On Point

No, no November

By: Linda McCarthy
   Despite what the calendar says, everybody knows November is the shortest month of the year; especially at my house. We go right from my husband’s birthday … to Halloween … to my birthday … to Thanksgiving. And then, BOOM, it’s Christmas. If I count time by paychecks, I have two left before everything has to be pulled together.
   If I count time by how much weight I can loose before the holiday outfit fits, forget it. It’s never enough. I’ve learned never to buy clothes hoping to shrink into them. It’s taken me years to figure out my problem. I only buy what I like to give to the trick-or-treaters. I keep the leftovers for myself hidden in secret places throughout the house. It’s an autumn tradition that addresses a primal need; like a squirrel hiding nuts for the winter. Unfortunately I go through my stash so quickly, if I lived in the wild I’d starve by Dec. 1.
   When I was a kid, my mom started her holiday baking sometime in early November. There is probably still stuff in the back of her freezer. I think she cornered the market on butter, sugar and vanilla extract. My holiday baking started sometime last year in a factory. I only volunteer to bring something if I can get it at a 7-11 on the way to my host’s house.
   November is the month many of my organized friends start holiday shopping. In my view this is extremely counter-productive and an exercise in futility. Everyone who has a kid knows by heart the list of things that change daily:
   What he wants for his birthday. Who his best friend is. What he wants to be for Halloween. What he wants from Santa. What food he is willing to eat.
   This last one always presents a true November problem. I love Thanksgiving. I love the Macy’s parade, the Laurel and Hardy version of "Babes in Toyland," the formally set table and the combination of culinary smells wafting from the kitchen. I happily proclaimed myself the Thanksgiving queen when the preceding generation of Kirczow women relinquished their crowns. It’s the only time of year I pull out all the stops and actually fire up the oven instead of the microwave.
   Regrettably, my family doesn’t share the same fondness for tradition or my insistence that the holiday menu remain as it was at my grandmother’s table. They would be happy if I threw in chicken wings and allowed them to balance paper plates on their laps while they watched the football game.
   Despite their negativity, I am firm in my resolve. There will be eight different vegetables representing every color of the rainbow. There will be no nutritional value in any of them because they will all be drenched in butter or fried with an over abundance of onions and bacon. There will be sausage stuffing, despite the fact the new wave of girlfriends are all vegetarians. There will be two days for preparation, 15 minutes for the meal, two hours for the clean up and two week’s worth of leftovers.
   There will be no way I will remember which kid hates cranberry sauce. (If I offer it, rather than gag, just say, "No thank-you.") There will be no sobbing on my part when my kids opt to eat only one slice of plain turkey and a handful of potato chips. There will be no violent outbursts when the vegan girls request peanut butter and jelly on tofu crackers.
   Inevitably, there will be the pathetic, traditional November display where I find myself clutching a bag of turkey guts to the sky and loudly proclaiming, "As God is my witness, I will preserve Thanksgiving!"
   Linda McCarthy resides in Robbinsville with her husband and three children.