Thanksgiving always seems to be the tipping point for winter to me. Even though the solstice isn't until December, after the turkey carcass is laid bare each year, it feels colder and darker and usually begins to rain.

My holiday was peaceful, a small miracle.

Meanwhile, I'm just too exhausted from National Novel Writing Month, freelance writing and my new part-time job at the bookstore to really blog.

Here's a photographic record of the holiday in lieu of anything worthy:

My sister heading up the cooking operation














The Happy Eaters















Despite How It Looks, This Dessert Was a Hit













My Beloved, Digging In While Opa Looks on, Perplexed