A Love Letter to November: Turkey, Compassion and a Pain in the Ass Brother-in-law from Mississippi.

Dear November,

I feel a little awkward addressing this now—I mean, you’re almost gone. What began as a welcomed hangover from the warm summer quickly turned to an icy chill in your early days. But as expected, you came back to us with lukewarm sunshine and nights filled with damp air that reminded me with each breath that I was alive. The brilliant colors of your leaves and their crunch under my boots gave me pause this year because you, November, are always the beginning of the end. 

By the time you slip away, the leaves will be gathered in piles on the ground, and the once full limbs that held the lush green and balmy summer wind will be stripped bare–save for the hope of springtime.

You are that short month between Halloween candy and Holiday everything. And I’m sorry to say it, but sometimes you’re overshadowed by both. It’s not like you aren’t gorgeous. You are. But your predecessor is also beautiful and to be honest, October is like September's random plus-one. You know, not really invited, but fun and down to party.

There is one thing you have over the other eleven months. You, November, have a day dedicated to simply giving thanks.

In fact one woman, Sarah Josepha Hale (a writer of course), made it her life’s work to bug the hell out of every state governor and President Lincoln, until he proclaimed your very last Thursday to be a national holiday. A day dedicated solely to appreciating one another while counting our blessings.

“We are already spread and mingled over the Union,” Sarah wrote. “Each year, by bringing us oftener together, releases us from the estrangement and coolness consequent on distance and political alienations; each year multiplies our ties of relationship and friendship. How can we hate our Mississippi brother-in-law? And who is a better fellow than our wife’s uncle from St. Louis? If Maine itself be a great way off, and almost nowhere, on the contrary, a dozen splendid fellows hail from Kennebec County, and your wife is a down-Easter. And although she never puts down her phone—behaving as though she’s the lead doctor on a transplant team awaiting a kidney—we love her all the same, bless her heart.”

Okay, that last part is me taking creative license. Regardless, Sarah knew what was up. She understood the brother-in-law from Mississippi was a pain in the ass who’d come for dinner without bringing a damn thing to the pot luck. And that was okay. And the wife’s uncle? The crazy one from St. Louis? He was showing up at Thanksgiving dinner with his opinions and attitude over a century ago. This too was not the worst thing that could ever happen. Why? Because Sarah knew what we tend to forget: our differences are what make us the amazing human race we are. 

Yes, she knew you well, my sweet November. In the midst of a country that seemed to have gone mad, Ms. Hale understood that once a year we all need to chill the **** out and count our blessings. She understood that on your last Thursday, we could choose compassion. We could mindfully engage in the aspects of our lives that bring us joy, focusing not on what is wrong with ourselves or the world, but what is right. Centering our existence not around our differences, but our commonalities. For one day, we could be thankful for everyone in our own tiny speck of existence—even those who are here to teach us hard lessons about life as well as ourselves.

So, here’s my promise to you, November—you sweet little month jam-packed with leftover fun-sized Snickers, Black Friday sales, cheesy Hallmark movies, fried turkey, Jell-o molds, football and basketball: I won’t let you slip away and into my personal Christmas season without being grateful for the people who love me as I am, and my many blessings—especially on your final Thursday. I promise my November workout will be to flex my compassion muscle with greater tenacity in your final days, while encouraging others to do the same. And like the tree limbs you stripped bare with your chilly wind, I’ll stand on hope that our planet will continue to turn with His help, bringing new life and grace into our world. In spite of us all.


Thanks November. See you next year.

Best,


KC

p.s. I adore all of my brother-in-laws
and none hail from Mississippi. :)

*Kris Calvert is the author of twenty 

Suspense, Thriller and Romance novels.  

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