In Maine, the blaze of October is over, and we have come to the more modest tones of November, that russet time of year. While I revel in the bright bursts of red, orange, and yellow, I also cherish the more subdued colors of November, which, of course, lead to the stark landscape of winter. All places, warm and cold, have their beauty, but I am grateful to live in a part of the country that has four distinct seasons. I look forward to all of them, even winter, cold, dazzling,  and austere.

I don’t have to go very far to find the russets of November. All I have to do is look out the kitchen window to my backyard.

Now is the time to get serious about cleaning the leaves. Early snowstorms are not unusual, and my goal has always been to get the leaves raked, blown, and chopped by the week of Thanksgiving, when thoughts will turn to cooking for our little feast.

Fortunately, even with creaky knees, I don’t mind yard work. It’s a pleasure to be out in the crisp weather, surrounded by the nutty smell of fallen leaves.

More Birthday Brouhaha

Readers might be forgiven for wondering if Dee, Clif, and I ever settle down to our various jobs. We do, we do, I assure you. But Dee decided to take her birthday week off, and with zero hesitation, we followed suit.

This gave us an excuse to have cocktails during the week—something we seldom do—eat fries, and go to even more movies than usual.

Here, in photographs, is a chronicle of last week.

Hand-cut fries at one of our favorite places in Waterville, Front and Main.

At Buen Apetito, another favorite place inWaterville, Clif toasts Dee on her actual birthday.

At Maine Film Center, we went to see the excellent The Only Living Pickpocket in New York, with a stellar performance by John Turturro.

The movie theaters are on the second floor, and as we walked down the hallway to get popcorn, I spotted a woman reading in the little park next to the Film Center.

As we waited for our movie, we sat next to jolly but quiet companions.

We bookended the week with another trip to Front and Main for a final round of celebratory cocktails.

We sat by the window where we could watch dusk come to Waterville, my fair city, the place where I was born.

The last movie we saw was the new Sense and Sensibility, which unfortunately I cannot recommend, even though the acting was very good. From goofy costumes to Marianne’s stringy, dirty hair to two dance scenes that looked like they came from a farce, the movie was a mess. At one point, Elinor wears a vest. A vest? What next? A fleece jacket? A pair of Sloggers?

Ah, well. Not all movies can be as good as The Only Living Pickpocket in New York.

The Election

The big day is tomorrow, and it feels a little like waiting for the results of a biopsy, which I have had the experience of doing when I was diagnosed with breast cancer sixteen years ago. Will the election results be benign or malignant? Tomorrow we will at least get a sense of the prognosis, even though we might not get returns from some states for a week or more.

Most likely, Clif, Dee, and I will be up late Tuesday night, watching either PBS or CNN.

Is the U.S. population really so cankered that it will not turn the country from the destructive path it is on?

Stay tuned.