NOVEMBER MAGIC

by: Cheryl Ann Vitale aka sister-in-time

Early November a chilly wind blows the red and yellow oak leaves on their branches as night begins to fall. I wrap my sweatered arms around myself, look up and notice the light gray clouds moving swiftly against thedarkening sky. The magic begins. Taking a deep breath, I turn and go inside my warm kitchen.

My family sits around the large wooden dining room table sipping hot coffee, talking, and laughing, generally in good spirits. I hear the wind growing stronger pushing tree branches one against another and the house. Grabbing pen and paper, I enter the dining room, sit close to my mother and we quietly begin to plan the upcoming holiday meal menu.

The magic begins and so does my excitement.

The children are dressed running through the house looking for their sneakers, excited as preparations begin on the weekend before Turkey day. Early Saturday morning my husband Mike and two sons, Michael and Peter run through three inches of leaves to the car to visit one of many local tree farms and purchase corn stalks and pumpkins, a display which will be used outside our home's front entrance to welcome our guests on the special day.

My children arrive home rosy cheeked and bouncing off the walls as they tell me about the hayride and how they captured their very own hand picked pumpkins.

During the month, I have purchased the groceries I need to prepare our holiday feast and more. My excitement becomes a warm inner peace as I fill a plastic bag with canned goods for the Boy Scouts food drive, and place the bag on our front entrance for pick-up. I frequently check the bag on the lookout for the Scouts, but the next time I look, it's gone, just gone, the pick-up was made. I hold back the tears. The magic continues.

The smells of homemade chocolate chip cookies I have been baking since mid morning have filled the house. Each wide-eyed child receives two small cookies. I carefully place the cooled cookies into turkey decorated tins. This is a turning point for my husband, I sense the magic in him, and I can see it in his smiling eyes as he savors the cookies.

Early afternoon the children are finally settled down, because I hid the
cookies. At one point I thought I came close to losing control of my children. Preparing the dining room table, with the help of my husband, we pull out the table ends and position the two extensions. The cloth is laid and the centerpiece is a dark orange ceramic cornucopia with candle holders I made years back at a ceramic shop and had a florist fill with an arrangement of fall colored dried flowers. Each time I delicately take the centerpiece out of the box I feel proud that I possess a unique display of fall's bounty. Another small ritual adds to my anticipation of the holiday.

Sunday morning shines clear and crisp. Returning from church I bake the family favorites, apple and pumpkin pie. Overwhelmed from the drifting smell of cinnamon and nutmeg, I reflect on how fortunate and grateful my family is to have the means to prepare this holiday meal.

The house sits quiet as I review the list of dishes that need to be prepared in the days ahead. The door bell rings, my quiet is broken. It's my father, arms full of vegetable and desert dishes. My panic begins as I try finding room for mother's contributions in an already packed refrigerator.

Here it comes, no use trying to stop it or control it. My older son Michael asks, Who's coming on Thanksgiving Day? As I calmly recite the list of relatives from all over the state, the children come close to the edge of hysteria. The noise level rises and Peter bolts to the calendar to count the days. There has always been a controversy in my house on how to count the days to a holiday. I never count the day of the feast, but my husband does, his method increases the count by one day. The children apply my method and every morning announce the count down before they leave for school.

Rising Thursday, at 4 o'clock in the morning I prepare the chestnut stuffing, dress the turkey, and carry the heavy prize to the oven. Alone with the magic, the only sound I hear is the kitchen clock ticking. Then I return to bed for a brief nap.

Awakening to the turkey aroma, my husband sets the dinning room table perfectly while I was asleep. The house is warm and inviting. Family members begin to arrive, my children stand by the glass door and impatiently wait the arrival of their cousins.

I feel peaceful as we sit together as a family thankful for what we have, what we had for a short time, and lost the past year, for family and friends.
The magic lives on.

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