Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt

 

I stepped briefly out into the November night.

As Bob Uecker, the baseball announcer in the movie “Major League” said, “Just a bit outside.”

There was a full moon. I listened to the quiet. The moon enhanced the stillness.

J. P. Morgan said, “Go as far as you can see; when you get there you’ll be able to see farther.” I could see all the way to the moon. Sadly, that ability isn’t measured during an eye test. A full moon won’t fit on a Snellen chart.

I thought of a TV theme song, “Out of the night, when the full moon is bright, comes the horseman known as Zorro. This bold renegade carves a Z with his blade, A Z that stands for Zorro.”

I used a forefinger to carve a Z in the air. I flipped the motion on its side and it became an N for November. November is our cloudiest month. It’s an odd month — the 11th. A full moon is said to bring out the strangeness in living things. And it’s available without a prescription.

Thomas Hood thought it a gloomy month when he wrote, “No sun — no moon!/ No morn — no noon —/ No dawn — no dusk — no proper time of day./ No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,/ No comfortable feel in any member —/ No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,/ No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! —/ November!”

I wore a hoodie acknowledging Luther Crest in Alexandria as I worked on the Great American Novel in the tradition of those writers before me who claimed to be working on the Great American Novel without ever working on the Great American Novel. Hoodie I think I am? Actually, I worked on a list of things to do.

I decided to write about random November things in December before I forgot them.

I’d voted early this year. It seemed odd not voting with the teeming throng in November.

A family of five had eight phone numbers and could go a day without answering one of them.

I watched someone playing solitaire with real playing cards. That’s a rare sighting.

I was relieved that neither Siri, Alexa nor Google said grace at Thanksgiving.

The traveling potato salesman didn’t stop by. I wasn’t surprised. He’s never stopped. I didn’t see the Great Pumpkin, an unobserved holiday figure in the comic strip Peanuts created by Charles M. Schulz. Only Linus van Pelt believed in the Great Pumpkin. Other pumpkins graced my pie table. I admit that my favorite turkey is a turkey roll. It’s delicious and easy carving.

I didn’t come across any complicated mathematical equations that I couldn’t handle because I didn’t help any fourth graders do their homework.

I went most of the month not thinking about BBQ potato chips. That was a good thing, because I don’t care for BBQ potato chips. That might make me odd, but only when compared to normal people. Normal people are people I’ve never met.

People are busy. I hear “good afternoon” greetings in the morning and “good morning” in the afternoon. People have too much to do or have nothing to do, depending on their age.

Gordon Lightfoot could write a new song including the lyrics, “When the sales of November came early.”

A fellow with a football mustache (11 hairs on each side of his nose) told me another word for armpit is oxter.

Speaking of football, it was everywhere. I follow the high school teams. There are so many classes. As a prehistoric creature, I played when there was but a single class. I’m not sure if it was low class or no class. Either way, too many pro sports lead to over-exprosure.

I read a few books in November. I found “Mozart’s Starling“ by Lyanda Lynn Haupt interesting. Mozart kept a pet starling, so did Haupt. I loved “The Cloister Walk” by Kathleen Norris who spent residencies at St. John’s Abbey in Minnesota. She was attracted to monasticism and its days centered on a rigid schedule of prayer, work and scripture. The book’s lyrical prose and reflective thinking reminded me that I’m wrapped in blessings. I gave 100 of those blessings (books) to the public library.

A cynical man told me he was suffering from chronic dissatisfaction. Maybe it was due to the cloudy weather. Oscar Wilde wrote that a cynic is a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.

May you continue to seek the Great Pumpkin without once being inflicted with chronic dissatisfaction.

Al Batt’s column appears every Wednesday and Saturday.