November Love

I blinked and it was here — my favorite month!

Hawkeye Pete Egan B.
Nov 2 · 7 min read
Our old trees up north — the fall leaves

October went by so fast, I barely noticed it. Between the excitement of my team making its first World Series run, right up to the climax of an exciting Game 7 in which they trailed the Astros 2–0 going into the 7th inning, while we faithful still believed we’d pull it out, and we did — and incredibly busy at work, planning employee performance appraisals, establishing performance standards for the coming fiscal year — and, getting settled into our new digs and area, with a much longer commute — October simply flew by.

November 1 finds me catching my breath, and (just now) suddenly realizing — I’ve landed in my favorite month of the year! Why is November my favorite? Oh, a number of reasons, really. First off, I love the fall — my favorite season. It seems that, in these parts, fall doesn’t really come into its own until November. It is now in full living color, all around, and I am feeling completely embraced by fall. I love it!

Though not very religious at all, but one who seeks to become more spiritually attuned, I like that November begins with All Saints Day (today) and All Souls Day (tomorrow). I think of those who have been saints in my life (Roberto Clemente, Sister (and Aunt) Jeannie Bridgeman, my godmother, Aunt Frances Jones, my Dad (in his last 19 years), my Mom, my friend Reed, and many others — those whose lives had a significant impact on my own, who are no longer with us. I think of all of them today.

Fall in Connecticut — a lake shot in Woodstock from a fall retreat there

Tomorrow, I’ll think of all the souls I’ve had the pleasure to know in this lifetime, who are no longer here, and maybe even many who are still here, but no longer a part of my life, and I will wish all of them the very best lives they could have, either here or in the hereafter. We all got soul, and November, more than any other month, reminds me of this. I love it.

These days and thoughts get the month off to a fine start. Later, Veterans Day will ramp it up another notch, as I always have that day off of work, and I always remember, fondly, how Dad always called me on Veterans Day to remind me of the very first Veterans Day ever, the day before I was born.

Prior to that, it had always been known as Armistice Day, celebrating the armistice that was signed in the 11th hour of the 11th day in the 11th month of the year 1918 (the year my Dad was born), that ended the war to end all wars, WWI.

As we all know, it did not end all wars, and by 1954, WWII and the Korean War had come and gone, and we had a ton of veterans from all these wars to honor. So, it became Veterans Day in 1954. I was born the next day. You might say, I was born to be a veteran. By age 22, I’d fulfilled my calling, and got out of the Navy, a disabled veteran of 4 years’ service by then, all strung out and way old before my time. Thank God I found recovery shortly thereafter.

Mount Dad — my sister Juli’s rendering of Dad’s image on a mountainside, a piece of art he’d commissioned for his Memorial Service program — yup, he even planned his own service, down to the artwork

But, that’s not what Dad calls me to tell me about. He tells me about the 5 kids who were already running around their house on Midland Street in Pittsburgh, where they had just moved from Derry, Pa, on Chestnut Ridge in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, now back in the city and so busy with all those kids, Mom didn’t have time to deliver me.

I was late, the first one who was. Finally, on that first Veterans Day, because it was a holiday, Dad’s dear Aunt Margaret came over to help out around the house and give Mom a break, while Dad painted the back porch of his new house, and, as he’d always tell it, it was a spectacular day. This is about where I would always begin to get that warm feeling inside, that feeling that told me my Dad really did love me. I rarely felt that the other 364 days of the year, until much later in life, but when he told this story, I did feel loved.

Mom at Midland Street, from when I was very little, sometime in the mid-50’s.

Mom sat quietly in her room, doing some sewing and relaxing while Dad and Margaret handled the household, and finally, late in the afternoon, Mom told Dad that I was on my way. Dad took her to Mercy Hospital, where they told him it would be a long night, and he should go home and get some rest, come back in the morning, when I would most likely make my appearance.

However, once I was on my way, there was no stopping me, and I arrived in the wee hours of the morning, sometime around 4:45 on the 12th. He received a call from the hospital, which woke up Aunt Margaret as well, and as he shared the joyful news that his 5th son had arrived with his favorite aunt, they did a little dance in the pre-dawn darkness to celebrate.

By now, I am always in tears, and have received the only birthday present I ever truly cherished. Nothing else I’d receive that day could match the tale my kind father shared with me the day before, every year without fail. Since he left, 23 ½ years ago, I always remember it, and usually read it (yes, he wrote it down for posterity), and it is almost like having my Dad here again, most definitely still alive in my heart. These days, I usually write about it, as well.

The Magic Kingdom, from last time we were down there this time of year.

Then, there’s my birthday itself, which this year will be my 65th. This year, it will be spent in my happy place, Disney World. I have a wonderful wife who always likes to plan special things for me. It will be our second trip down there this year, and that is just fine by me. We love going down there. I think this might be our 37th trip down, since our first in 1993. It never gets old.

The weekend after we get back from Florida, I will spend at a spiritual retreat at a beautifully scenic spot right on the Potomac River, with 75 other men, a tradition that will be in its third year for me. The following week will be one of my other favorite holidays, Thanksgiving. I have so much to be thankful for this year.

Loyola Retreat grounds, on the Potomac, sunset

We’ve moved to a dream house, in an ideal spot, that affords me the opportunity to retire about 3 years sooner than planned, which has made work so much lighter for me, so much less of a burden to carry. I still enjoy what I do, but there’s so much more I am wanting to do with my time these days, and work cuts into what I’d really like to be doing. It’s hard to turn my back on the salary I make, but I have a decent enough retirement nest egg built up that, another year or two, and I’m out.

I’ve returned to the fellowship where my recovery journey began, nearly 40 years ago. This was never planned, but as I arrive there, I am seeing all the signs that were pointing me back to my roots, going back nearly 10 years, and realize it was really just a matter of time before it happened. I now believe it is a big part of why I was feeling so pulled to come down here. It always felt like it was more than just the sensible thing to do, financially. It always felt like something with a higher purpose was happening here.

Now, that part is slowly being revealed.

Oh, and another good thing about November — we gain an hour tomorrow night! Yes, I do love November. Finally, before the month is done, the Christmas lights will begin to go up in our new yard and on our house. I can’t wait!

The Story Hall

A gathering place for stories to be told, read and appreciated.

Hawkeye Pete Egan B.

Written by

Connecting the dots. Storytelling helps me to make sense of this world, and of my life. I love writing and reading. Writing is like breathing, for me.

The Story Hall

A gathering place for stories to be told, read and appreciated.

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