Dear November,

I'd like to offer you the chance to not exist this year. If you could talk to October and move Halloween up a few days, give a quick 'hey' to those November Birthdays, then come over and leave Thanksgiving on my doorstep, that'd be great. No, it's not you, it's just that I fancy December a bit more than I fancy your turkey and gravy.

Why?

Because I'm ready.

I'm ready for my iTunes and all the Christian radio stations to start playing Christmas music all day every day for the next month and a half: Mariah Carey only wanting You for Christmas, N*SYNC spreading joy in the room from the floor to the ceiling, and all of us as one coming and adoring Him, on Holy and Silent Nights.

I'm ready for cool rain that transforms my apartment from tiny to cozy. Rain that nips at my heels like grade-school friends running after me, my breath quickening as I pursue 'base', the place where they can't 'tag-you're-it' me and I'm safe.

I'm ready for the stress of the city to lift and dissipate right along with the muggy heat and cool air tickle it's way all throughout body, heart and mind. People trading skepticism for kindness when they look at my friends on the side of the street, houseless, maybe even taking time to see into their eyes.

You understand, right?

I want the green and reds to bright up the night, Surf-Shorts-Santa sitting with his Mrs. outside The Hale, shooting a jolly shaka to all us wide-eyed, acting like we haven't seen them every Christmas of our lives.

And as much as I didn't want The Carpenters Christmas album played in my Dad's house as we hoisted up the Christmas Tree (that we listened to every Christmas long before I came to be), I don't ever see how'd I'd have Christmas without them calling me Darling and wishing me Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I'm ready for the Fire Station to put the wire Christmas lights back up at that park, so when I go up there to sing to Jesus it won't be so dark.

I want my friends and family back home so we can be together again, having memories meet us on those nights that know no end.

Please consider this, a personal gift. You ain't gotta tell nobody, it's a secret, you and me. In fact, just take your month off. Go get at those other worlds and show 'em some good November time.

Sincerely, Elise



P.S.--If you could talk to June, July and August and have 'em drop off some mangoes, you'll have my heart forever. Thanks, friend.