November is possibly my favorite time of the year.  The weather usually is not so bad, and it affords us a colorful Autumn landscape that is the envy of every state except Vermont.  While Vermont rivals us in leaf peepers, and mass production of maple syrup, we have the New York Giants, and Brooklyn Brewery, with the brewery doing better this year than the Giants!

With the clocks going back one hour, total darkness comes by 6 o'clock, and what this means is it's time to pull out the lights for night riding.  This is a good thing because with all the advances in modern lighting systems, there's no excuse to limit the riding season, and affords us an excuse to have pizza and beer every Wednesday night...not that we need an excuse but it looks good to the young guys!

But by far, November means to me, firstly my anniversary, and then my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving.  How I remember my anniversary is it happens to fall on the same day President Kennedy was shot, November 22nd, and my constant reminder that it's Thanksgiving, is my mother asking me every year if I remember how many people she used to cook for back in Ridgefield New Jersey.

We had a pretty small house, with a finished basement, on one of those standard Jersey lots, where you could open your window and smell what was cooking in your neighbor's house.  It was a matter of pride to my parents to cram as many family members and friends into the basement, while still being able to latch the door shut.  My mother would begin preparing for that day immediately after Halloween, and for the next 24 days, complain constantly about how much work it was.

Why I loved it was, my buddies and I would meet at the county park for a day of touch football, and upon returning home and walking inside, would be greeted by a sensory overload of turkey aroma, and sweet potato pie.  There's few memories in a child's life like coming in from a cold fall day, and being overwhelmed by the sweet warmth of home.  My mother and father were young, as was I, and never did the thought enter my mind that these moments might someday end.

Friends would begin arriving as well as relatives, and I always waited with anticipation for the arrival of my aunt and uncle from Jersey City, bringing along their maid, Willamae.  Willamae was black, and frankly, both then and now, neither color or race meant anything to me as long as you were nice.  Willmae, loved to come on Thanksgiving for the simple reason my mother could relax to host her party, and turn the entire kitchen project over to "Auntie Mae's" capable hands.

I used to hang in the kitchen, and watch her finish cooking, and preparing the food on the platters.  She took her job very seriously, and we would talk about school, and not much else because as the surrogate queen of the kitchen, she had to concentrate to keep on schedule according to my mother's strict serving agenda.

I never viewed Mae as a servent, but as another member of our family as she worked for my aunt over 30 years.  Why this memory is so vivid, is as soon as my mother and everyone else left the kitchen, Mae would look at me, and say," Auntie Mae is thirsty", meaning since no one was around, I should pour her a glass of Canadian Club whiskey.  I was always happy to oblige for the simple reason, when she began to slice the turkey, I got first dibs on the most crispy piece of turkey skin available.

This went on with each course during the day, and needless to say, by the time clean up began, both Mae and I were ready for a nap!  Fortunately for us, with all the other drinking going on downstairs, no one seemed to notice.  I guess I just looked like the perfect little host!

These were wonderful times, and I will cherish them forever.  Sadly Mae is gone as well as most of the people who used to come to 620 Elm Avenue, but when I visit my mother, and she wonders if I remember Thanksgiving, without much fanfare, I assure her I do, and before she notices, I head to the kitchen to get a tissue for my eyes, and fondly remember my Aunt Willamae, and all those wonderful people who forged the holiday memories that will last me a lifetime!

"Yours in fondness"  George