It's The MOST Won-Der-Ful Time Of The Year

You're probably thinking tinsel and malls, peopled by harried grandparents on the quest for the perfect gift card and the poor down-sized buggar whose name floated to the surface in the unemployment centre's pool for a Santa.

No. And I'll give a hint. It is All Hallow's Eve. So you're now thinking miniature goblins and superheroes carrying pillow cases and UNICEF boxes.

You're getting there...but, no, Halloween is not a reason to celebrate (in my books). However, in an effort to be hauntingly correct (akin to political correctness but with more sugar) I did artfully plonk the illuminated plastic pumpkin into the planter by the front door in anticipation. I expect an onslaught of ten or so about 5.30 p.m. and then I will spend the remainder of the Zombie Apocalypse in the hot tub.

So why am I in such a celebratory mood? Wait for it.....it is the beginning of the delightful season of hunting. In time-honoured tradition, gun-owners of the mostly male persuasion hear the call of the wild and the male-bonding grunt in early November. Great quantities of fat-laden food and beverages of the alcoholic persuasion are gathered and loaded onto the backs of pick-up trucks along with generators, all-terrain vehicles, tools and TV satellite receivers. (Getting the Queen Mary under way involves fewer resources and special requests for favourite foods to be baked prior to departure.)

Eventually, however, they are off. Not without some last-minute instructions shouted in the door about not forgetting which days are for garbage and recycling pick-up. "And I left you some moose steaks in the freezer you can eat while I'm away." Yeah. Yeah. As if.

The first thing I am going to do is empty the fridge. All the dribs and drabs of chicken legs and ribs and roast pork may as well go out right now. In their place will be homemade leek soup, yogurt, inventive salads, a frozen pad thai entree. And chocolate.

More than casting off the meat-and-potatoes regime, however, hunting season is a time to breathe. In and out. Breathing in the cleanness and quiet. Reconnecting with me. And, often as not, just doing what I want and not stopping until I want to stop. Books will be read. Sewing projects will be completed and new ones started. And bags will be packed. Because I now celebrate November, The Dreary Month, in Florida. After a few days of peace and quiet--and, yes, getting the garbage and recycling to the curb on the correct days--I will join other Hunting Widows in warmer, sunnier climes.

And then, when I do return, it will be December. The Christmas decorations will have been in place at the mall for a full month and I may be ready to start cooking huge honking chunks of meat every night again. I know I will be refreshed and happy and brown.

It truly is the most wonderful time of the year.