October’s door is about to open.
Long ago, when I lived above the Rio Bravo, October was my favorite month. In large part because you could count on cooler weather, always a relief in those sweaty Confederate climes that I inhabited.
Likewise, October is good here too but not because it cools off because it doesn’t. It gets cooler in June, if you can believe it, when rain arrives.
October is sweet here because it’s when the rains end, and it stays cool anyway, for the most part. But October is not the best month here on the mountaintop. November is.
November holds risk above the Rio Bravo because it can grow cold, very cold. Before my mother died in 2009, we would sometimes go up for Thanksgiving. And occasionally it would be so cold we would be disinclined to take the post-meal walk around the neighborhood.
That was Atlanta. I started the post-meal walk around the neighborhood with my second ex-wife earlier in Houston or maybe it was New Orleans. It’s a good technique to settle a turkey-stuffed tummy.
Both with my second ex-wife and with my mother, Thanksgiving was enjoyed at a hotel buffet. No cooking or dishwashing. There are hotels in both New Orleans and Houston that put on spectacular Thanksgiving buffets.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. No gifts to buy or cards to mail. Just show up on time, and stuff your face. Now that’s what I call living.
Tragically, there is no Thanksgiving in Mexico.
But autumn is here. You can feel it in the air, which remains cool but with a different whisper. The leaves fall off the tall trees in the Plaza Grande, and the light looks new. Children don’t consciously notice, but I do.
October gives one hope.
When I was a working stiff, on newspapers (remember them?), I would place a tiny pumpkin atop my computer monitor on the first day of every October, and it would sit there till Thanksgiving.
A small symbol of the season.