times, when grief holds sway

     With countenance distressing,

You’ll note the more of black and gray

     Will then be used in dressing.

Now purple tints are all around;

     The sky is blue and mellow;

And e’en the grasses turn the ground

     From modest green to yellow.

The seed burrs all with laughter crack

     On featherweed and jimson;

And leaves that should be dressed in black

     Are all decked out in crimson.

A butterfly goes winging by;

     A singing bird comes after;

And Nature, all from earth to sky,

     Is bubbling o’er with laughter.

The ripples wimple on the rills,

     Like sparkling little lasses;

The sunlight runs along the hills,

     And laughs among the grasses.

The earth is just so full of fun

     It really can’t contain it;

And streams of mirth so freely run

     The heavens seem to rain it.

Don’t talk to me of solemn days

     In autumn’s time of splendor,

Because the sun shows fewer rays,

     And these grow slant and slender.

Why, it’s the climax of the year,—

     The highest time of living!—

Till naturally its bursting cheer

     Just melts into thanksgiving.

"October"

by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
To-morrow's wind, if it be wild
Should waste them all
The crows above the forest call;
To-morrow they may form and go
O hushed October morning mild
Begin the hours of this day slow
Make the day seem to us less brief
Hearts not averse to being beguiled
Beguile us in the way you know;
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away;
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

"Autumnal Tints"

Walden Pond in autumn by Toby McGuire

This was Henry David Thoreau's final essay, edited during his last few days of suffering from tuberculosis. Published in "The Atlantic," October 1862.

Autumn: A Spiritual Biography of the Season

edited by Gary Schmidt and Susan M. Felch

This is a nifty collection of seasonal essays (there are also books on the other season), whether they touch on the beauty of the natural world or whether they ponder deeper about the ending of the year and its connection with dying (the E.B. White essay poignantly demonstrates this) and the descent into winter darkness (although at least one of these essays, noting that the falling of the leaves always leave a bud or a seed behind, state that autumn is actually a rebirth). I have to admit what called me about this book was the big colorful maple tree on its cover!

These are essays and excerpts and even some poetry about the autumn season, ranging from the Book of Ruth in the Bible to The Rural Life by Verl Klinkenborg to that piece by White. One of my very favorites was "Autumnal Tints," an essay about autumn leaves by Thoreau, which was the final essay he worked on, passing away from tuberculosis only a few days later; his contemporary Susan Fenimore Cooper also has a contribution here. Alan M. Young, Alix Kates Shulman, and Wyman Richardson all provide observations of nature's autumnal change. There's a wistful commentary about baseball season coming to an end and a piece from Tracy Kidder about the first week of school and Garret Keizer's fascinating tale of being the winder of a venerable town clock. Verl Klinkenborg provides an essay about October and there is also an excerpt from May Sarton's House by the Sea. And these are just a few of the delights within.

The only thing that surprised me was that there was nothing at all from Gladys Taber, as this appeared to be the perfect volume to highlight some of Taber's essays! Otherwise, pretty perfect; need to hunt up the winter volume!

Michaelmas Day

from "Legendary Dartmoor"

The feast of St. Michael the Archangel. Goose is the traditional main course of the big meal of the day and should be eaten on Michaelmas to ensure prosperity for the coming year. In the past, the fall term at British universities and public schools began on or around Michaelmas Day, and the period until Christmas recess was called "Michaelmas Term." Oxford University and Cambridge University still call the fall period the Michaelmas term.

There is also a lovely purple flower called a Michaelmas daisy, a member of the aster family.

Michaelmas Day, from Chambers' Book of Days (1869)

Michaelmas, 29th September, at Historic.UK

About Michaelmas, at Carrots For Michaelmas Blog

Why Do We Celebrate Michaelmas? at City of Lakes Waldorf School Site

St. Michael's Day in Old Ireland, from Irish Culture and Customs Site

Michaelmas, at Lavender and Lovage Site (recipes)

Autumn Poetry

"October"
Isabel Neill

Now gypsy fires burn bright in every tree,
Now countless vagrant birds are winging south;
The white roads beckon and, unsought, yet sweet,
Old songs of nomad days are in my mouth.

I burn with every tree, I fly with every bird,
And know some gypsy witch, with mystic skill,
Has traced her crooked pattern across my heart.


"Autumn"
Marjorie Marshall

Mellow sunlight, soothing, warm,
Ripened grains which gaily bloom on the hills,
Swaying stalks like graceful arms
There beneath the sun at noon, rough and bright.

Maple leaves turned richly brown—
Save where deep pink blush is seen near the edge—
Wafted gently, softly down
To cool stones, moss-brown and green, nestled there.

Russet apples braving cold,
Sulking 'neath protecting leaves from the sun;
Burnished skins hid hearts of gold,
Such enticing loot for thieves, fit for gods!

Knoll and copse now redly tinged,
Quivering in the amber air, yield their fruit.
Autumn's almoner, the wind,
Scatters them like blessings rare on the earth.