Attention, holiday shoppers: Maine has a little surprise for you this Thanksgiving weekend.

We awoke around 5 a.m., across much of the state, to an odd pitter-patter outdoors, which at first, swimming upward through layers of semi-consciousness, we could hardly put a name to. Something like rain, only more substantial. Frozen leaves blowing against the windows? Chipmunks dancing on the deck?

 

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How many people have I heard this week saying that Thanksgiving is their favorite holiday? I lost count by Wednesday; the sentiment seems pretty widespread.

What's odd is that nobody bothers to elaborate. I mean, why not Christmas, or Easter, or the Fourth of July? Explain, please. But they don't. The conversations go like this:

A. Thanksgiving is my my favorite holiday.
B. Mine too!

Except for one that went:

C. Not Halloween?

"Most of the world's work," said Winston Churchill, "is done by people who don't feel very well." Which suggests, by logical extension, that much of Maine's work must be getting done right now, in these early weeks of not-quite-winter, when viruses in their trillions swirl like macro-molecular clouds through stuffy offices and classrooms.

The charming older lady behind me in the express line (14 items or less) was lugging a gallon jug of milk, so I scooched my stuff over to make room for her. "Those things get heavy after a while, don't they?" I said.

"And cold!" she replied, plopping it on the conveyor.