Goodnight, moon.

Folks, I'm going to let you all in on a little secret: I actually love the month of November. I think there are a few reasons for this:

1. The fact that a lot of people hate this time of year coupled with the fact that on occasion I have an overwhelming need to be contrary.

2. I spend a significant chunk of the year wishing it was dark enough and quiet enough to justify my desire to bury myself in church lady-knitted afghans and re-read the books that made me cry when I was younger, and suddenly, oh so suddenly, it is.

2a. In case you were wondering, this year's list of weepies includes Looking at the Moon by Kit Pearson and Girl by Blake Nelson.

2b. SHIT MAN, Blake Nelson has a SEQUEL to Girl out this month! I feel as though my heart may burst.

3. That chill in the air, that wind that threatens to pick you up off your feet and drop you back down. It's the perfect environment in which to wrap yourself up in a pashmina and walk purposefully down the street, feeling hopeful and solitary and brave.

4. There's something so comforting and quiet about the bare trees and the cold ground. It's like the whole earth is breathing a sigh of relief.

5. The incredibly important annual tradition of watching When Harry Met Sally, a movie that only feels right to me in November. I have a not so secret love of this film. I recently read an article where Melissa McCarthy declared it her favourite romantic comedy because it gives the characters so much time and space to get to know each other, and I liked that. I'd even argue that it's not so much a romantic comedy as it is a slice of life comedy about two completely inept goofballs who finally decide to make out with each other and can hardly bear the awkwardness of it all. Which is my favourite kind of love story, really.




6. November strikes me as a time of year when things often fall apart. And when it comes, and the days pass, and lo and behold you find yourself still intact, it's like a nice little karmic pat on the head.

Here's my November Top Five. It's a Lullabye List, I think.

1. The Walkmen, Four Provinces.



2. David Bowie, Soul Love.



3. Sufjan Stevens, Jacksonville.



4. The Band, When I Paint My Masterpiece.



5. The Rolling Stones, Moonlight Mile.



Goodnight, children, everywhere.

idiot wind.

The top 5 songs that are distracting me from packing right now, Ray Lamontagne doing covers / Dylan covers / Dylan free association edition:

1. Ray Lamontagne and David Gray--Dig A Pony



2. Ray Lamontagne--The Man In Me



3. Bob Dylan--If you see her, say hello


If you see her say hello Bob Dylan
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4. Ramblin' Jack Elliot--Don't Think Twice, It's Alright



5. Wilco--Company In My Back



...I always need to throw a little Tweedy in there. He's like a fine sorbet, cleansing the palate.

Holy Thursday, Batman.

In case you didn't know, it's Holy Thursday today. Holy Thursday is kind of like the Christmas Eve of Good Friday, the saddest day in all the year for anyone who believes in Jesus. I am by no means a god-fearer, but something about this time of year really gets to me. I know a few wannabe Jewish folks, but not very many wannabe Anglicans. I may be one of the only ones. I blame my upbringing in Anglican choirs and my years spent at a quasi-Anglican college, and also the hymns. I am a sucker for a good hymn. I was in the chapel choir at Trinity College for a year, and while my attendance was spotty at best (Friday afternoon rehearsals? That's momma's drinkin' time.), the power of the music was the spiritual equivalent of a punch in the gut. I had no idea how many random feast days there were on the church calendar, how many incredibly particular songs were written for incredibly particular points in the year. Something about the detail and the devotion just really struck a chord with me. At the same time, though, I always felt a little weird and guilty about singing these songs that I'd never really believe in. I felt like an impostor.

Anyway, this time of year always gets me thinking about all those Lent hymns, the weeks of reflection and sadness leading up to the most horrible day of the year, followed by complete rebirth. I always think of the opening of The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot, another wannabe Anglican who actually followed through and converted. I love those first lines:

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory with desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

As lovely as springtime is, as much of a relief as it is to see the snow melt away, there's something vulnerable about this time of year. Coming out of hibernation is scary. You never know what you're going to find under that blanket of ice. Here's hoping for something amazing.

Happy Holy Thursday. I'll be celebrating by driving down the 401 with my fur baby crying in the back seat, listening to the entire Bob Dylan catalogue, and wishing I'd given up lone wolves and bad ideas for Lent.