We need to get novembered again , seriously ...
На octobered нашлась русская реалия:
Babies could be Octobered instead of baptised, and given revolution-inspired names, such as Revolutsia, Lenina or Pravda.
На septembered есть один вариант, мрачный:
This promising program, very promising program, had to be septembered after September 11th.
Al-Qaeda to be Black Septembered?
На julyed нашлось:
And because she had escorted me to fishless trout streams and exhibited to me open-plumbed waterfalls and broken my camera while I Julyed in her village, I must escort her to the hives containing the synthetic clover honey of town.
[The Country of Elusion, O. Henry]
Про август, июнь и май я ничего не нашла.
Для апреля есть восхитительное:
I never have been apriled fooled.
А также забавный пример на оставшиеся месяцы:
Bishop Fuller recalled how his father used to say, “I ‘Januaried’ you through grade school; I ‘Februaried’ you through high school; but you’re going to have to March through and spring for college on your own.” [Honored At Archives Luncheon. Bishop William E. Fuller, Jr.]
I recently Februaried in the West Country.
While exiting a blissfully warm shower to stand dripping in a Januaried apartment with remarkably sporadic heating ranks high on the list of unpleasant ways to exit a blissfully warm shower, the experience can be immensely improved if you leave your clothes on your sporadically functioning heater while you're in the shower, because while it's this huge crushing disappointment if you find them still cold when you're done (because of the sporadic functioning of the heater), the risk of suffering the huge crushing disappointment is more than outweighed by the absolute heaven that is putting on freshly heater-toasted clothes after your shower.
И особенно прекрасное:
For those unclear on the difference, keep a shovel near your front door. If you have to use it to get to the street, you’re over-Januaried.
И собственно то, с чего все начиналось, для decembered предлагают такой финальный аккорд:
There is a mountain radiant in the sun,
With half New England under its granite head;
A forest shouldered where the deer still run,
And at its foot the Indian lies dead.
This was the god decembered into ledge,
Split by the root, before he ever stood
An south of Paugus counted from the edge
His valleys, lakes, his straight green Indian wood.
Out of the north his geese come wedging down,
His snows employ the shrewd abandoned fire;
And the long rains of spring return to drown
The book-bed of his mountain and desire.
On the stone blueberry shelf the medicined bear
Startles that someone else should find him there.