November - and what I did about it

You can tell from the fact that I managed only one pathetic blogpost in November that it is not my finest month. In fact I wrote hardly anything of any description at all at all and stopped taking photographs. Oh dear. I could quite happily see November cast out of the calendar, except that three of my close friends have birthdays during the month, which go some way towards redeeming it.

I won't go into the reasons for November tending towards the grim and grey for me, you'll just have to take my word for it although, in recent years, it had become a little easier. Apart from the personal associations, the closing in of the days and winter on the horizon do not help. Well, they don't help if you are a 100 per cent summer person, who thrives on sunshine and light and warmth . . .

So, given that we had an unseasonably mild - and sometimes sunny - November, this year should have been better, right? Wrong. November 2011 hit me in the solar plexus like a champion heavyweight. For no apparent reason. Then, when I had just about reached my nadir, a much younger friend suffered a calamitous blow. She is the same age as my daughter, has a daughter herself, who is currently studying at one of the UK's leading veterinary colleges and, until 13 November, she had a husband to whom she had been married for a few days shy of 24 years. On 13 November, her much-loved husband suffered a massive cardiac arrest and died instantly. He was just 46.

We had become friends over the past couple of years through walking our dogs and she had sent me a text. Could we meet? She could do with a chat. So we met and she told me and we stood in the field, as the dogs raced around, clung onto each other and cried our eyes out.

'You know what it's like, don't you? she said. And I did. I do. 

Now, November is past; her husband has been laid to rest and we are staring the festive season in the face. We both agree that November might be a very good time to take a long holiday in the future.

So, that was the worst thing that happened in our here and now in November and, after that, I knew I had to take steps . . .

Which meant that I could have kissed the neighbour who asked me if I'd like to join the yoga class (with new teacher) at the village hall. My sort of yoga, hatha yoga, with an emphasis on breath and pausing between postures and relaxation and yoga nidra. I'd missed my class so much; it had folded about four years previously and the nearest (packed) class was eight miles away - and when the weather was at its most harsh, pretty well inaccessible. And then the Massive Inconvenience got in the way. Now I could walk to my yoga class. I went along and it was like coming home after a long, long time away.

The other thing I did to send a sort of 'yah boo sucks' message to November was to roll up for a taster evening with our local community choir, Exe Valley Voices. I could sit and watch and listen or, said the choir leader, Claire, if I was feeling brave, I could join in. Much to my surprise, I was up on my feet in no time, belting out Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah etc etc  - hovering somewhere between the basses (which had equal numbers of male and female singers) and the all-female altos. I'd always known, instinctively, that this was the correct pitch for me and, after more than 50 years of simmering resentment about my ghastly music teacher plonking me down, at the age of 12, with the sopranos - where I couldn't bring myself to sing a note - I finally felt vindicated. I love singing. Very much indeed.

Despite the joy of yoga and singing, which had helped enormously, I was still extremely glad when November was over. As we moved into December, the grey lid disappeared and I felt quite chipper and started noticing things again.

And these things have already included, yesterday, what has to be one of my best 'only in Devon' moments of the past 14 years. I was in our local post office at lunchtime; there wasn't a queue, it was fairly quiet and one of the counter assistants (whom we shall call Janice for the purposes of this post), was insisting that her colleague take her lunch break. I was having a forage through the greetings cards when a elderly lady stepped ino the post office, looked around rather furtively and then whispered at me 'Is Janice on her own? I need to see her about - er -something.' I said that I thought that she was.

A minute or so later, I turned back toward the counter where Janice was placing some tissues on the post office scales. The elderly lady had put a large brown holdall on the floor, from which she produced - a tortoise. And then carefully lifted the tortoise on the parcel scales.

'She brings him in to make sure that he's the correct weight,' said Janice, sotto voce.

I was quite entranced, having fond memories of my own childhood tortoise, Susan.

'What's his name,' I asked the owner.

'Sparky,' she replied, breaking into a shy smile.

