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November 2021

It was a question I pondered myself right before I posted it on Twitter: which to have in the days following Thanksgiving – a cold turkey sandwich with mayonnaise or a hot turkey sandwich with gravy? On that particular day-after-Thanksgiving, I opted for both, but I wanted to see how other people felt, so I threw the poll up on Twitter. (I’m mostly on Twitter these days, so follow me there. Fuck Facebook and screw Instagram, Twitter is about all I can emotionally handle right now.) The results are below, and I’ve never had a poll break this indecisively. We are indeed a world divided, even when it comes to leftovers. 

Thirty days has September,

April, June and November…

And here we are on the 30th day of the penultimate month to the calendar year. 

That means December arrives tomorrow, and with it the holiday season in full-swing. The aim, as it ever is, will be to keep things simple and genuine, to inhabit the moments as they arrive, and not to over-plan or commit to things that may just prove to be too much. I will follow the light of the day, take in the sky and the roving clouds, listen to the wind and the chatter of cardinals. 

We leave November quietly. 

After the third day of leftover turkey, I may be ready to move onto something else. Maybe. And we didn’t even have a whole turkey, or a gathering for Thanksgiving for that matter. One day I’ll tell the story of why that was… Oh well, on with the recap of everything we did have in the last week…

A Christmas wish list, by request, as I’m not even in the mood for gifts. (Check the pulse.)

A midnight candle, at a quarter of a century.

Boston still in bloom. 

Friendsgiving with Kira – Part 1.

Friendsgiving with Kira – Part 2. 

Happy Thanksgiving, such as it was. 

Turkey Lurkey time in Boston. 

Florals at odds with a Black Friday. 

When Harry met Santa. 

Tryptophan meditation. 

Berrylicious Boston. 

Warm while the wind rages.

Powdered boughs.

Snow-capped hydrangeas.

Low temperatures and wind gusts conspired to keep the snow around longer than expected yesterday, which made for a few more photo opportunities. Here you see the snow-capped hydrangea flower heads, their dead and dried form taking on new life thanks to the coating of fresh snow. Encased by the crystalline cape, they are almost in re-bloom, a lovely if dimmer echo of their summer glory. 

Now that the growing season has passed and the season of slumber is upon us, it’s up to architectural flourishes like the mop-heads that remain on the hydrangea stalks. Along with the branches and more stalwart grass stalks, this will comprise the bare bones of the garden in the months to come, augmented and accented by ice and snow, which forms its own beautiful landscape when the light is just right and the day doesn’t call for traveling. 

While we may make-do with these faux-blooms for the moment, they will soon grow tiresome. That’s some time off, however, as winter has not even begun, but it’s less than a month away. And after that, the spring… when these hydrangeas will rise in shades of green and chartreuse, followed by new flowers and a new season of glory.

Agnes Obel provides the musical calm for this wintry post. After granting us a bit of a reprieve for November, Mother Nature has lobbed her first winter weather at us, and the wind and the chill bring January to mind. This music is indicative of that shift. Not wholly unwelcome, as we have to go through winter to get out of it. And winter holds its own enchantments if we can be brave enough to find and enjoy them. 

The first snowfall seemed to come mostly at night, which feels a bit unfair to the kids who were waiting and watching. That was a favorite activity for my brother and me at this time of the year, and it would often be the first (and only) time we’d convince Dad to light the fireplace. Mom would make cups of hot chocolate, and as the first flakes of snow fell on the raw and tender ground, my brother and I would run around and celebrate the irrevocable coming of winter. 

On this recent end-of-November morning, I stepped outside to take a few photos of the snow that had nestled in this juniper. The wind was brutal, and the sun did little to temper the cold. So the season begins…

Snow softens things in a way that almost nothing else can. It provides insulation to the gardens, creating a haven of consistent temperatures to stave off heaving and other dangers to the plants. We can’t be completely mad at it for that reason alone. 

Even better, snow provides a reflective surface for light to double its effects, something we need as the shortest day of the year quickly approaches. The more light, the higher the spirits. 

There is magic there too. 

Outside the window a towering stand of fountain grass, brown and desiccated and paper-like, shudders and flails in the wind. A few strands are torn and blown high into the air. A light blue sky bereft of clouds stands behind it all. I make a cup of tea and ascend the small staircase to the attic room, where the heater has been running for a while. It is finally warm here, and this will be where I spend the day in cozy fashion. Surrounded by candles that flicker and glow, the light of the room is soft and the fragrance hints of the holidays – spices and pine trees and incense. 

The feeling is at odds with the wind raging outside – a wind that rattles the roof, rumbling across the expanse above me. We lead such precarious lives – only a single roof between survival and demise – and it’s as dramatic and plain as it sounds. Cradling the cup of elderberry tea, warm in my hands, I sip and live to enter another night. 

Beside a Boston brownstone, a bunch of berries dangles above the steps leading to someone’s home. They sway slightly in the breeze and the afternoon sunlight, impossibly incandescent even in the strongest of rays. A natural holiday decoration, they hang like the littlest of ornaments, paving the way for the Christmas trees already on the march. 

They are coming…

They do things better in Norway. 

The annual bridge from Thanksgiving to Christmas gets erected with this Turkey Lurkey post. In addition, the featured GIF is a wild turkey I captured while in Boston earlier this year. If not today, when? What on earth a wild turkey was doing skulking about Downtown Crossing is anyone’s guess. Anticipating the end times, in all likelihood. 

Today’s quiet Thanksgiving actually wasn’t the quietest I’ve ever had, and for that reason it was less sad than anticipated. The quietest year was when I stayed on campus at Brandeis to work at Structure early the next morning. That didn’t seem sad at the time, though looking back I marvel that it didn’t bother me more. My mind at the time was a little work obsessed. We make our choices the best way we know how. Almost absolutely no regrets.