The Day After Thanksgiving, is a day off for most people.  Starbucks is quiet.  Baristas behind the counter are working leisurely, exchanging stories of their thanksgiving experience.  Each family Thanksgiving is one-of-a-kind.  It is rare to enjoy a leisurely meal together, not to speak of having extended family and perhaps friends join the circle at the table.  Of course the food is the main event.  The conversation, the experience of the company can be deeply satisfying, or disturbing.

With my camera at hand, I wanted to capture images to serve as markers of my experience of family, of my life at this intersection of space and time, my infinitesimal point in the solar system, that spins with the rotating galaxy.  My life,  just like an electron, in the enormous scale of the cosmos is not a nothing—but it’s just a bit part in the totality of the grand production.  My life is precious to me, as it’s the only one that I can be assured of having.  So, I take photos to mark the journey.  Hey, has anyone seen the producer of this play?  Has he/she been around lately?  What, no…..you don’t think there is anyone producing this play?  There has to be.  How can you be sure?

Thanksgiving dinner is quite the ritual, a procedure with a grand finale of everyone present seated around the table.  It varies somewhat year to year.  Early in the day I spent some time in the yard raking the remaining fallen leaves into the garden.  The frost is coming and I need to get the leaves where they belong for the months of winter.  Then I set about building a fire.  I’ve been keeping pieces of old firewood, and a disassembled wood bookcase for this purpose.  In the middle of the patio, I lit the pile of wood.  In a few minutes a fine plume of flame and smoke moved side to side in the mid-afternoon breeze.  Fire fascinates me as was the case when I was a kid.  I imagined that the light of open flame is important to keep the demons from the door of the house.  That’s the kid in me speaking. Then I went inside to help with the meal preparation.

Thanksgiving dinner is predominately preparation.  Hours of prep for maybe an hour and a half of dining.  I help where I can in the kitchen.  I can peel potatoes.  I can wash up dishes and utensils as they are used.  I can also open a bottle of Italian Sparkling Rose to encourage those will culinary skill to continue to do what they do.  Did you notice that this bottle is almost empty?

We anticipated the dessert that Myles had promised to contribute to the dinner.  Here Myles poses with his signature chocolate pie, and with another pumpkin pie.  The pumpkin and the turkey are the two anchor ingredients for the meal.

The seating arrangement around the table is carefully considered before hand.  This is no ordinary meal.  Many things are taken into account having to do with who sits next to whom.  We had wine corks customized into post-modern turkeys to hold the labels indicating the seating order.

After dinner, we all enjoyed a family talent show.  There was music, dancing, and a poem was read.  Myles kindly shared his recently gained ability with his violin.  I was impressed.  I believe that he began violin lessons in September.

Lincoln loves to hear his older brother play his instrument.  He insisted on performing an impromptu dance while Myles played.  Does anything equal a child’s exultant enjoyment of the motion of their body?  Most of us lose that delight as we grow older.  Lincoln is sometimes shy which the photo shows, taken at the conclusion of his dance performance.

Words cannot convey the unique, and special privilege of sharing life together.  Every day is special.  But every Thanksgiving Day stands alone