Sparky was an exceptionally fine specimen of tortoisehood and was very alert and agile. I asked how old he was.

'Over 100', said his proud owner.

It was all I could do to tear myself away but, in any event, as soon as Sparky's weigh-in was over, he went straight back into the holdall. I didn't like to ask about hibernation . . .

I had better not mention the location of the post office as I suspect that Sparky's weighing sessions are a private arrangement between his owner and Janice and are probably in contravention of all sorts of health and safety regulations. Hence no happy snapping on my part.

Not Sparky, but Timothy who lived from 1839-2004, ending her (yes, her) days at Powderham Catle, here in Devon

December? Bring it on . . . 

Comments

[Babs (dumphimlove)]

I've missed your posts and your presence on twitter. This particulat one made me stop and think how lucky I am to have my OH after two serious heart attacks. I feel for your friend and for you. The best thing though was reading of your forays into enjoyment and the blessed tortoise. Do keep writing - please!

[Christina]

I love your blog. I'm sorry that your November was so ghastly, and more sorry about the loss of your friend's husband. And yet, I am most grateful that you share it all with us. This entry is so rich with the stuff of life, painful and delightful, acutely and lovingly observed.

I always feel I have a friend in Devon.

[Moira]

I'm sorry about your November - and especially for your friend's great loss - but pleased to know that your spirits are lifting once more. Three cheers for yoga and singing, but especially for dotty moments with tortoises!

[Shelley]

Yes, November can be dreadful, can't it? At least at the end of December the tide turns and the days head back to being longer again. I had a friend of 30 years die unexpectedly last month, back in the US. It rather takes ones breath away. Love the story of the tortoise. Very 'village-y' that!

[materfamilias]

I'm sorry you had a tough month, and I missed you here. But I love your tortoise tale, and I hope you'll have a lovely December.

[Jay from The Depp Effect]

I'm so glad you're still blogging! I just thought I'd say that. ;)

Good for you, getting back into the yoga and finding your choir and your voice! I love singing, but I'm pretty hopeless, and like you, feel I hover somewhere between the bass and the alto in pitch. I sing only in my car, when alone, and I've found a handful of singers I can actually sing along to, but there aren't many, and NONE of them are sopranos!

So sorry to hear about your friend losing her husband so young.

[Fiona Staats]

Your blog sometimes sounds like I'm writing it! I check in every now and then and notice when you've been absent and say to myself, oh, she's "away" and not feeling too much like communicating. And hey, I know that feeling! I have just returned to Australia after 6 weeks travel in the UK and Europe. It was an emotional journey as it was the first time in many years I was back (in Scotland)and then I had to leave my two daughters and new grandson behind. Tears....emotional meltdown but the Scots stoicism as always, kicking in... I have to do something.....get back to yoga (yes!) join a choir (you've always wanted to do it and you have a reasonable voice!)From what I can see from the letters, your blog touches on little issues that many of us have, and are interested to hear about from others of the same "ilk". Keep it up!! Loved the tortoise story.

[Susan]

I'm glad to see you made it through November - good to find things to ease one's way (I shall try to remember this in February which is my Waterloo). Also find it so striking that your turtle's name was Susan. My husband's childhood dog was named Suzy (my childhood tag). Apparently pets and I share something in common :)

[Dancing Beastie]

Welcome back! It's lovely to see you here again. Usually I love autumn and winter and try very hard to champion November to those who loath it, but this year I, too, found its relentless, dismal sogginess very depressing. I'm sorry that you had such a rotten month and my heart goes out to you and your friend for your losses. (My darling dad died in November too, 12 years ago, not that the years matter. The loss just carries on being there, doesn't it.)

Let us hope that December brightens up a bit. Meanwhile, yes, singing and congenial exercise are wonderful weapons. I have joined a choir too! And had a lovely time singing Messiah again in a concert, for the first time since I had children. You can't be sad when you're singing your heart out.

Wishing you a happy Christmas, and joy, kindness and good health in 2012. xx