All Hallow's Month

Ahh, 'tis November when I get that one week around Thanksgiving when I don't have to rake leaves or shovel snow. As I look at my wall calendar, I see that November is bookended by two celebrations for Christian Saints. All Saints Day on the 1st and St. Andrew's Day on the 30th. All Saints Day seems quirky. I searched on-line for "list of saint feast days" and found that every single day of the year has at least one Saint commemorated. You would think that a full year would catch them all, but no, we have All Saints Day just in case we missed some along the way.

Maybe that makes sense. It might be nice to have a few more "catch-all" holidays, because I would fall into all of them. I'd like to have an "All Employees Bonus Day." I hate when year-end bonus time comes around and the payroll department starts with the fat cats at the top.

"Here's ten million for you, ten million for you, and ten million for you. Oh, would you look at that! No more bonus money. Looks like the rest of you, the drones, will just have to hang your heads in shame and drive home slowly in your Hyundai's."

I'm reminded of a tense exchange during my university days. A classmate of mine, Edwin Samsonite, and I were working together on a project for Business Ethics 102: Manipulation and Greed. It was March 17, and out of the azure Eddie says to me sharply, "What's the deal with Saint Patrick's Day, anyway? I don't even know who Saint Patrick was. I'm neither Catholic nor Irish. And I don't look good in green. Why do I need to celebrate a day for him?"

"You don't have to celebrate anything today, you know," I replied.

"I know, but I have Scandinavian ancestry. How come we don't get a day for one of our saints? It's not like there's a 'Thor's Day'."

"Oh, really?" I asked. "Then what comes between Wednesday and Friday?"

"Thurs..." Eddie stopped dead in his speech, pondering.

"Think on that," I said.

Vermontpelier

My daily commute takes me down a residential street where is parked a hillbilly truck christened "The Vermonster." This truck has got it all: 18 inch lift, mismatched panel colors, perma-dirt sprayed all over, and, of course, a Confederate battle flag hanging in the rear window.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure if The Vermonster actually has a Vermont license plate. (I've never actually slowed down to look as I'm usually cooking at about 45 down a 25 zone because I don't want to miss the light at the intersection, otherwise I have to wait a full 87 seconds for the next green.) This truck very well could be registered in a state that was a hotbed of Southern pride. Still, though, it is very possible that the owner of this beast comes from a long line of red, white, and blue-blooded Green Mountaineers, possible a great-great-great-...-great grandson of, of, uh, well, you know some famous person from Vermont that just so happens to have loyalties and political ideals just a couple thousand miles too far north.

Vermont very well could have been a part of the good 'ol C. S. of A. During the Civil War a small group of Rebel cavalry invaded Vermont from Canada, robbed a bank, burned down a shed, peed on the ashes, kicked a dog, tripped over and knocked down a fence post, and stormed back to the safe havens of Quebec (or whatever is above the state's northern boundary, I'm too lazy to look it up.) This act of merciless, destructive warfare nearly brought the entire state of Vermont to its knees. The governor is reported to have said, "Please, we beg of you! We'll do whatever you want. We'll join your country. Whatever you please do don't hurt us but fix that fence post you busted while you're at it."

Believe it or don't, I have never actually been to Vermont, even though it's only a 90 minute drive away. My wife has, though. The one time she went, she came back with three or four large bags of plump mountain blueberries. I said, "How hospitable. You drive in, add to the air pollution, pay sales tax, and as a token of appreciation they give you gallons of berries." So, I thought, Hey, if I drive up to Vermont maybe I'll come away with four large barrels of kerosene, or a trunk full of maple syrup. More likely, though, I just get a flat tire.

I suppose if I'm ever up for a Monster Truck rally -- One Night Only! The Vermonster versus The Boston Cream Pie -- I'll make my way up there.