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I have always disliked November.  It has always been a cold, gray, flat month - too far away from the magic of Christmas and too soon to look forward to spring.  Growing up, November meant getting the flu and going to someone else's house for a sub par Thanksgiving dinner*.  I have spent Thanksgiving sick in bed, throwing up from rotten turkey (separate occasion) and holding awkward dinner conversation with a boyfriend and his grandparents.  I could do without Thanksgiving...

Until the November my mom fell.

Until the first time my dad cooked Thanksgiving dinner.

Until we started celebrating Thanksgiving a day late.

Until the Thanksgiving we almost didn't have.

Until my sister started baking pies.

And I realized, a lot of my stories now happen in November.  A lot of my favourite stories.  As I get older, my appreciation for people, random little things, tradition grows and November is now my favourite month and Thanksgiving is my favourite holiday.  I promise to share these stories with you as we go through the month and I hope to add more stories to make this November even more fantastic than the last.

*Obviously I had dismissed the entire meaning behind Thanksgiving as a child.  Something about Indians and turkeys made out of brown construction paper by tracing your hand?