On November 1st she grabs her plastic hair bonnet. It is raining outside, but it is All Saints Day and she must make it to 6:30 morning mass. She shuffles across the bedroom floor and delicately grasps the rosary her son made in elementary school under the watchful eyes of the Dominican Sisters.

The next morning the rain has given way to sunshine. She smiles and combs her white hair. She glances at the pictures on the wall. Some have her crowned in salt and pepper locks. Some show her jet-black hair. She celebrates All Souls Day by visiting the graves of both her husbands, and both of her sons.

November 7th she has cake and ice cream at her great-grandson’s 12th birthday party. She tells the older boys that at 22 and 26 they should think about settling down and having a family. She’s 90 and she knows these things.

November is busy. Tom died on the 11th. Laurie was born on the 16th. Her anniversary with George was the 22nd. And who can keep track of Thanksgiving, skipping all over the place?