Remember, remember the 5th of November
with gunpowder, treason and plot.
My mother, having English roots, would tell us of the rollicking good times they had as children when every November 5th they would make an effigy of Guy Fawkes and pull it 'round the village in a wagon getting candies and small change for their efforts. That night all the effigies would be burned in a bonfire. Festive, no?
As American children it was, for us, significant only because mom would give us candy, quote the above lines, and try to ensure we knew that even Euromutt whities can have obscure cultural traditions. Yeah, it was really about the candy for us.
My parent's particular brand of extremely conservative Baptist faith banned ritual satanic celebrations, or even a light-hearted acceptance that candy and costumes on October 31st is probably not that big a deal regardless of some people's neurotic suspicions that it's all just a plot to trick every child in America into worshipping the devil. So since we missed out on the high holy day of childhood candy worship getting some loot on November 5th served as a consolation prize.
As an adult, in fact, the year I got married, November began to make itself unique in another way.
In various yers, in the month of November;
my husband's grampa, who mostly raised him, died.
I was hit by a car while walking across a street.
we received notification that the insurance company of the people who hit me was suing me for the damage my BODY did to their car (the lawsuit was dropped, btw).
Mr. Logo lost a very dear friend.
My gramma died.
My mom was diagnosed with brain tumors from metastasized breast cancer.
My grampa died.
This last week I was at my parent's house for several days and the steady decline in my mom's health makes me think we are probably about to have another rotten November.
On the plus side,
we are totally having a candy-fest on the 5th.