I felt it was only proper, since my last blog post extolled the many charming qualities of the Halloween celebration, to mention some of the other things observed during the month of October. I went to Google (my search engine of choice), typed in "October: Month of," and voila, I found Brownielocks and the Three Bears' 'Website (http://www.brownielocks.com/october.html). This Website shows an exhaustive list of things or organizations selecting October as their official month of awareness, etc. There are also weeks of things. For instance, who knew that October 6-12th was National Financial Planning Week? You'll have to excuse me for finding this much too much of a coincidence! Some of us were busy re-organizing our 401Ks, I'm sure. The rest of us either wished we could or decided the best course was to look the other way and pretend it wasn't happening for as long as possible. If you were fortunate enough to still have a roof over your head, a job, and food to set on the table after the past couple weeks, I have no doubt you're counting your blessings and hanging on--but I digress.
In my own family October has a couple anniversaries of note: my niece Chelsea was married Saturday October 18th this year, and her daughter Riley will be three years old on Halloween--perhaps the best day of the year to have a birthday, other than July 4th (which is mine). I don't know what costume Riley intends to wear this year. She may choose to be a pony, because she loves the equine set every bit as much as I do.
Most of us knew that this was National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. October is filled with all sorts of programs and events designed to raise our consciousness and money for research. Being a breast cancer survivor myself, I heartily applaud all of it and join in where I can. This year The Breast Center where I get my annual mammograms initiated a program to give out hand-made pink scarves to their patients which were made and donated by members of our community. In one week's time, they took in 250 scarves! Everyone was amazed at the tremendous outpouring of emotional support these scarves represented, and when the folks at The Center began giving them out, the women who received them cried, they were so overcome. Meanwhile many of the scarves were put on display. The Gift Shop crew had to deflect a number or offers to purchase them, but these scarves were not for sale. I made and donated one myself, and I count myself fortunate to participate in something which produces so many benefits to all involved. Right on, ladies! You go girls!
That's not all there is to October, but I HAD to mention these at the very least. Enjoy a great month to be alive!
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You're darn right there's more to October. I turned 53 on the 12th. I was in Reno, NV that day, in the bosom of what's left of my family. We were having a reunion, our first in 20 years. Our mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles are all dead now; there's no one left but the cousins. Yes, I was born on Columbus Day. Nationally-syndicated columnist Myrna Blyth paid me the honor this month of posting my poem "Sail South 'Til The Butter Melts," which is about Columbus, on her blog:
Sail South till the Butter Melts
for Chris Anderson
Born as I was on Columbus Day,
I sometimes envy the Italians
Of North Beach, San Francisco,
The last ones who can still get away
With celebrating it. No one, after all
Would dare contravene the rights
Of “ethnicity,” PC or no.
But it was nearly miraculous, as even
The most churlish would have
To admit, what your Genoese namesake
Did: not the stumbling over
A continent; sooner or later
Someone would have done that,
But having the compulsion,
The vision as we might say
To throw the dice with confidence,
Never questioning that the outcome
Would at least be worth the queen’s
Indulgence. He was just past 40
When he made the trip, much older
Than we. Yet here we are,
Sipping coffee after nearly 40 years
In a world much kinder than the one
He knew, and the heuristic rock
Keeps skipping back to him.
Finding ways to find your way:
The gamble has become no less great,
Despite GPS and radar,
Since he groped for the torrid zone,
Before that myopic starboard turn
Into nearly-dead Sargasso,
Then to the enigma of Hispaniola,
Not, as he hoped, to rich Cathay.
The matched clocks tick out of
Sequence from where they hang,
In two rooms, on three different walls,
Their lack of precision a reminder
That finding ways to find your way
Remains what it is: all, and all.
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